MG: How did your guitar audition come about?
RE: I don't know how it came about. It was just one of those things . . .
MG: How did he find out that you played guitar?
RE: I guess the first day I met him I probably told him, and I'd gone over there once with my guitar, and he was messing around with a synthesizer, and we played some stuff. Anyway, I guess he just mentioned to me one day that he was thinking about putting together a different sort of band, and he had asked David Ocker to play clarinet. Ed Mann was there, Vinnie, and Tommy Mars . . . but some of the guys started asking too much money . . .
MG: Was this with Vinnie and Jeff Berlin? [...]
RE: I couldn't tell you if Jeff Berlin was a part of it, but it was right around that time. I believe it was three times that I was supposed to go over to Europe with Frank and help in the set up of these orchestral performances, and they kept falling through until it actually happened and David went over there and played clarinet [for the London Symphony Orchestra recordings].
MG: When you say he was talking about a different sort of band, a classically orientated band, did this mean a rock rhythm section with an orchestra, or just a rock ensemble playing instrumental stuff?
RE: I'm not sure what the difference was in what he wanted us to do, but he gave us a piece of music to practice, and it was a rhythmically interesting piece. It wasn't what you'd call classical, exactly, but similar in some ways to other works such as The Black Page.
MG: Do you remember the title of the piece?
RE: I don't recall.
MG: A friend of mine, Kerry McCoy, auditioned for Frank on a piece called C Instruments, and it's really crazy. Non diatonic, constant meter changes, and irrational rhythms all over.
RE: You don't have it here do you?
MG: Yeah, here it is.
RE: Yeah, this the one. [...] I remember practicing this with Steve Vai, because he was learning this, too. He played it a lot better than I did . . .
MG: So you actually were working with other people on this piece?
RE: I worked with David Ocker a little bit. I worked mainly by my self, but I got together once or twice with Steve.
According to an interview with Richard Emmet, that band seemed to include these musicians:
. . . But in The Real FZ Book, Frank wrote that "it was to be a nine-piece group." [...] Were there two other musicians?
Your listing, and anecdotal info ("2 members") are accurate—and as much as I know about it. We rehearsed for about 1 month, then FZ halted the proceedings, said he changed his mind and was going to modulate the group into a regular touring band—that led to the auditioning and inclusion of Chad and Scott, and Bobby Martin—and the '81-82 tours. That is as much as I know.
That too never materialized fully. Steve G is a friend of mine, I recommended him and brought him into the group, Frank worked with him for several weeks, but in the end FZ decided he was not the right guy, Berlin also was let go—I think that FZ just realized that he was too much of a star/soloist to fit into the regular FZ band outfit
All About Jazz: Charlie Banacos [...] mentioned you studied with him in preparation for a tour with Zappa. [...] When was that tour?
Jeff Berlin: [...] I don't recall if he helped me with a particular gig I was involved with. I played with Frank for a couple of months until I asked for more money to play in his band. Then he fired me.
All About Jazz: (laughs) Come to think of it, I think Charlie mentioned that, too.
J: Frank was an interesting guy, man! He's a guy that I think would have benefited from spiritual pursuit. He had a lot of angst.
A: You played with him for a while.
J: I did and I got myself thrown out of a band through bad behavior. You know. And rude attitude. I'm telling you, man, I left bodies in the wake. It was a lot of humble pie. A lot of humble pie that I have to eat in order to own my thing and grow from there, so I've come to develop a rather appreciative taste for humble pie.
We never made it on tour with Jeff Berlin, but Jeff Berlin was in there playing with Vinnie Colaiuta. Both of them decided they wanted an enormous amount of money, and special treatment, and all this kind of stuff, which didn't kind of fit in to the book. And I think Vinnie, to Vinnie's defense, he also got a lot of contracts in town, playing on television shows, and film soundtracks, and that kind of thing. He was pretty much a hired gun around L.A. so he had some very good paying jobs with lots of royalties and stuff.
