apostrophe (1974) - frank zappa: discreet records, DS-2175

Weird.  It's a word one hears a lot when discussing Frank Zappa.  He looks weird.  He talks weird.  His music is most definitely weird. His movies are weird.  Even his name is weird.

Yeah, Weird absolutely fits Zappa.

But let’s be honest - the world needs someone to bring the weird.  A world without weird can be boring and stagnant and decidedly scary.  It would be like living in the fantasy land of Ronald Reagan, where every lawn is perfectly manicured, every meal comes in a foil-covered, molded aluminum tray, everyone wears clothing from the Sears catalog, and all the music sounds like a sterilized version of Paul Anka.

So yeah, weird is good.  Especially in music.  And Apostrophe (‘) is a fine example of just how much fun weird music can be.

Side 1: Don’t Eat The Yellow Snow Nanook Rubs It St. Alfonzo’s Pancake Breakfast Father O’Blivion Cosimk Debris
Side 2: Excentrifugal Forz Apostrophe’ Uncle Remus Stink-Foot

Zappa sets the tone of irreverence before you even drop the vinyl on the table, with a note on the back cover stating, This is an album of songs and stories set to music performed for your dining and dancing pleasure.

The first four songs cover the story of an Eskimo boy named Nanook who exacts revenge on a fur trapper for clubbing his pet baby seal by rubbing some of the deadly yellow snow into the trapper’s eyes.  The trapper then hears a legend that the only way to reverse the effect is to make his way to the parish of St. Alfonzo, where Father O’Blivion just happens to be hosting a pancake breakfast.

After this silly string of songs Apostrophe (‘) settles in to some more heavy sounds, with the remaining songs showing a familiar Zappa blend of some jamming and groove with the requisite comically strange lyrics.  Like many of Zappa’s songs, there are familiar themes running through both the music and the words.  Things like a lot of overdubbing and complex percussion featuring instruments such as the marimba, and lyrical references to Zappa’s childhood health issues (for instance, the lyrics "You might not believe this, little fella, but it'll cure your Asthma too!" and “So take your meditations an' your preparations An' ram it up yer snout” in Cosmik Debris both allude to Zappa’s history of asthma and sinus problems), or just plain bizarre (the dialogue with the talking dog in Apostrophe’).

Of all the songs on Apostrophe (‘), Uncle Remus is still relevant today.  It’s basically the epilogue to Trouble Every Day (from Freak Out!), and is a cutting look at the frustrating state race relations in the US:

I can't wait till my Fro is full-grown / I'll just throw 'way my Doo-Rag at home
I'll take a drive to Beverly Hills / Just before dawn
An' knock the little jockeys / Off the rich people's lawn
An' before they get up / I'll be gone, I'll be gone

What really blew me away with this listen is that this album is only about 32 minutes long, but sounds like it is closer to 45.  The songs just have this quality of being able to be so full.

As weird as Apostrophe (‘) may be, it’s easily the most accessible of all of Zappa’s albums – as shown by the fact it managed to reach #10 on the Billboard charts.  But as non-threatening (or non-confusing) as it was, there is still a lot of Zappa going on here.  And that is always a good thing.

Up next: A Canadian band in a very polite transitionary phase

billion dollar babies (1973) - alice cooper: warner brothers records, BS-2685

Even though Alice Cooper now has a reputation (well deserved as it is) of being the Edgar Allen Poe band of rock, they started out as basically just another glam band, with their intentionally androgynous makeup and look coming from the influence of the LA scene in the early 70’s.

However, the band soon realized they could exploit a niche by bringing a more theatrical element to their performances, and they soon hit on this cool idea of having a band called Alice Cooper with a frontman known as Alice Cooper (nee Vince Furnier) who would play the character of a homicidal woman named Alice Cooper.

Or something like that.  Remember, it was the late '60s / early 70’s so things didn’t always need to make a lot of sense.

