Sarah Palin’s speech at (of all places) the Gaylord Opryland Hotel, about which I’ve already written a bit, features some absolute linguistic gems. The Rude Pundit, who live-tweeted her speech (so the rest of us wouldn’t have to actually listen to her), also mentions one FNC answer from this past Sunday morning that dropped my jaw: “I’m gonna tell people that this pattern of not just the insensitivity, but the flippant way of perhaps looking at those who are less fortunate and are not part of that elite crowd there in Washington. I’m sick of it and I’m gonna stand up and I’m gonna say something about it because I think I’m speaking on behalf of others who are concerned about it.”
Take a second to study those two sentences. Now, I understand this is extemporaneous speech and sometimes we permit ourselves the odd incomplete sentence as we search, on the fly, for the most succinct ways to express our opinions; but Mother-O-Mercy the above sentences, hollow and woeful, manage to betray more about Sarah Palin’s mind than she would ever want us to understand.
So let’s take her apart, in a manner of speaking.
First, let’s look at them from a “global” standpoint, to use a term from composition studies. Her point, however brutally, savagely put, isn’t hard to discern—she doesn’t like the cynicism Tea-Party conservatives face and would like to change that. Essentially, she’s arguing in favor of patently stupid people and their right to rule America as Bush did for eight insufferably long years. ”[L]ess fortunate” could as well apply to her youngest child; it’s almost as though she’s knowingly talking about people with developmental issues, about which she’d be correct on an intellectual level were that her argument. If only….
For me, the most striking thing about the above passage is its utter fragmentation; it’s the very picture of her thought process at work. Now we know why she needed crib notes on her left palm. She can’t hold more than one thought at a time. This ought to shock her supporters, but it doesn’t. You can’t identify problems you don’t recognize as such. Therefore, I can only conclude that Sarah and her supporters share a certain intellectual bond or IQ number.
The Rude Pundit notes that she trades on her appearance. It’s beyond argument that she does; I noticed her during the Q&A, coquettishly running her hand along her black-stockinged legs in order to remind the crowd what they’d come to see—a political version of a striptease, only a tease, mind—but that is all she has. That’s how she must have been as a student, trying her level damnedest to get her teachers to cut her a break because she was, well, just so gosh-darned cute and everything….of course I root for the teachers who refused to play her little game, and failed her as she deserved. She’s refined her game like Tiger Woods working on his swing, and by God she’s amazing to watch. But then there are the words she says….and they ought to scare the living shit out of us all. Canada’s suddenly entirely too close. She could blow shit up just because she woke up mad at somebody from high school, or Todd did. So she gets a general on the phone—
Her second sentence in particular could be a response to any number of questions, and this too is indicative of her thought process. She seems to think in terms of canned language, making me wonder if that’s how she speaks to her children. Also. Personally, I prefer my parents, who swore like dockworkers whether I was in the room or not. At least when they said something it was real. God alone knows how Sarah actually feels about anything beyond acquisitiveness and her own personal “brand”—or maybe by now the woman’s simply devoid of emotion. Those two sentences surely are.
Every time she opens her mouth, Palin reveals more about herself than she ever imagined. She has no idea this is happening, and there’s no way for her to stop it unless she abandons politics. Like Dubya as he was beginning to consider a presidential run, she has no bloody clue what she actually thinks about issues in their fullness of substance. RP contrasts her with Hillary Clinton, as quick and subtle a mind as you’ll find in Washington these days, and sure, the differences are enormous. What bothers me is the number of defenders Palin has, mostly uneducated but goddamn sure of their beliefs anyway. Whether lust or envy motivates them to back her, they do, and I think Sarah’s going to have to implode in a definitive way for them to let her go. They’ll still love her speeches, maybe becase she sounds like them and not, say, Professor Obama.
And those frightened, infuriated souls embrace every difference between their beloved Sarah and their current pariah, despite the fact that Obama’s telling the truth and Sarah wouldn’t know the truth if it bit her on the thigh.