He's a mutant. I'm sure that somewhere on the planet there's another guy who can do what Vinnie does—I think nature works that way. I don't think that it produces single organisms like that. But at the time that he was in the band, I couldn't imagine a drummer that could think and perform a rhythm the same way that he did. He had an uncanny knack for playing things that other people, if they saw them on paper, would think impossible. And he would play it spot on, if not the first time, certainly by the third try. It was utterly ridiculous. And do it with a smile. And after he had it learned, he could style it for you. It's not like he even had to think about playing 13 against 5, or something like that. He'd just figure it out and do it—it'd be part of his body language. But his personality changed after he was out of the band. He was doing a lot of studio stuff, which requires a different mind-set. I'm sure he's still an excellent drummer, but I don't know if he's ever going to do the stuff that he was playing in the band again.
RF: Why did you leave Frank?
VC: I was going through stuff like, "Wow, I'm on the road all the time and when I get off the road I can't work." I wanted to get into the studio.
VC: Because I like recording a lot. I love playing in the studio; I love the way it sounds and feels in the studio. When I was back east, there were three studios in town and it was something that always fascinated me and something I wanted to do as a musician. Even though I enjoy going out on the road, after a while I said, "I want to be at home and I'll never work in the studios if I'm not around long enough for people to call me." Just because I can go out live and play my ass off, doesn't mean I'm going to be able to go into the studio and play well, unless I go in there and do it and work for different people and be able to please all kinds of different people.
Vinnie was sacked for basically demanding that he be paid more money than the other band-members on a particular tour [...]. Vinnie more or less threatened Frank with "more money or I won't play". Frank selected the latter option.
Vinnie has since repeatedly and publicly apologised for this burst of egotism, and describes it as the worst mistake he ever made. Vinnie and Frank were on good terms when Frank died, and Vinnie dedicated his 1994 solo album to Frank, describing him as a 'genius and mentor'.
Turning down a chance to go back on tour with Frank Zappa in 1981, Warren chose to dedicate himself to Missing Persons, and with $3,000 from Warren's father, Missing Persons released the 4 song, 7 inch Missing Persons EP on their producers' label, KoMoS.
CBS as a record company didn't want to sign us directly as an artist because we weren't fashionable enough. We worked out a deal with them where I supply the music and all they do is press it and ship it. And it's a one album deal. I don't think they're going to be interested in anything else after the results of this thing.
Distribution of Zappa's records continued to be problematic, but having paid all of the recording costs up front, he was in a position to demand exceptionally profitable royalty rates. "He would give the record company 15 percent," recalls Pinske. "So Frank ended up making, in those days, like $2.25 off each record sold. And that was unheard of compared to somebody like Dylan, who would make 18 cents a copy. By having that kind of control, he was able to take more money in and not have to have all Platinum albums. Because he knew his music was off-the-wall enough and wouldn't be played on the radio—that he couldn't get that kind of volume—he set up his business accordingly. The bulk of his money still came from live performances—he got paid well for performing—and also, he sold a heck of a lot of memorabilia, whatever you could put in the mail: T-shirts, you name it."
The Zappas are considered to be the leaders in independent music distribution.
We were doing it ourselves before anybody else was doing it. It's interesting how that happened because, of course, I was very naive about how it is normally done. But because of that I could ask for things that I didn't know you weren't supposed to get.
Well, Frank wanted to be independent. He started a mail order operation for certain recordings with CBS or one of their off-shoots. Of course, they were collecting for the recordings, but they weren't shipping any records. So that was a disaster. We ended up in a lawsuit with them. Then we had no distribution for anything. Frank's manager at the time, Bennet Glotzer, was busy making an artist deal just for Europe with EMI. So at that time, I was thinking, "What are we doing here? This doesn't bode well for our future."
So what did you do?