Anyway, Alice (the man, the character, and the band) were born, and they had their schtick.  But in the beginning the whole horror rock thing wasn’t fully developed, and most of their songs tended to be pretty conventional rock.  And so, even though they had this idea, their music didn’t quite support it, meaning they were a concept band without a true identity.

Billion Dollar Babies is a pretty clear reflection of that.

Side 1: Hello Hooray Raped And Freezin' Elected Billion Dollar Babies Unfinished Sweet
Side 2: No More Mr. Nice Guy Generation Landslide Sick Things Mary Ann I Love The Dead

Now, I may be wrong, but there are a few subtle clues indicating that the album might be about money.  The title to start, as is the fact that the album jacket is designed to look like a wallet.  There’s also a giant 1 Billion Dollar bill tucked into it.  Oh, and the record sleeve has a photo of the band sitting in a pile of cash.

But BDB is definitely not a concept album.  There are songs about the cesspool that we call politics (Elected), songs about a hitchhiker being repeatedly molested by the insatiable woman who picked him up (Raped And Freezin’), songs about visiting a dentist (Unfinished Sweet), songs about a tranny (Mary Ann), songs about the generation gap (Generation Landslide), and the expected Alice Cooper horrorshow songs (Sick Things, I Love The Dead).

And even while the songs are overall quite good, the album has a hard time holding its freshness and relevance 40 years later.  Listening to it was fun, but it also has that quality of a yearbook photo
where the clothing, hairstyle, and design are all so dated it’s kind of embarrassing. 

However, while the music may be a bit too nostalgic, the packaging is a prime example of how CDs and digital will never be as cool as vinyl.  Not only is the album a gatefold (which is enough to make vinyl better than digital), but the flourishes are great.

To start, there’s the whole album jacket as wallet thing, which is kind of clever.  But the jacket is actually embossed at the seal.  Opening it up brings the real fun.  To start, there’s that $1 Billion bill cleverly tucked into a clasp.

On the other side there is a bunch of punch-out photos of the band members (cleverly enough, they are wallet-sized) which, if removed, opens a window to where the album sleeve sits, so you can either see the lyric sheet (with dollar sign water mark) or a picture of the band with shit-eating expressions, sitting on a pile of money.

In the end, though BDB is one of those albums that are definitely of a specific time.  But then again, so are movies like Soylent Green and TV shows like Get Smart.  And there are times when they just feel right.

Up next: What snow you should avoid 

dawn of the dickies (1980) - the dickies: a&m records, SP-4796

While the birthplace of punk may be in question - some say it is New York (and bands like the Ramones and Richard Hell and the Dead Boys), while others claim that it was England (the Sex Pistols and the Damned and the Clash) -there is absolutely no doubt that it grew up and attained maturity in Los Angeles.

Bands like the Weirdos, Black Randy, X, the Germs, Black Flag, Fear, the Adolescents, the Circle Jerks and more made LA the undisputed center of the punk universe.  Clubs like the Whiskey, the Roxy, Gazzari's, the Rainbow and others along Sunset Strip were where bands lived and died, and where punk was nurtured and allowed to develop.  Sure, there were vibrant scenes in San Francisco and DC and London and New York, but by the early 80's they were all mere satellites to what was happening in LA.

And with so much punk happening, it's not surprising that different strains started to emerge.  the Germs and Black Flag were the hardcore sound, filled with rapid fire music and vocals that can be generously called screams.  X brought musicianship and a large dose of American rockabilly and were the virtuosos of punk.  And there was even a weird offshoot called funnypunk perfected by the LA band the Dickies.

