fartzarellah's Full Review: Apostrophe' by Frank Zappa
Apostrophe made me into a happy little pumpkin boy when I was around sixteen and smelled like patchouli. I know, Zappa was strongly opposed to that sort of thing, but this album seems to have been made expressly for puffing the herb. All of the songs reek of highly imaginative, irreverent,improvisatory, seat of the pants, inhibition free, zoned out, stream of consciousness stupid lazy fun. After falling in love with the album, I tried to make my very own Zappa-esque creations by turning on the tape recorder and swimming down streams of consciousness with guys named Bill, old ladies walking their dogs, deeply phosphorescent lights, and huge masses of worms all moving and breathing as one single organism, thrumming beneath my feet, all against a backdrop of out of tune riffage on my harmony acoustic guitar. Ahhh, those were the days....The only real difference with Zappa (besides his music is much better and the lyrics are funnier) is that he swims with Eskimos named Nanook, handsome parish ladies abusing sausage patties, talking dogs, and one celled Hammond organisms underneath his shoes.
"Huh?" Here's an example: The first four songs all segue into each other and tell the stupid story of Nanook the Eskimo coming of age by leaving home and getting into a skirmish with a fur trapper, whom Nanook blinds by rubbing yellow snow into his eyes. The only way the fur trapper can get it fixed up is to go trudging across the tundra, mile after mile, right on down to the parish of St. Alfonso, where he finds a perverted scene with pancakes being made of Leprachaun semen. Ewwww!
Now, being stoned is not all roses, don't get me wrong, and this album smells none too sweet at times. The aftertaste is like just having watched three Cheech and Chong movies in a row. Or like being hung over and waking up in a ditch on a blisteringly hot afternoon. The main source of the hangover is the preponderance of two note vocal melodies (which only really disappear in Uncle Remus and Saint Alfonso's Pancake Breakfast/Father Oblivion). They are fun at first, but I start to get a headache by the time Stinkfoot, the last track, rolls around. If only Zappa had been as imaginative with his vocal lines as he was with the rest of the album, well then, who knows what wondrously shtinky shtuff he could have served up? Also, I must admit that the whole greasy kid stuff 70s guitar solos over one chord drones do sound, well, sort of seventies-ish nowadays, no matter how imaginative the guitar playing is.
"Imaginative how?" you ask as if impelled to do so by a cue card. "Well, I'll tell ya!" I say trying to be corny and stupid all at once. Although Zappa rarely makes it onto greatest guitarists "of all time" lists (which actually only stretch back to the 1950s at best) he has always been one of my favorites since that fateful day back in 1992. Although he tools about in your standard scale patterns (pentatonic, blues, dorian) his rhythmic phrasing is out of this world. Zappa approaches his solos as empty spaces to fill with whatever rhythmic values he chooses instead of as metrically portioned slices of time. He switches from a swing to a straight feel with ease and throws in the most complex polyrhythms with just as much facility. Well, who couldn't do the exact same thing by just playing random sheeeite, muslim? The crux of the biscuit is that Zappa always manages to come out in exactly the right spots anyway. His solos speak to you, baby, what with their expressive, poetically prosaic, attitude laden licks and superb flow. Check out his bluesy, wah drenched solo on Cosmic Debris for the best example. It's solid, liquid, far out, and right on all at the same time, brother.
Of course, Zappa could not have been stoned when he wrote this stuff because it is far too complex. I know that the C word is a big problem lots of people have with Zappa's music and I know that, like Conan O'Brien saying "It's really gonna be a great show tonight" in every monologue, I always write reviews of prog rock bands and say "They don't get too complex on this one, though", I will also be like Conan O'Brien and say "But I really mean it this time." (I always mean it!) Zappa's tunes are complex in ways on this CD, but every song is accessible as well. Nobody would know that Don't Eat the Yellow Snow is in an odd meter (7/4) unless they counted, and you wouldn't know a polyrhythm if it bit you on the handlebar mustache (most of you). You would just say "The guitar solos rock! And the beats are groovy!" because they are and who cares about the rest of that crap? Well, as a musician I do so nanny nanny boo boo!
I ahhh....
I really love St Alfonsos Pancake Breakfast, the most blatantly complex,whack-a-doodle song on the album (piddle dee schmack my whiddle dee wang!) The complexity grows in a concave convexity around my spiralized notebook of shame, co-authored by Unkle Kroger. Seriously though, this tune goes Beeeeeeeewwww (like the sound of one's sexual organ shproinging out of their shorts). Okay, okay, it's sort of like a keystone cops routine. The blistering bluegrass runs interlaced with pompous trumpetry and off-kilter xylophones fit the ridiculous story and cause one's lips to turn heavenward.
If you like the style of this review, you will love this CD, guaranteed or your money back. Well, I guess I can't do that. But really, no, really.
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