I had this lawyer who worked in this major law firm—I prefer not to mention names—but I said, "I need to get an independent distribution. I hear great things about CEMA (the record label distribution branch of Capitol-EMI). Let's talk with them. This is what I would like." He said, "You are crazy. You can't do that. Who do you think that you are?" I said, "It's not who I think I am. It's who do you think that you are that you are telling me that I can't have what I'm asking about?" Then I called up the guy who was the head of the firm in the entertainment division and said, "I hired you, and I'm being shoved off with this guy over here, and I don't like that. Either you do the business for me or I'm going to move to another law firm where I can get the guy I want to work with." That turned out to be the fabulous Owen Sloane (Attorney; Chair, Entertainment & Media Group, Gladstone Michel Weisberg Willner & Sloane) who, to this day, is a real close friend.
Owen is a leading authority on contract, copyright, and other kinds of law involving the entertainment world.
I would have to say that without him there are a lot of things that Frank is known for that he wouldn't have been able to accomplish without help. Because no matter what, you don't live in a vacuum in this business. You have to work with certain people to accomplish certain things. We were very fortunate to have Owen Sloane, who is quite brilliant.
What Zappa catalog was available for the deal with CEMA?
That was when I started the mail order company. We controlled the catalog at that time. The label that we had started in 1981 approximately was Barking Pumpkin. That label we intended to put out various masters that would be under an artist deal. It would be, maybe, three masters in 7 years. Whatever the contract was in those days with EMI for Europe. Then there would be whatever we wanted to do independently. As a result of, I thought, "Well, let's do a mail order company. We'll sell T-shirts." We had all of this fan mail. I got boxes and boxes, and I started opening it all. I made a list of potential customers, and I wrote them letters, and asked if they would be interested in a T-shirt. I put a little form letter in there. We got more than a 25% return which was unheard of.
This was before the internet.
Yeah. Exactly. So I said. "Let's make T-shirts." Then Frank said, "Well, I don't want to be in the dry goods business."
Unlike the Grateful Dead who dived into the merchandising business with both feet.
Exactly. They are a little bit smoke and mirrors as well, and a different kind of smoke, I might say. So I put that (mail order business) together when Frank was out touring. He did a lot of touring then. At the same time, I got a local distribution deal. The deal with CEMA was divided into two parts. On one hand, I had a manufacturing deal, and the on the other hand, I had a distribution deal. They were not tied together where everything had to go under one roof. So I could manufacture independently with them. I could say, "I want you to manufacture this record, but I'm only going to put it out mail order. You are not going to distribute it." Or I could get them to put up the money, and advance for whatever (album) they were going to distribute. It was a really nice way to balance the best of our assets. It was very successful for us for a number of years, and helped pay for the law suit against Warner Brothers.
Did the CEMA distribution deal include foreign distribution?
How did you cover that?
Well, those were days when you weren't supposed to be selling stuff in those (international) markets, but a lot of the mom and pop stores were in the export business. So literately exporters were buying it, and the sale was in the United States.
What you were doing with CEMA as well as handling the mail order business yourself was insuring that you had control of the masters.
Absolutely. That was the whole point there was no point beyond that. It was that nobody was going to tell Frank what kind of record that he was going to make.
As well, being distributed by CEMA insured that you got paid, and got paid in a timely manner.
Yeah, but we had to do that. Primarily, (with a record deal), you get paid twice a year. A distribution deal gets you paid on a monthly basis. A few months in, and then you are getting paid every month. That was a much better way for us to operate, and be able to plan ahead, and pull monies together. Without that, we wouldn't have been able to do a lot of things. Before, we were just struggling to save the money to hire an orchestra to do anything orchestral. Those were still the days that if you were a composer, you didn't have a chance in hell in hearing your music unless you hired an orchestra to play it. And it was very expensive. With copying costs, every time we got involved with an orchestra event, it was always $400,000 for some reason. That was the magic number. Think about it. Even today, it's still horrendous. When you think about all of the copying and everything. There were no digital files, either.
In 1981 and 1982 I didn't go on tour so I could have kids and start a family. But I did the albums.
