AN EVENING WITH FRANK ZAPPA

Zappa dominates the stage

like an emissary from hell

on a throne of rage.

The Mothers of Invention

With long hair, distortions

their swords freed from the scabbards of intention.

the band of threatening proportions.

Spit running from tortured tubes

of burning brass and reeds

frets melting under finger ferrets

stretched skins writhing

reputations maintained

and the foundations complained

at the Albert Hall but stood their ground

while the great dome

drew up the sweat and the sound.

 

Where did all that music go?

Only dead critics and those that were there

can ever know.

◄ MARILYN

GETTING A GRIP ►

Comments

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raypool

Wed 27th Jul 2016 16:14

Thanks Martin. He was very demanding and apparently used the LSO for a session and was not impressed. I remember the girl on vibes , and two drum kits in tandem. Unbelievable.

Cheers, David I 'm glad you picked up on that thought as always spot on. If you could bottle the atmosphere it might be the best thing on the planet. Being an old pro, I feel a lot of music should be just flushed away, but individual moments it's sad to lose. On a deeper level, sensation might be most of what makes a life have any meaning, in this realm at any rate. Therefore seek it out, I say!!
Ray

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Wolfgar Miere

Wed 27th Jul 2016 06:45

Its a great descriptive piece Ray.

I never really understood Zappa when I was younger, but I get his engineered anarchic sound now.

Like you say though, having witnessed great cultural wonders one has to ask where does it all go? which prompts the question what was it all for?

I can only conclude that it is merely for the sheer joy of it, which is everything really.

Nice one Ray.

David

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Martin Elder

Tue 26th Jul 2016 23:03

Corr this brings back memories Ray. I remember a live album of his when he puts Ruth Underwood his percussionist on the spot, by saying now lets hear from Ruth and there is pregnant pause when you know she is thinking Thanks Frank what do I do now, before launching into some brilliant solo work .

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