Finally, those two sentences mark what should be obvious to us all. There’s only one thing she wants—the Oval Office. She doesn’t want it because she thinks she could do a better job than Obama; she wants it like a charm for a bracelet—and a way to obscenely enrich herself and those around her. And she would be an unmitigated disaster, without doubt.
Can anyone in American politics be both as craven yet completely clueless as Sarah Palin? I used to thnk Dubya was the nadir, but clearly that isn’t so. Her Tea Party speech in Nashville (for which she actually cribbed notes on her left palm; has no one told her about just taking straight-up notes?) should be a reminder to us all that she represents the worst-case scenario: an uncontrollably ambitious idiot. That makes her easy for a Rove, say, to control. All she wants is the prestige. For her, the Presidency is another sash, another crown for her to wear. The Queen of America, with the slithery Todd beside her—no more intelligent but absolutely as driven by power and the desire for petty revenge, we now know that in Alaska he acted as though he, not his wife, had been elected to office.
There, folks, is your Perfect Political Storm. Former Big Man of Wasilla meets and marries the beauty-contest loser, so by God they’re gonna get revenge on the people they think wronged them because surely, surely, they should’ve been successful at everything they’ve tried. That’s quite the list they’ve compiled in these intervening years. I honestly think Sarah Palin never quite got over losing that beauty contest. It’s possible to want something more than you should; she’s obviously never learned that lesson. And Todd, well, he’s a snowmobile racer; you can see in his eyes that losing is not something he tolerates at all, ever. Yeah, I know. It’s just snowmobile racing. But he’s just like that—if you walked down a hallway faster than him, he’d remember it. And you. I’ve known lots of auto racers in my life, and they have the same issue. Now, most of them are quite nice people, but for a number of reasons I wouldn’t necessarily vote for one. Besides, just consider Bill Posey (R-FL), former competitor at New Smyrna Speedway, BTW, a man so backward of thought he couldn’t let go of the birther issue; he oozes that slimy racism of some Floridians, it comes through their pores in perspiration—and such bigots should never be able to hold public office, though as we all know many them do.
Sarah never removes her mask in public, but she doesn’t have to. We can already see beneath it, her hideous true face no surprise to anyone who’s been watching at all closely. We need to talk about her as she really is, behind that impossible mask. Maybe the Teabaggers don’t get that, but the rest of us sure as hell do.
It just happened today, apparently, but we’ve lost Howard Zinn. With whom shall we replace him?
Answer: no one.
Hard to believe it was already so long ago, but it was. Here’s a YouTube page collecting six videos of Berryman reading. Enjoy—
Before we move on, it’s important to mention that in no way am I suggesting there should only be one band. It could be better understood as a type of “umbrella group” much in the way the Mingus Dynasty band has operated, with a host of different players alternating between it and their other projects (sic). And now that we’ve gotten that cleared up, we should talk about what authenticity means in the current instance.
First, it may be that, to paraphrase Simon Frith, what is “authentic” isn’t to be decided by musicians, family members, or even lawyers; eventually we the listening public will make that decision in the guise of future history. On a personal level, that must be a blow to all concerned—knowing that all they can do is continue playing music they love. In fact, that litigation is such a part of the story, with Gail suing and threatening to have performances and festivals cancelled, is wrong and needs to end. Let’s forget about courtrooms and go back to the stage, where our focus should return.
One thing the listener can rely on about going to see any band that plays Frank’s music: the performance should be better than most, since the players have chosen to play this and not, say, something more routine. There is nothing more difficult in rock music than playing those changes. Absolutely nothing. Therefore, you can rest assured said band are ambitious at the very least. Still, it’s clear Gail doesn’t necessarily wish to ban the world, mainly two people.