Last weekend I (finally) watched Chad's dvd "Chad Wackerman Trio Hits Live". [...] Anyway—during a short interview section Chad tells the story about meeting the bassist (Doug Lunn) during the auditions for 88 tour. Clearly Doug didn't get the job, and Scott did. But I had always thought that the "old core band" (veterans like Ike, Chad, Scott, Bobby, Ed) didn't even have to audition...so maybe they did?
My recollection of that interview is that Doug met Chad when he auditioned for Frank in the "early 80s", not 1988.
Then, he might have been one of the three bassists who made it to the last stage of the audition in mid '81. It must have been a tough competition, because the other candidates were Scott Thunes and Stuart Hamm.
I auditioned for Frank Zappa in 1981 after spending the Summer in Europe touring with a fusion big band. I did well and probably would have gotten the gig had I chosen to stick around LA, but I flew back to Boston to see Miles Davis at Kix disco, in one of his first gigs in years with Mike Stern, Marcus Miller in the band.
According to the Miles Davis sessionography, Miles appeared at KIX Club in Boston on June 26-27.
HOW LONG IN BAND: One month (since July 20)
In 1981, Thunes contacted Frank Zappa at the behest of his brother, who had himself tried unsuccessfully to audition for Zappa's group. Scott recorded some tracks in Los Angeles and was summoned back for the formal audition a week later. This session included improvising to arrhythmic tracks played on a drum machine, as well as performing the same song with two other auditioning bassists, the three of them competing face-to-face.
I remember his 2nd day in the band—Frank was giving some generalized direction and Scott interrupted and said aloud to me and Tommy "Listen up! This applies to you!" I didn't know him then—and I thought " . . . what the fuck?"—after all, WE were the vets and HE was the new guy. Of course that was arrogant thinking on my part—and over time I began to understand Scott's safety-pin-in-cheek humour—and once you get it, it is pretty funny: almost like performance art.
I had come to the audition merely to give moral support to my boyfriend at the time, Chris Armstrong, an avid Zappa fan and talented drummer. I do remember what I was wearing and it was definitely not dressed-to-impress: red gym shorts and a silly white t-shirt with tiny red hearts on it. I came to the studio with no acquaintance with Frank's music and was acting mostly as a 'roadie' for Chris. When I saw sheet music lying around, I took a glance and hummed through it. It seemed purposefully difficult but I got a kick out of trying to get the rhythms. Tommy Mars caught me glancing at the music and suggested that I audition for Frank. After several terrified auditioners were summarily dismissed from the studio after failing to meet Frank's expectations, and definitely after Chris' audition was also not up to 'snuff', I had every intention of helping him pack up and head home. But Tommy approached me again and was quite insistent that I audition for Frank. Not one to say no, I sat at the piano while Frank placed music in front of me, testing my musicianship, playing and singing. I remember auditioning for quite a long time, perhaps 45 minutes, turning around occasionally to observe an ever-growing group of guys behind me looking stunned, as though they were thinking "Who IS this girl?"
When the audition was over, Frank pulled me aside and gave me a stack of music to memorise and said to come back in several days and play for him again. Well, that was my first real challenge as I had developed my ability to read music but not my ability to memorise it! I did my best to learn it and came back for my second audition. The singing went well and it was obvious that Frank enjoyed my over-the-top operatic renditions, basically opera with boozy jazz styling. Then I was informed that I would be put on a trial period which eventually lasted three weeks. There's much to tell about those three weeks, which overall I found quite harrowing. My background was classical and pop piano but I was expected to play primitive synthesizers and learn four hours of almost unplayable music and then be able to play it in any style and in any key. That was quite beyond my experience. All the while, though, Frank was very supportive—even warm—towards me and I gave the process everything I had, even to the point of swollen hands from practicing.