Side 1: Where Did His Eye Go? Fan Mail Manny, Moe, And Jack Infidel Zombie I'm A Chollo
Side 2: Nights In White Satin (I'm Stuck In A Pagoda With) Tricia Toyota I've Got A Splitting Hedachi Attack Of The Mole Men She Loves Me Not

Of all the punk bands of the 80's none were quite as local or quite as fun as the Dickies, featuring Leonard Graves Phillips on vocals, Stan Lee on guitar, Karlos Kaballero on drums, Billy Club on bass, and Chuck Wagon on just about everything else. Everything about them was an LA insider joke.  Folks from Des Moines or Milwaukee or Dallas simply wouldn't get the references to Manny, Moe, And Jack, or Tricia Toyota.  Those were things that only we understood.  Similarly, songs like I'm A Chollo tended to resonate more with LA fans because of our unique cultural tapestry.

(Interesting Side Note: I was at an event at UCLA in which none other than Ms. Tritia Toyota was one of the honorees, and I had the opportunity to meet her.  After blubbering about how much I always admired her work on the local NBC news, I asked her how she felt about being the subject of a song.  She laughed and said that she was quite flattered, that she liked the song a lot even if her name was misspelled, and was surprised at meeting someone who knew it.  Plus she was still quite attractive.)

But just because we LA kids were in on the gags doesn't mean others didn't or couldn't find it funny. In fact, they did, because the Dickies were, quite simply, very funny.  Unlike their contemporaries, the Dickies didn't try and tackle social injustice, youthful agita, the Reagan oppression, or any of that.  Their songs were about where to buy cheap auto parts (Manny, Moe, And Jack); over-eager fans (Fan Mail); some dude trying to handle an over-sexed nympho (I've Got A Splitting Hedachi); or gentle mocking of the ripe-for-satire Sammy Davis Jr (Where Did His Eye Go).

And their lyrics were funny, too. For instance:

We really love that boy 
He's brought us so much joy
He even used to be a goy
- Where Did His Eye Go

Or,

I changed my name to Paco / Went to the store and got a taco
It made me feel real macho / Now all my friends are gabachos
- I'm A Chollo

This album is a great reminder of how much fun the 80's were.  As songs, they still sound as fresh and contemporary as they did when they were released, and when the stylus hits the groove it's just an instant party.

Up next: Glam, American style

dark side of the moon (1973) - pink floyd: harvest records 1975 reissue, SMAS-11163

At the risk of losing whatever credibility I may have, I feel like I need to enter the rock music confessional and beg forgiveness for my sin. You see, the truth is I was never really a huge fan of Dark Side Of The Moon.

I know, that sounds like sacrilege. If there is any album that is supposed to be untouchable it is this one (and, maybe, Sgt. Pepper ...).  This is supposed to be The One.  The monolith from 2001. Mount Everest.  King Kong. The Holy Grail. The Platonic ideal of albums against which all other albums are measured.

But while my friends were rabbiting on and on about how incredibly awesome and transcendent DSOM was, I would just nod silently, while shaking my head on the inside.  Because, for me, DSOM was always a contextual album - only suitable for those times when it was very late, the lights were turned way down, I'd have had a bowl or two, and the headphones were on.  It was an album simply screaming for some icky sticky and a navel-gazing frame of mind.  The songs seemed like they were engineered to exacting specifications to make the most efficient use of the time-distortion and acceptance of a mind on hash.

Side 1: Speak To Me Breathe On The Run Time The Great Gig In The Sky
Side 2: Money Us And Them Any Colour You Like Brain Damage Eclipse

When listened to with the proper pharmaceuticals, DSOM may be without peer. But as something to toss on while straight, it always seemed to fall short for me.

The problem as I see it is that DSOM may be too ponderous and introspective for it's own good.  When I sat down to listen to it this time it seemed as if the album would collapse under the weight of its own deliberate intent.  The songs are at times so moody or melancholy or philosophical that without the aid of some THC they start to fall in to themselves, creating a singularity of psychological agitation.

This is particularly true of the songs Breathe and Time.  When high, these are mellow songs opening ideas and allowing consideration of bigger things.  But when straight they are just creepy, man.  I mean, those clocks ticking and dinging on Time just gives me The Fear. It's like a countdown of my own mortality.