Ike Willis and Andre Cholmondeley still wonder at her animosity. Earlier, I suggested a potential reason and it’s time to return there. Willis sang in Frank’s bands longer than anyone else; as “front man” he played a role in defining that sound—as evidence, just imagine anyone else singing “Why Does It Hurt When I Pee?”; even his colleagues’ take would be radically different, to say the least. Or imagine anyone but Ray White singing “Doreen”; however interesting, anyone at all familiar with the song wil notice the differences. For audience members, I should think their preference, long as one still exists, would be to hear the “original” singers (though we should bear in mind that Zappa himself was fond of changing vocal responsibilities from time to time, presumably because he just wanted to know how it would sound on his aforementioned “big stereo”), but not necessarily for familiarity’s sake alone. In this instance, the singers have been performing these tunes since Frank’s death, continuing to develop them, and it’s those developments the fans come to hear as much as “the comfort of the familiar.”
The break between Gail and Ike came quickly. It was deep, and time has done nothing to improve the situation. The break has hurt them both, from a professional point of view, and from Gail’s perspective the loss of undeniable “authenticity” is embodied in that rift. Both Napoleon Murphy Brock and Ray White have sung with ZPZ, only to leave under acrimonious circumstances, meaning no one from the past is left. The choice of drummer Joe Travers to deputize on vocals is fortuitous, but the band obviously lacks a front person. Sheila Gonzalez is a fine singer and player, but Zappa wrote very few lyrics for women, by which I mean he wrote a great many lyrics that might be rendered problematic in the voice of a female singer, or at the very least would require a re-contextualization of that tune.
My point: this music requires a front person so that, in ZPZ’s case, Dweezil can concentrate on playing lead, much like his father. Without a full-time singer, and without that essential connection through players to the band’s history, their problem becomes clear.
The ZFT in general has shown a callous attitude toward Frank’s band members, and one has to wonder why. One possible reason could be a recognition that, in many real ways, his players made contributions to the music Frank himself wasn’t capable of doing himself. An example would be the road stories Volman and Kaylan would collect, night after night as they went out on the town, in many towns, searching for “local color.” And “some action.” Since so much of Playground Psychotics consists of audio verité, I find it interesting that only Zappa is credited as composer even though the rest of the band obviously made contributions worthy of credit.
Is this what Gail’s most worried about? That losing any iota of real-time, day-to-day control of the ZFT could equal the inability to claim authenticity?
But when your last name is Zappa, what are you really worried about? These musicians aren’t interlopers; they’re just trying to play music, and after so many years it’s time the games stop.
There’s a dimension to this consideration—the future—that will change our notions of what authenticity means in the case of Frank’s music. At some point the players involved will retire. If ZPZ is any indication, this is what Gail and Dweezil see as the entity that will carry the “official seals,” the mustache and imperial, etc. But other bands, made up of former students hooked on Zappa’s music, will continue to hone their chops on those amazing twists. And what then? Who’s real now?
I think there are interesting potential reasons why the music of ZPZ takes on a certain “boilerplate” sound. One clue came when I was able to see a ZPZ soundcheck at a venue in Toronto; privilege has its costs, and the fee, added to the already-pricey ticket, seemed undue. However, my wife, whose attitude to performance of any kind is that sometimes you have to do certain things in order to learn, made the ticket a gift for which I’m still very grateful for everything it taught me, so I ended up sitting in with about forty others at a ZPZ soundcheck.
Dweezil ran the band with an almost single-minded focus on precision, note-by-note precision. Every note I expected, I heard. It was at once impressive and disappointing. Where were the jokes, the byplay specific to this band? But then, Dweezil turned to us: “Well, this is supposed to be a party, so what do you folks wanna hear?” People yelled out their favorite tunes; bear in mind that the zappa.com Web site had a special feature for those of us who had, in total Willy Wonka fashion, our magic tickets and wristbands as though from a hospital that indicated we were Special—the list of tunes ZPZ had rehearsed for the tour, from which we were entitled to choose for the band to play so there was no asking for anything out of the blue. Out of the band’s standard norms. I held up my hand like a fifty-something schoolkid.
He pointed at me. “Yeah, go ahead.”
