Audience Participation

Tomorrow marks the start of this fake holiday, but really, tomorrow marks fifteen years that the world has gone without Frank Zappa. I'm already exhausted. Listening today to 'Nap Time' from the Everything Is Healing Nicely release captured a mood that's been brewing all year. I'm worn out. 2008 has been a mixed bag. But all the good and all the bad each have this in common--it's been exhausting. I think it's fitting that the 15th anniversary of FZ's death should come in this year. There's highs, lows, and in the end, all the tolerance for bullshit has been rubbed away, leaving this resilience marked with skepticism, tempered with the desire to LET ME DO MY OWN THING.

I had plans to do something of a write-up of every album. The first attempts at posts here featured a graphic for something called the 'Zappa Index Project,' but every Zappa fan feels inclined to offer her or his own two cents about the significance of each and every album, this ZIP would only add to the HEAP. Besides, seems that Calvin Wazoo over at Frank Zappa's Revenge is doing everything that Barry over at Kill Ugly Radio and his Wiki Jawaka could do. Between the two of these sites, added with St. Alphonso's Pancake Homepage, you really don't need me telling you what's what. I'll chime in with what I think are FZ's stronger and weaker points, sure. But I don't have the energy or enthusiasm to get up and go down the list.

What gives, Jason? Why chump out? Well, son, it's easy to chump because it's been fifteen years. Fifteen years and my god, fifteen years. Fifteen years since episode 523 and playing Doom 2 to 'Fine Girl,' trying to turn on your best friend at the time to FZ only to hear him ask during 'Peaches en Regalia,' "Does this song have any singing?" Fifteen years of successfully turning on not one, but at least five - Murray, James, Jon, Dan, Wally - onto the music, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not.

No joke - I made this mixtape for this friend of mine named James. I included the :57 version of 'Holiday in Berlin' sung by Roy Estrada in there. :57 was all it took to turn this guy onto it. Of course, James was a hell of a musician, a bass player of no equal, a wicked guitar player. Haven't talked to him in about five to eight years. He became an Uncle and might still be up in the Mountain town where we all grew up in. Little houses, y'know.

Fifteen years. Never knew Frank, never saw him live. I still have my Dad, I can only imagine how his kids feel (and write about it, see below.) It's fifteen years, fifteen years. It's time to be tired, to grab a beer and listen to some music for a couple of weeks.

There are things we can do to try and participate. I tried to do these things - eat FZ themed foods (burnt weenie sandwiches, slices of watermelon in easter hay, uncle meat, easy meat, penguin in bondage, sleeping in a jar, would you like a snack?, eat that question, white port and lemon juice, the poodle chews it, titties and beer) but damn, no. Maybe one day, maybe when it's sunny. This time of joy is best for warmer weather, better for California, for San Ber'dino, for Sun Village. It's cold here. It's December. Tomorrow is the 4th of December.

I thought about making a Zappa-themed-menora of sorts, a forteen candle configuration in a giant Z. But that was too much, couldn't be done in the way I would like it. So I spent the buck-fifty for this tall candle, printed out a picture at work and scotch-taped it to the glass.

I think I did a pretty decent job for all things considered. Next year, as I'm sure I'll be doing this next year, I'll print it out on a label and avoid the tape. I wanted to get a picture of Frank smiling, since there's plenty of pictures of him not. I wanted this memorial of a bit of laughter, a bit of happiness. Here, you see him standing at a podium with a mic in his hand (and a wrench in his pocket.) Telefunken-U47. Just a few questions. Packard Goose talking to the rock and roll writers, the worst kind of sleaze.

I wanted a smiling FZ picture for the same reason my Dad cut the picture of a laughing Jesus out from the Sunday program back when we used to go to church. We wanted a representation of happiness in those who brought us joy. My Dad has been a decent man who hasn't thumped a bible but has been sincere about his relationship with GAWD and the afterlife. I don't think Jesus thinks him a jerk, but who knows? Who knows?

Smiling Frank with a microphone, too far back to know that fifteen years after your death, some strange kid (no longer a kid) would write about you, not in a way to eulogize or bury you but too tired to dig you up from your grave. Fifteen years. It was a crappy time when you left. It's crappy now. Fifteen years. Where does the time go?