reCAP :: Zappa Plays Zappa :: 2014.02.28
Fresh off a scorching case of testimonial reticular insurrection, the likes of which having not been documented since the great Nigerian bobsled championships in the winter of '22, Zappa Plays Zappa came correct Friday night at The Capitol Theatre with the instrumental and organized diddlings of the late, great Frankie Zee. Yo! Frankee!
Flatly in denial of international governmental backing since the Eskimo birth control scandal of shaded annums past, Dweezil Zappa and campaneros released a flood of bizarrely opaque aural ectoplasm on a relatively innocent crowd of spatula-toting pedestrial folks.
And everybody really, really liked it because they knew it was good for them.
First off, "Filthy Habits." Who could ask for anything more. I was on my second cigarette when the inevitable happened with "Penguin in Bondage" as they broke out some softly-veiled somnambulatory chamber politics of the prone sort, alluding to certain DEVICES, leaving many of the room's fairer-sexed recipients nodding their heads in mindful admonition. Science! Others were left to play "amongst" themselves in the wake of intellective wanderings. But so it goes.
Turns out the band was playing the entire "Roxy and Elsewhere" album on the 40th anniversary of its Hollywood delivery. Oh, you know what followed with some ad hominem critiques of "Pygmie Twylyte," some effects of higher education (or lack thereof) and gym sock ignition with "Dummy Up," plus some Lancaster turkey farm upbringing jam grooves in the "Village of the Sun." Please don't let the wind blow. Percussive paraphernalia abounds at this point, shiny, and tinny, and bright, ooh. Spatulas were gooey, too. But the stove was hot and greasy. And sooo perverted, as Frank used to intone. "Don't You Ever Wash that Thing?" "Echidna's Arf." The whole shebang.
After a little nap came "Cheepnis," and further side effects of Hollywood. Monsters and dangling nylon. Nasty. They helped me realize what a fool I am. I thought I was a prophet. "Son of O.C." And then it was back to reality with "More Trouble Everyday." The price we pay for some delicious licks. I just hope I don't have to talk about "Be-bop Tango." What those animals from the audience did onstage. My momma said I can always be proud of my special purpose but I must pause to submit such embellishment upon those poor souls.
Off they went.
People said more. And Zappa plays Zappa retorted, wheelin' and dealin', teasing it some more. "Watermelon in Easter Hay," was transubstantial. So was "Teenage Prostitute." 'Nuff said. The rest of the second set reminded me of the time I was kidnapped and put into slave labor in the valley. In fact, memories of Phish tour were brought to light after a stoic Kenny Molloy walked onstage after Dweezil recognized this star of a YouTube solo standing in the audience during a guitar camp earlier.
Unreal.
No, I'm not kidding.
And the wookie tremors of balloon chasing phishdom lore were revisited with "Teenage Wind." Most freeing. For free. Well, kind of. "Baby Snakes" was the least they could do to bring me back from the film producer blues. The long days and nights. The encephaloids. The celluloid. The sweet tart necklaces... "I'm So Cute." Thump thump. "The Torture Never Stops." Death by thumping. "Florentine Pogun," the daughter of something. And then some batter for your spatulas as they laid out the "Muffin Man." Deep fried, baked, braised, fondued, sauteed. Any way you like it. Cause it was good for you.
But seriously. I mean really, dude.
Can Zappa Plays Zappa not continue to travel, revisiting music that lives on itself? What are all of the Mozarts and Bachs and Beethovens and Yannis and Teshes of the unbridled universe to do when Zappa Plays Zappa is making all of the efforts of other music on speakers in restaurants and Starbucks and elevators around the world SOUND so forlorn? Does music have to be so hard for the others? Or should I say, so soft? Why should the others make any further effort at composing music when they haven't got a chance next to the stylings of Zappa. Oh, well. "Nanook, no, no..."