At the end of three weeks, Frank called to let me know that my trial period was over and I agreed that it wasn't working out. I had not come to the situation as an experienced player; I had just gotten my Master's Degree in Classical Voice and had fallen into the situation. He was kind when breaking the news to me and though I was of course disappointed, I was also very relieved. Going on a 60-city tour with 40 guys and one girl, me, was a daunting thought to say the least! I did hear later through the grapevine that if Frank had not been able to find a replacement, he was planning to call me back. But he found Bobby Martin, an extremely skilled and experienced performing musician.
FZ: [Lisa Popeil] auditioned for the band one day when we were trying out drummers. [...] Lisa had, at the time, a boyfriend, who was a drummer. We were having an open call for drummers. This was when we were auditioning, when Chad got the job. So, when her boyfriend showed up to audition for the job, Tommy got into a conversation with her, and came over to me, and told me, "This girl says she can play the piano, and sing, and sight read, and all this stuff. Why don't you try her out?" I said, "OK. I will." Her boyfriend didn't get the drummer job, but she could play. She could sight sing. I handed her the music for 'Be-Bop Tango'. She sight sang it! [...] And, y'know, she's a skilled musician. So, I said, "I'll consider putting a girl in the band again, why not?" And so, she attended a few of the rehearsals, I guess for about a week. and there were some things that she could do, and do very well, and other things that she couldn't, and it just turned out that there were more of the things that she couldn't do, that we needed, for a second keyboard position in the band, that it, y'know, just didn't work out.
There's only one guy in the band who would offer ideas and sometimes he comes up with great ideas and that's Tommy Mars but usually it's just a waste of time because I already know exactly what I want and if they'll just do it this way we can move on.
Chad auditioned. And we actually auditioned 31 drummers. We had auditioned him twice. We couldn't find a drummer to replace Vinnie Colaiuta.
Around 38 min. [on Podcast 142—Chad Wackerman: From A To Zappa, December 7, 2015], Chad says that on the first day of the audition, one of FZ's daughters, who was still very very young, was having a birthday party.
If his recollection is correct, it was Diva's birthday (July 30). He also says that he was hired on the third day of the audition, therefore it was August 1 (if it was done in three consecutive days).
HOW LONG IN BAND: Since 8/24/81
1980 found me in L.A. and while I was on tour with Etta [James], one of the roadies for Orleans told me about an audition for the Frank Zappa Band. I did the audition and I got it.
In the Summer of 1981, I had another call from a guy who had been a sound guy with Orleans, named David Robb, and at this point he was working with Frank. He was watching Frank tear his hair out trying to find the last person for the band to do the 1981 tour. He had Tommy Mars, and Chad Wackerman and Scott Thunes had just joined the band. Ray White was in the band, but Ike wasn't. Ed Mann and Steve Vai were there, so it was a great band, but Frank was not able to find the last person to fill out the band. David told him about me, said 'I know a guy who plays a lot of things; he sings great; you ought to check him out. He's got a classical background.' So Frank said 'Yeah, give him a call; bring him down here.' Dave called me and said 'Be here tomorrow'. I had already heard some of the Zappa audition horror stories that people had endured. So I thought 'What the hell? I'm just going to wing this.' I'm not even gonna try to prepare anything. I knew a few things from back in the bar band days.
I went in, and first he had me sight-read some keyboard things. I think the first one was 'Envelopes'. Not easy at all, but with my classical background, I could read so it wasn't a problem. My technique wasn't blazing. When it got too difficult to get everything, I would just read the top line, so that he could see I was following the metric changes and the harmonies. [...] I did find that with that piece, he could tell that I had the training and I had the comprehension, and the ability to go from 7/8 to 3/16 to whatever.
He had me continue to read a few more things on keyboards, then he didn't have anything written for French horn, so he asked me to play some other horn parts. For a French horn player, transposition is just a way of life; you have to know how to do it, because you must do it in the classical literature constantly. I transposed some sax parts onto the French horn and also some concert pitch parts from 'Strictly Genteel'. I did fine with that, then he had me transpose some keyboard parts onto tenor and that was very tough.
