Key To Music Grades

A - You will never be whole without it
B - Highly recommended
C - Flawed, but still pretty good
D - It's your money, not mine
F - Why couldn't this have been burned in Fahrenheit 451?
Showing posts with label Frank Zappa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frank Zappa. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Frank Zappa – Weasels Ripped My Flesh (1976)












Avant my ass. I certainly espouse turning musical norms on their head and always prefer experimentalism to traditionalism, but not this time. Sometimes, even Zappa can go too far, which is what he does here in this jarring, musically lopsided Dada noodlefest, replete with abrupt vocal nonsense, pointless jazz motifs and a whole lot of headache.

You know how some music can be listened to in the background? This is not it. This demands not only your attention; it demands that you waste it. Like a cashier who can’t find the sticker on a tomato and insists the manager is on the way, even though you know they aren’t. Like to eat soufflé with a recipe? Listen to “Toads Of The Short Forest,” where Frank intones over the demented proceedings by telling you the time signatures. Want to pay your respects to Eric Dolphy, the jazz saxophonist? Well, Zappa did, by composing “The Eric Dolphy Memorial Barbecue” – a certified piece of near-noise. In the middle of “Prelude To The Afternoon Of A Sexually Aroused Gas Mask,” you can appreciate the gradual throng of moans into one cacophonous aural odor – er, stench; better yet, tune in to the last song, the title track, which sounds like it’s supposed to be one continuous ripping of flesh – which is to say, horrible dissonant static.

So what’s to like? The violin-laden “Directly From My Heart To You” (a Little Richard cover), “Oh No,” “Orange County Lumber Truck” and most importantly, “My Guitar Wants To Kill Your Mama,” which, if nothing else, has the greatest interjectory acoustic solo ever, not to mention it being one of Zappa’s best songs. I suggest listening to this with enough time to register to vote. Because this record makes me angry. Anger causes change. Change causes progress. Progress is like tea – it might be sugary or bitter or need a touch more milk, but if you stir it hard enough with your spoon, it might taste good. Well, sometimes. So switch this not-so-bitchen’ LP off your spin machine when you’re done and cast your vote of no confidence in November. Or today. Kiss my sharries. I love swirls. D+

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Frank Zappa - Hot Rats (1969)












This is one of my favorite Zappa albums -- which is possibly more of a testament to my jazz leanings than anything else -- but I really never tire of this one. Ever. What's to tire of? "Peaches En Regalia" never gets old -- no matter how many times I play it (that interjectory acoustic noodling always makes me happy.) It's one of Zappa's most inventive songs -- or at least, an excellent showcase of his dazzling compositional variety; and besides, it strikes just enough of a silly tone to distinguish him from the Mahavishnu, for example. (That and I prefer Zappa over McLaughlin anyway.) "Willie The Pimp" (a blues-drenched jam featuring the aural gruffings of Captain Beefheart and some tasty violin) "The Gumbo Variation" (a crazed sax/guitar noodlefest) and "Son Of Mr. Green Genes" are the three longest pieces of the record. Besides "Peaches," these represent, I think, a sort of loose musical centerpiece for the album. "Little Umbrellas" is okay -- not really amazing. "It Must Be A Camel" is fairly blah for me; once "Gumbo" ends, I usually forget this one. Other than that, "Peaches" and the three aforementioned longer jazz pieces will undoubtedly keep you occupied for most of the 47 or so minutes of this fantastic record. Oh, and besides Beefheart's appearance, this all instrumental. B+