It is no secret that I am a music junkie. I love all forms of music. It is what I live for, what heals me, what brings me ultimate joy. As my favorite man says, music is the best. The king of my music world is Frank Zappa. He, in my opinion, is the pinnacle of 20th century musical genius. The man was so prolific that I am probably only a quarter of the way through his catalog after more than 15 years of obsession with the man. Frank Zappa was not an artist I grew up listening to. I honestly never really knew anything about the man until I married someone who was moderately aware of Frank Zappa. It took a mostly naked hippie handcuffed to my radiator to truly bring the magic of Zappa into my world. Said hippie was singing Zappa songs while another hippie was doing things to him that made me blush. I was very naive at the time and they were guests of my ex-husband so I had to figure out a way to deal with their strangeness. So instead of staring at them I listened to the song hippie boy was singing. I was curious enough to write down the lyrics and artist so I could research it later. Even then, it was a slow realization of his genius. I listened to the few albums I was able to find. The internet, being a foreign and new(ish) entity then, was not really available to me. My first album, Joe’s Garage, was given to me by someone who said they didn’t like it. I listened to it until my fingers were calloused from pressing play, trying to comprehend why someone didn’t get it. It was so obvious to me that it wasn’t just about the funny and strange lyrics. It was the music that had me enchanted. Those long instrumental moments that left my body behind as I danced on another plane altogether. I knew deep in my gut that I had only just scratched the surface. Soon, I began to hunt for Zappa albums at thrift stores, record stores, buy/sell/trade stores. It was my holy quest to find more albums. To my dismay, it was a difficult task. Those who had these albums did not sell or trade them in. And most of the record stores didn’t stock Frank Zappa albums. The late 1990’s were harsh for a fledgling Zappa fan. And I had yet to find someone to show me the way into the kingdom of Zappa. Soon, I was connected to the internet. There is where I found my FZ goldmine. I spent hours listening to live recordings. It was then that it occurred to me that I had missed out on the greatest treasure in all of music, seeing Frank perform live. I was just too young to know he existed until he no longer did. Also, my head was pretty far up my own ass, musically speaking. It was not often that I strayed from my long hair metal music to really think about what I was listening to. And Frank did not show up on my radar. I felt tragically betrayed by the fates, by time, by a fraction of a generation. For the next few years, as I listened to live FZ music I felt a little bit empty inside. The longing to experience him in what I referred to as his music’s natural habitat was intense. But I had to resolve myself to make the most of what others had posted. To experience his music through their eyes. Long after my marriage was over, my fledgling status was but a memory, I became a true Zappaite. I was finally granted my coming of age, so to speak. Frank’s son grasped the torch his father had left burning. I spent every dime I had to see my first Zappa Plays Zappa show. I went by myself so that I could avoid any distraction from the music.This was to be my night with Frank. I was in awe from the first note. I left Moonlight Gardens in an etherial afterglow. Knowing that I had finally experienced the one thing I had thought impossible. Frank came alive through his son. What I thought I knew about FZ before that show was proven to be minuscule, practically nothing. Since that night, I have discovered that I was painfully uninformed in the ways of FZ’s music. It has been a few years, and many ZPZ shows since. But I am still on a quest to know as much Zappa as I can possible know. And there will be many ZPZ shows to come. I am making connections with other Zappaites. I look forward to all of the things I have yet to learn. I may be as eclectic as they come musically. I may worship David Bowie as a prophet of sound. But Frank Zappa will always be my Grand Wazoo. And to Dweezil Zappa I’d like to say thank you. Thank you for bringing Frank's music to new generations.
This picture was taken at that first ZPZ show (Moonlight Gardens, Cincinnati, OH). I love the look on Dweezil's face. He is just as much in awe of his fellow musicians as I am.
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