He had me play what was called at the time 'Mystery Studio Song'. I don't actually know what the final recorded title was; it had three or four different names. It used to go into 'What's New in Baltimore?' (sings). A lot of it was in five, so I was sight-reading that and transposing it onto sax from a keyboard part. And he said 'Well, this is good. You're doing real well. I understand you sing real high and strong; let me hear you sing. What do you know?' I didn't have any Zappa songs prepared, so I said 'I don't know; 'Auld Lang Syne'.' He said 'Great, 'Auld Lang Syne', key of A' and the band starts to play the song. I sang it an octave higher than anyone would have expected, and it goes up real high. Everybody goes 'Woah', and he says 'You got it'. So, 'Auld Lang Sync' was the real capper. [...]
When I first joined the band, everyone else had been there for like a month, I think, rehearsing. So they had a huge head start, so it was really tough for me. It was the most challenging thing I'd ever dealt with. The highest level of classical stuff at Curtis prepared me very well but not completely, because with Frank I had to be there at that level classically, but I also had to be able, like everyone else, to play everything else, to play real authentic blues, real improvisational jazz, then spoof a country song and play heavy metal, but do it all authentically. You can't play tongue in cheek unless you can play legit.
He gave me this huge book of stuff to learn, all these charts, not only to learn them and get them under your fingers, but then to memorise it all. It was exhausting. I would go to rehearsals for eight hours, but before that, I would get up and practise for two hours, then go in and rehearse for about five or six hours before Frank would come in. Arthur Barrow was the Klonemeister, then Frank would come in and run us through some things, make changes and throw out half of what we'd done and make us do something new. By the end of the day, I was so tired that I could barely see to drive home.
The only time I've ever met Vinnie [Colaiuta]:
OK, it was the deepest darkest time of the first rehearsals for the '81 band. We're in the warehouse (which later is to become Joe's Garage Rehearsal Studios tm), and it's getting close to the very last day of the 3 months we've spent perfecting Frank's art. We're all pretty happy and confident. Vinnie shows up with Jeff Berlin [...] and listens to a set run-though.
They're sitting around with Frank afterwards, and Frank's on the couch, they're sitting on various items lying around.
[...] During this time, Jeff decides (?) that he wants to be in the band again, even though he was part of the mass-firing. So he sends Frank a cake (do you guys all know this shit already?) that says (I LOVE THIS BIT, as did Frank):
'Let's Play Some Jazz.'
Frank was pretty pleased with the irony.
So I'm getting my stuff together after the rehearsal, and I've been nervous as hell. The Great and Powerful VINNIE is here, along with his sidekick, JEFF BERLIN-MAN. They're sitting around, and Vinnie is on my Anvil bass case What do I do? He's sitting on it like it's his, and we all know you don't fuck with the masters of space and time [...].
So, I've been introduced—I don't remember when that day, if it was before or after we played the set—but haven't talked to either of them. They're the Guys, and I'm just a guy. I lean down, and say pretty humorously (I thought), and in a slightly Southern twang: 'Excuse me, son, but you're sitting on my case.'
He turned around to me and said: 'Son?', like I'd just called him a 'bad drummer'. It was pretty bad.
That was the only time I've ever spoken to or seen him.
We did a bunch of recording before we left LA [in September, 1981]. [...] A lot of stuff with Roy Estrada. A song called "Truck Driver Divorce" which will probably be the end of country and western music. It's like country music on PCP. And another song called "Willing Suspension of Disbelief" which is a science fiction extravaganza. It has everything in it about cheap monster movies that wasn't included in the song "Cheepnis." And another song called "Sex," which is a very nice song. And then there's a straight ahead mongolian sing-along song called, "No, Not Now." And there's another one called "Viva La Rosa," which is like a jazz song, bossa nova type. That features Tommy Mars on Hammond organ and recorder. And then there's all the ones that we were doing in the [Palladium, October 31, 1981] show that you heard that have also been recorded and haven't been released yet.
