When he was a film and music critic in 1986 Quim Casas wrote a lukewarm review of the album by open zappa Jazz in hell, sticks fell all over the place. “They said to me: ‘But, how do you intend to deal with Zappa?’ It was untouchable for many people at the time. 36 years later, Casas has published a book about the Baltimore musician (Zappa, Redbook Ediciones) and explains that when discussing the project with colleagues and acquaintances, the vast majority of reactions consisted of asking him if he was losing his mind. The anecdote accurately illustrates an indisputable fact: Few stocks have lost as much on the musical prestige stock market in recent years as those of Francis Vincent Zappa (1940-1993).
“It was absolutely ignored from being a god,” Casas says. The iconoclastic musician who filled stadiums in the second half of the ’70s, sent out loads of records, and was an almost inevitable presence in the cultural and political debates and the pop imagination (the famous poster of Zappa sitting on the toilet). Sold at El Corte Inglés) is little more than a short paragraph today, and not necessarily a friendly paragraph in the history of rock music. “It’s hard to explain why the appreciation for his figure and music has dropped so much,” admits Casas, who nevertheless dares to point out a number of possible reasons for so much discredit.
The first is the incomprehensible size of his work. In life, Zappa has released 19 albums with the band The Mothers of Invention and 44 more to his name (many of them doubles and even triples). Since his death from prostate cancer in December 1993, new references have not stopped popping up, with unreleased footage, alternate versions, secret recordings and collaborations. “He created a scandal and published everything unfiltered, so there’s a lot of unspeakable stuff, and that greatly undermined the evaluation of his work”.
Another aspect that scores quite a few points is her temperamental personality, which is not at all indifferent, often filled with offensive comments and attitudes that we would not hesitate to describe today as sexist, if not overtly misogynistic. “Of course, he won’t pass a minimal test of political correctness today, and some of his statements, especially about his relationship with band members, are unacceptable,” Casas admits. In this arena, their sins wouldn’t compare to the sins of Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, and Roman Polanski, but they would definitely be on the revocable performers list.
And yet, the legacy of the curly-haired, down-to-earth mustache and half goatee, the author of Zappa says it deserves a scrutiny and justification. These are some of their arguments.
He was a musician without borders. If freedom and originality are values to be treasured in the art world’s rise, there are more than enough reasons to recognize the merits of Zappian’s work. From its inception, the Baltimore musician dynamited the boundaries of classic rock and roll to travel between all genres and records and combine them into albums and songs, creating albums and songs that still amaze today for their daring and singularity (and rarity). . “Likewise, mixing avant-garde jazz, doo wop, Edgar Varèse’s Ionisation and rock and roll results in something very Martian—says Casas—but these disparate styles are at the core of much contemporary music”.
He questioned the hippie rhetoric and approached punk. Casas discovered Frank Zappa in 1979 through Sheik Yerbouti, an “angry” album that the apprentice critic thought saw an unexpected connection with the punk movement, after which he had already withdrawn. “One of the things that connected me to Zappa was that he distanced himself from the hippie vibe, the Woodstock nation and all that culture, and I found that questioning very interesting in a musician of his generation.” It was not a philosophical distance, but also a musical distance. “Sheikh Yerbuti has songs like, “Broken hearts are for scumbags and I’m so cute, it fits with punk”.
He had an eye for recruiting musicians. Let’s just say, Zappa never showed signs of excessive appreciation for the instrumentalists who accompanied him on his musical outings. Still, it’s unlikely Baltimore would have gone this far without his valuable contributions. Casas rectifies this guilt in his book, which devotes 20 pages to a comprehensive review of the profiles and achievements of the 52 musicians who have gone through The Mothers of Invention. “It was a necessary justification. For example, Zappa’s doo wop face is unthinkable without the contribution of Ray Collins. Ian Underwood is of comparable prominence to Zappa himself on Hot Rats. And there are many more such cases.
He was a brilliant guitarist. Everything is extreme at Zappa. Also, his face as a guitarist, especially from when he left Mothers behind. “It seems backwards exhibitionistic extremism—which stresses Casas—but I’m surprised that so little has been said about his virtues in six shows. Maybe he didn’t have a voice as distinctive and recognizable as Hendrix or Neil Young, but he did some really great things.” The Zappa author recommends anyone wanting to start their review listen to Camarillo Brillo, a song from the album Over-Nite Sensation (1973).
It aroused consciences. Zappa perfectly represented the role of a politically committed artist, always doing so from absolute independence to the point of being contradictory, often. It has faced censorship, police harassment and religious impositions, but also the dogmatic left and even its own people. There will be those who will think that this persistent desire to shoot everything and everyone is ultimately sterile, but just see the profound effect it has had on the democratic opposition movements in the countries of the Soviet space, where it is still idolized today. , to understand its importance.