“‘Eat That Question.’” I could hear the second keyboardist shudder. He played the intro in George Duke fashion, but when he started that final run down the keyboard, I distinctly heard him saying “Aw, fuck….fuck….FUCK—” as his fingers struggled with what Zappa once called the “statistical density” of figures like those. Honestly, I felt for him. I couldn’t come near an ability to play that music. And when the band entered, they sounded like a band playing a cruelly complicated score, very proficiently. And yes, there was enormous energy on the part of every player; I was especially taken with Travers, who played with such complexity, control, speed, and power that every drummer in the crowd had to feel humbled.
For some reason, we were escorted out just at that point, Dweezil waving us goodbye in a way that seemed somehow odd. Was it something we said?
The performance itself was much more of the same. It’s clear ZPZ can play a great deal of Frank’s catalogue, even “Night School” from Jazz From Hell, Frank’s Synclavier album of material he felt could not be played by live musicians and now clearly intended as a demonstration of ZPZ’s capabilities (although, as stated earlier, there are many other pieces that band cannot play without leaving themselves open to charges of racism among other things). But capability is not the same as actually having the music inside oneself, not the same as performing it with heart as well as mind and body. To quote Frank, they played “all the right notes”; but is that enough? Where did this attitude come from?
I think it fully flowered through Frank’s always-contentious relationship with the facts of and people involved with classical music. Frustrated by the strictures of rock music, he wrote for orchestras and hoped to show people that he belonged in that world as well; however, he faced indifferent musicians and an environment almost as stultifying as he found in session musicians, who he felt only played in relationship to their pay as opposed to love of music, or rather, Frank’s music in particular. Surely he had the right to expect that musicians would play the notes written for them; but more than that is involved in the making thereof. In a classical setting, he hoped to find engagement and instead found ennui. Not until the end of his life was he taken at all seriously as a composer which, as we all know now, was our loss.
Upon his death, Gail and Dweezil took that notion of “the right notes” to heart—quite possibly too much so. At the above-cited ZPZ show in Toronto, drummer Joe Travers missed a cue to bring the band in with a bass-drum shot; Dweezil stopped the band there and then, as Frank would also have done. Then, however, he said something perhaps more revealing than he’d intended: “Joe’s programmed (emphasis mine) to play the most amazing shit….but a kick-drum eludes him.” He was right. The band sounded programmed. It isn’t just that Frank might not have wanted to hear his “big stereo” in that way (it’s impossible to know, but considering the “soirees” he conducted at home near the end of his life, it’s quite clear he still valued musicianship and individual input); I question whether we should think generally about music in that way.
By contrast, there’s a great deal of interplay in other bands that also play this music. Project/Object, the Grandmothers while they existed, the Muffin Men, Bogus Pomp from St. Petersburg, Florida—you’ll hear notes Zappa probably didn’t intend, but that’s something that separates rock from classical music: the direct input of individual musicians is involved as well. Dialogue, not programming, becomes most important in a rock context. ZPZ is a model of programming excellence, but heart has been replaced in ZPZ by a kind of secular worship, as in an ill-conceived decision on a previous tour to show Frank on a large screen behind the band while Dweezil played his father’s solo, live, in unison with him. I found it technically impressive, and creepy as all hell.
If this is what they mean by “getting the notes right,” then we have a problem—precision, in this case, trumps individual musicianship. Frank had the right to expect that of his players, though he actually expected much more than that; he was known as the toughest taskmaster in all of rock music, and BTW, as such he deserves a biopic as much as any musician. Gail and Dweezil have the right to demand the same of ZPZ. They do not have the right to insist that other bands and musicians do the same, although they have the obvious right to be paid according to standard and mutually equitable contracts. Gail—who is not a musician—seems not to have understood the life her husband actually led, what that work meant, what it continues to mean. It is not a cash cow. As art, it is meant to be performed by as many people as possible for the widest possible audience. That instead there’s so much bad blood is as unnecessary as it is senseless. The situation as it stands is everyone’s loss—ZPZ’s, Project/Object’s, other bands,’ yours and mine.