DSOM is absolutely a product of its time, and it's no wonder a gang of freaks tried synching it up to Wizard of Oz.  Whether or not that synch thing is legit isn't the point.  The point is that someone got baked enough and came up with the idea that DSOM would work with Oz.  That's not something anyone would think of normally, and it's the best example I can give of why this album only works for me after burning one.

Up next: The jesters of LA's 80's punk scene

close to the edge (1972) - yes: atlantic records, K-50012

The late 60's saw the emergence of a new kind of rock, inspired by an incongruous amalgam of old and new influences.  Progressive (or just plain old prog) rock was a weird blend of psychadelic, jazz, classical, and contemporary rock, and was far more complex than pop.  It expanded the instrumental arsenal beyond the guitar, bass and drums to lean far more heavily on keyboards and electronics, resulting in lush and intricate sounds.

The result was a form of music that didn't conform to the radio-friendly format of a 3-minute single and contradicted the idea that rock was simplistic and shallow.  The music challenged listeners and demanded their attention in both the music and the lyrics.

Yes was one of the bands at the vanguard of prog, and they were also one of the most successful at it.  Their music tended to have grandiose themes, blending the complexity of Bach with mythology and spiritualism.

It certainly wasn't for everyone.

Side 1: Close To The Edge The Solid Time Of Change The Total Mass Retain I Get Up, I Get Down Seasons Of Man
Side 2: And You And I Cord Of Life Eclipse The Preacher, The Teacher The Apocalypse Siberian Khatru

Close to the Edge was Yes' fifth album overall, and the third album from their "golden era" of 1971 to 1972.  Edge, along with Fragile, is widely considered to be the band's high-water mark and not only established them as rock megastars, but also featured the prog all-star lineup of Anderson, Squire, Howe, Wakeman, and Bruford, as Bruford moved on to join Robert Fripp in King Crimson after Edge was completed.

Not only that, Edge is also considered (by some) as the standard by which all previous and subsequent prog albums would be measured.

It certainly has all the elements needed for it: songs spanning an entire side of vinyl, broken into movements; soaring themes about alienation and searching; astoundingly complex and intricate music; and an underlying sense of being oh-so very serious about it all.


The inspiration for Edge is said to come from Hesse's Siddhartha, which makes sense, because both the novel and album focus on the spiritual journey of self-discovery, or some other such stereotypical pretentious prog rock aspirations.  And in a way, that's completely appropriate, because with Close to the Edge, each of the songs are basically a journey of their own.  Which is really cool because this is one of those perfect albums to play when you're feeling in the mood to just lean back and let the sound wash over you.  In my opinion, Edge is the most "meditative" of the Yes albums, which makes it among the most meditative albums ever made.

Dropping the needle on side one almost demands you ease into a beanbag, close your eyes, burn a jay and let the music carry you away.  The song starts with a sort of burbling and moves effortlessly through alternately simple, serene, complex, agitating, and soothing sections.  There's a lot at work here, with undercurrents of Squire's jazzy bass, Wakeman's elegant keyboards, Howe's intricate guitar and Bruford's complicated drumming all serving as the canvas for Howe's overly-earnest metaphysical lyrics.  It's easy to mock the naivete of the songs were it not for the fact that they are just friggin great.  Siberian Khatu alone is worth the price of admission.

But being pretentious and sort of silly (in retrospect) doesn't take away from the fact that Close to the Edge is a really impressive accomplishment.  More than that, it's one of those albums that really does work better as vinyl than digital in exactly the same way it shouldn't.  The allure of digital is that it can be a much cleaner, accurate reproduction of the music, by allowing the scrubbing of extraneous noise and the elimination of the artifacts inherent in analog play (like pops and hisses).  But its the pops and hisses and imperfect sonic reproduction that makes Edge stand out as a vinyl experience.

Up next: The alternate soundtrack to Wizard of Oz