freak out! (1966) – the mothers of invention: verve records, V6-5005

If one was asked to try and imagine a time and place where a young, talented, ambitious, and unconventional musician could have the freedom to work on his craft and find an audience receptive to new, experimental, and (quite often) very weird music, it would be quite difficult to find a better fit than Los Angeles in the mid 1960’s.

And it’s no surprise, given the cultural upheaval happening in the City of Angels at the time. The hippies, gurus, freaks, and heads were alive and well along the coast in SoCal before they descended on San Francisco in the Summer of Love, and their presence created the sort of crucible in which unexpected things are made.

After all it was in LA in the mid-60’s where Brian Wilson imagined and created the revolutionary Pet Sounds album. It was in LA in the mid-60’s where Ray Manzarek and Jim Morrison met, formed the Doors, and released that mind-bending album. And it was where a young Frank Zappa ended up converting a drowsy R&B pub band into the wonderfully bizarre and totally unlike anything before Mothers of Invention. LA nurtured young Mr. Zappa’s creativity, and in 1966 The Mothers had the squares running for their bomb shelters with their debut double-album release, Freak Out!

Side 1: Hungry Freaks, Daddy I Ain’t Got No Heart Who Are The Brain Police Go Cry On Somebody Else’s Shoulder Motherly Love
Side 2: Wowie Zowie You Didn’t Try To Call Me Any Way The Wind Blows I’m Not Satisfied You’re Probably Wondering Why I’m Here
Side 3: Trouble Comin' Every Day Help, I’m A Rock (Suite In Three Movements) 1st Movement: Okay To Tap Dance 2nd Movement: In Memoriam, Edgar [sic] Varese 3rd Movement: It Can’t Happen Here
Side 4: The Return Of The Son Of Monster Magnet (Unfinished Ballet In Two Tableaus) Ritual Dance Of The Child Killers Nullis Pretti (No Commercial Potential)

To start with, imagine the grapes you need to have your very first release be a double-album whammy of flat out bizarre music. True, Pet Sounds did come first, but only by about a month, and while revolutionary in use of dubbing and new sonic ideas, it retained enough familiarity and accessibility so normal folks could accept it. But Freak Out! was an entirely different beast.

The subversive nature of the album is clear from the cover. An intentionally color-distorted image featuring a bunch of savage long-hairs wearing decidedly odd clothing, staring at you as if they meant to hang you by the ankles, slit your throat, and make stew from your parts. The inside of the album continues the assault on polite society with sardonic content and ludicrous satire of the straights

And if that wasn’t clear enough, the first song proudly proclaims that Hungry Freaks are on their way to hang you by your ankles, slit your throat, and make stew from your parts:

Mr. America, walk on by your schools that do not teach
Mr. America, walk on by the minds that won't be reached
Mr. America try to hide the emptiness that's you inside
But once you find that the way you lied / And all the corny tricks you tried
Will not forestall the rising tide of hungry freaks, daddy!

Things seem to stabilize after that, as the rest of sides one and two (with the exception of Brain Police) are, more or less, conventional non-threatening songs. However, things proceed to get weird with side three. The “protest” song Trouble Comin' Every Day recalls the revolutionary attitude from Hungry Freaks and is a direct shot at square America (and includes perhaps my favorite lyric of all time. “Hey, you know something people? I'm not black But there's a whole lots a times I wish I could say I'm not white”), but the wonderfully claustrophobic Help, I’m A Rock is the real prize. A long, uncomfortable song with clear Varese influence (as noted in the sub-title) which, through it’s repetitive nature, calls to mind what a bad trip must feel like. The album then concludes with the percussive mind-fuck of side four.


This is an amazing album in a lot of ways, and I can still remember being both repulsed and captivated by it on my first listen. Even today, with my most recent listening, I am still repulsed by it, but in the same magnificent way one is repulsed by Picasso’s paintings or David Lynch’s movies: their refusal to conform, their insistence on subversive content and structure, and their demand of the audience is refreshing and makes it one of those perfect examples of the beauty of the ugly truth, or the sacredness of the profane.

Blow your harmonica, son.

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