This never needed to happen. It’s time—long past time, in fact, though not yet too late—for Gail and Dweezil to make peace with these other parties, and work together to create something involving numerous alumni players while they’re still alive. Some sort of genuine and open “legacy project” should have happened years ago. There’s still time, and certainly a large and responsive public audience is waiting.
(In the forthcoming fourth part, we’ll get around to the specific conflict between Gail and Ike, and by connection a consideration of what authenticity means in the current context.)
OK, folks, I’ve said this is one hellified band, and here’s a bit of proof. There’s a bit of an Allan Holdsworth sound here, which personally I much love, but most importantly this is precise, difficult, yet completely engrossing and fulfilling music.
And you really ought to listen to this. Afterwards, jump on line and get yourself copies of their CD’s. You won’t regret that, not ever. They’re hoping to play up here in Toronto, and to be certain I’m hoping that can happen. What an addition they’d make to the Toronto Jazz Festival, hey? Enjoy!
By contrast, there is Project/Object. Founded by Andre Cholmondeley as a way to advance the cause he feels this music to be, Ike Willis provides the historical link to Frank. Often they are joined by other alumni such as Don Preston, Napoleon Murphy Brock, Ray White, and percussionist Ed Mann, and the result is often magical. Bear in mind that Willis was Zappa’s vocalist (or, as Willis descibed himself, “front man”) of longest standing; he was the voice of Joe on Joe’s Garage; he also played Thing-Fish in the recording of the same name. In terms of musical lineage, Willis is an essential link. Unfortunately, Gail does not see it that way. Willis recounted a phone call in which Gail lost control and began swearing at him for reasons Willis couldn’t understand, and still doesn’t. He was and remains dedicated to fulfilling the promise he made to Frank, that he would do whatever was necessary to keep Zappa’s music alive by playing it in front of people; for Gail to single him out is as confusing for him as it is for the rest of us. To quote Willis, “What Frank wanted was me to be the front man, playing to the crowd, while he played some guitar solos, stood back, and listened to his big stereo.”
As listeners, we have the same desire, to hear that music on a “big stereo” for ourselves.
Project/Object recently played at Beachland Ballroom in Cleveland, Ohio. The evening was full with play and humor as well as undeniable musicianship. Ray White was the special guest for this tour; unfortunately, he came down with a throat ailment, probably as a result of touring by van instead of the bus ZPZ used at obvious great expense. Uncle Don (one of P/O’s longtime friends) and I wound up making a “tea run” for Ray to see if we could help out; we took our finds downstairs to the dressing room, and found Ray lying down on the couch, sick as all hell. His illness made it nearly impossible for him to put on the performance he was capable of giving, so his role that night was strictly limited. Despite all that, the band threw a wonderful show that included “Eat That Question,” one of my personal favorite pieces of music in the entire world.
By play I mean that they were more than willing to use the resources Zappa provided: in tacit honor of Frank’s penchant for “the secret word,” the word of the night that night was “Tiger.” As in Woods. It led to Ike trying to break up Andre on stage, at which he quite nearly succeeded. There was real interplay among the musicians, dialogue, and beauty from the first notes of “Pound for a Brown on the Bus” to the last notes of “Inca Roads.” Despite the virtuosity of each musician in the both bands, that sense of play remains the biggest difference between the two.
It’s clear these two sides will not reconcile any time soon. Meanwhile, Gail continues spending money on lawyers, ZPZ tours the world, their tours losing money in bloodletting fashion, while Willis and Cholmondeley continue touring mostly small halls in a plain white van and Budget rent-a-truck. And a vast library of music largely gathers dust in the UMRK vault, although the releases they’ve done thus far under Travers’ nominal control have been engaging, and the various Wazoo recordings astonishing. So, I’d like to make an immodest proposal, if I may. Let’s return to Sue Mingus; after Charles died, Sue approved the organization of the Mingus Dynasty big band, which continues to tour the world; why can’t Zappa receive the same treatment? Zappa’s Universe gave us an idea of what it could sound like, the Ed Palermo Big Band another. It needn’t be a full-fledged big band as such, but if you heard any recordings from that final tour in 1988, that gives you some idea how an all-out rock-and-roll band could co-exist with reeds and horns. And every musician as talented as they come.
Now, imagine what it could sound like if alumni members including Willis, in fact everyone and anyone still living, were invited to play? This would include Don Preston, N. M. Brock, Ray White, Ruth Underwood, Ian Underwood, several members of the Fowler family, Albert Wing, Steve Vai, even George Duke, Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan, Denny Walley….What if the band included their students and associates, like Andre? What if Andre and Dweezil were (somehow) able to co-exist on the same stage? (their differences seem entirely personal, with Dweezil coming off looking much like a trust-fund diva [sic], especially sad since Dweezil and Andre could sound good together, at least in potential) This band would be able to perform literally anything in Frank’s catalogue; most of all, there would be no questions of authenticity. This would be the “official” touring band.
But what about all the cover/tribute bands that continue to play Frank’s music out of similar love? They continue to work around the world. From my point of view, so long as all parties pay the required fees, there should be no troubles. Unfortunately, Gail Zappa has seen fit at various times to unleash her squad of litigators to intimidate promoters, bookers, and musicians into cancelling gigs, despite payments made per contract. It shouldn’t happen. It shouldn’t have to happen.
Yet it continues.
For the sake of the music, Gail would be well advised to “join in” (to use an odious construction by the even more odious D. Trump). Promoting the music should be the end toward which the rest becomes a matter of means. That way, the ZFT survives; musicians who, by the way, contributed much more to the music than copyright information might suggest, also survive, and the music continues. Yes, it’s played by other hands; it’s possible the ZFT might not absolutely control the music as it happens. But the continuation of this music should be the end. Let’s hope that’s how it all plays out, although to my mind Gail and Dweezil impede on that future.
(In part three, an opinion as to why Gail and Dweezil believe as they do concerning the performance of Frank’s music.)
“FZ’s Big Stereo”: Notes on the Situation of Frank Zappa’s Music As Played Live (part one)
A recent NPR piece provides a firm foundation for discussion of what has happened to the music of Frank Zappa since his death. His widow, Gail, took over responsibility for the future of his music, and to this point her stewardship has been contentious and controversial, to say the least. Instead of taking a Sue Mingus-style approach to the care and maintenance of a musical legacy, Gail has opted for haphazard releases of live material (Frank recorded virtually every performance since the early days of the Mothers; just imagine what still waits in the “vault” of the Utility Muffin Research Kitchen) and a plalanx of lawyers to protect what she sees as the vital interests of the Zappa Family Trust.
The problem for Gail is that her husband’s wishes were more complex.
Not long before his death, Frank told Ike Willis, “‘….if you have any travel plans in the near future, I suggest you com down and see me, things are getting close and I want to talk to you before it’s too late…..Go for the gusto, Ike, if you can keep it alive, go ahead and do it, ’cause I can’t do it anymore.’” (Qtd. in Miles, pp. 378-9) This exchange, held generally as truth despite Gail’s protestations to the contrary, for reasons to be discussed later, has significantly complicated her position. The Zappa Family Trust, established as much to further son Dweezil’s musical career as to promote Frank’s music, now exists in a state of war with Project/Object, a band fronted by Andre Cholmondeley and the aforementioned Ike Willis. The situation allows us to ask pertinent questions about what authenticity actually means, who finally has the right to go out and play this enormously challenging music, and the role played by race in this equation.
I’ve had numerous opportunities to hear both bands in performance. As a lifelong fan of Zappa’s music, to hear it played at all, by anyone, has always been special. It cannot be overstated how difficult it is to play; imagine, for example, a song in thirteen-four time (“Thirteen”), “subdivided 5/8 and 4/4.” Need I say more? But the point is this: There’s immense beauty as well. Just listen to “Watermelon in Easter Hay” for evidence. If you find yourself wanting to cry, you aren’t alone. Dweezil has admitted he cannot listen to it without tears, and no one could blame him.
For all that, I’d like to comment on some of the marked differences between these two bands. Before we get into this, however, it’s important to pay attention to their lineups. Over the past several ZPZ shows, they were joined by alumni from Frank’s bands. I had the chance to see them with Napoleon Murphy Brock and again with Ray White, and in both cases they provided a literal “voice of authenticity” over arrangements that cleaved closely to Frank’s original scores. To my mind, here we find one of the difficulties ZPZ faces: those arrangements are “boilerplate” in nature; well-played as they are (and they are—no one with ears could ever doubt Dweezil’s ability to shred, and the band he fronts is composed of master musicians), I’ve sometimes felt as though I was listening to specific recordings made by his father.
That approach constricts what Frank used to such enormous effect—”local color,” the general sense of improvisation involving the town, venue, current politics, people in the news. Tight as each of Frank’s bands were, concertgoers could expect every show to include these ideas. Case in point: the final tour in 1988. At around the beginning of the tour, the dubious televangelist Jimmy Swaggart was caught in a dalliance with a Baton Rouge prostitute; Frank wasted no time announcing it to his audiences, and I was in the crowd at Syria Mosque in Pittsburgh when the band played a revised version of “Lonesome Cowboy Burt,” amended to name and shame Swaggart (“I’m Lonesome Cowboy Jim/don’t you get the tip of him/’cause I’m caught in this place….Where’s my prostitute?”). Everyone in that hall understood there was no band like Zappa’s.
One area which Zappa fearlessly dared to explore was race. Beginning with “Trouble Comin’ Every Day” (Freak Out), with that line, “I’m not black but there are a whole lotta times I wish I could say I’m not white[,]” he forced listeners and audiences to consider questions of race. His bands were integrated early on, which by itself was a subversive notion even in the later nineteen-sixties since many in the counter-culture had their own troubles concerning race, gender, identity. He had no compunction whatsoever about using the biggest bombs in the English language; one tune, of course, is called “Nig Biz” for a reason, after all. And on that final tour, during “Jesus Thinks You’re a Jerk,” and the lines “What’s that hangin’ from the neighbor’s tree?/Well it looks like colored folks to me,” Ike Willis struck a pose indicating a hanged man. Even in 1988, that was bold.
This is also a direction ZPZ cannot take, for one reason: with the exception of keyboardist/sax player Sheila Gonzalez, a fine musician and singer (also the closest ZPZ comes to attempting humor), Dweezil’s band is monochromatically white. With their erstwhile guest vocalists, they could have gotten away with racially-oriented tunes; without them, perfoming those pieces would smack of racism. It seems odd to say the least how white ZPZ is.
Those same guest vocalists provided the only historical link to Frank’s bands. Without them, Dweezil himself becomes the only physical link to Frank himself. It would be understandable if listeners felt that was not enough. I use the past tense because as of this writing it seems clear Dweezil has squandered the chance at further collaborations. Neither Napoleon Murphy Brock or Ray White have any inducement, since both felt they were badly treated by Dweezil, and as for Ike Willis, Gail herself has made the situation quite personal and honestly nasty. None of this, of course, was necessary; it’s a product of ego and avarice, self-protection mutated into something deleterious for all involved, and especially for the music concerned.
(Part two forthcoming)
Against the hopes and prayers of everyone who’s heard the story of D. J. Richardson and his fight with H1N1, he passed away from complications of that disease. I’ve said before in this blog that H1N1 is a far deadlier virus than some people want to believe, whether from ignorance or fear, and here we see yet another example of its strength. D. J. had the best of care and still died. First, my personal condolences to his family and to everyone in NASCAR who now suffer his loss.
Certainly, I understand the effects of H1N1. I was lucky to have survived. I’m all right now, but for months, literally months, with every relapse I wondered whether it could kill me too. It could have. It might have. I’m just blessed that it didn’t. I’m telling you: Get the vaccine, but until you do, think of D. J. Richardson, a legitimate tough guy in a tough world, killed by H1N1.
Still don’t want the vaccine?
Are you sure?