Of new material Z said that before going on this tour "we did a lot of material in the studio. I've probably got 5 sides of material already recorded and we've been recording everything on this tour with my brand new 24-track remote truck."
About the tour: Hartford, Montreal, New York & Chicago were cited as successful/responsive dates, with some others 'dedicated, small pockets of resistance', but don't sell as many tickets. The net income was in question and if there is not enough money in the bank to pay the expenses of a large scale tour, there will be none next year.
HOW LONG IN BAND: Three years
OTHER INFORMATION: Currently not touring with the band but acting as "clone-meister" helping rehearse the band.
HOW LONG IN CREW: 1 1/2 months
GEORGE W. DOUGLAS
HOW LONG IN CREW: One year
ED "LEROY" MANN
HOW LONG IN BAND: Three years
TOMMY MARS (MARIANO)
HOW LONG IN BAND: 5th year
HOW LONG IN BAND: Since 8/24/81
HOW LONG IN CREW: Four and 1/2 years
MARK G. PINSKE
HOW LONG IN CREW: Since February, 1980
INSTRUMENT(S) PLAYED: Recording engineer, live mixing engineer, bass guitar (formerly)
HOW LONG IN CREW: Since December, 1980
INSTRUMENT(S) PLAYED: Recording console, guitar
OTHER INFORMATION: Started as a P.A. mixer in 1969. This is his first tour mixing "live". "No other groups have had the musical and technical qualities to make it interesting before this." A Zappa fan since mid-60's.
HOW LONG IN BAND: One month (since July 20)
HOW LONG IN BAND: Two years
HOW LONG IN BAND: One month
RAY S. WHITE
HOW LONG IN BAND: Three years
Zappa's longest-tenured employee, Coy has been at the monitor board for Zappa's stage shows since 1981 and otherwise sitting in the head office of the premier rehearsal facility in the Los Angeles area—Joe's Garage. [...]
Coy went to Elektra Asylum as a staff engineer from 1978-1980, then off to tour with Chris De Burgh (where he worked with Harry Andronis), then back to Elektra, and then the phone rang.
"I pick it up," he recalls. "A voice says, 'I understand you're a monitor engineer.' 'Well, I'm a recording engineer,' I said, 'but I know how to do monitors.' The guy says, 'Well, my production manager will call you within the hour—you're hired.' I said, 'Who is this?' He said, 'Frank Zappa.' I said, 'Oh . . . okay . . . . ' I've been with him ever since."
Before [the Palladium, October 30, 1981 gig, Artis The Spoonman] played at the Mac Court gig in Eugene Oregon on 10/4/81. A first-hand witness reports that Steve Vai was "slack-jawed".
[Artis The Spoonman] told me about having his first meet and greet in a hotel lobby in Oregon while FZ was in town for a 3/27/80 MacArthur Court show, whereupon Frank exclaimed, "You've gotta be on TELEVISION," or something close to that, which struck Artis as odd, Frank not (yet) being known as a TV-type guy.
Frank says that Artis sat in with them at the Eugene 3/27/80 show.
I don't think that the people that consume music via radio are aware of what the problem in radio is today, when 150 of the stations that really matter are controlled TOTALLY by 5 companies who program them. And we've run into situations where, the best example was, Tucson, Arizona. I flew in from Las Vegas on my night off to go to a radio station to be a disc jockey, at their invitation, on the station that was co-sponsoring the concert. I got there, I asked them if they had my record, they said they did, it had just been sent in. I put it on—I was playing it, said hello I was a disc jockey—blah, blah, blah, the regular guy was sitting right there—soon as I played my record the phone rang from the program director—said 'don't let him play it!' and I said 'what is this? Your gonna have me on here and I can't play my own record?' I said 'forget it' and walked off. And this station was co-sponsoring the concert. They took the money from the promoter for the advertising time—wouldn't play the record because they were formatted by the Abrahms chain. This station used to have a record library of 2000 albums. As soon as they became a formatted station they threw away 1500—and in that 1500 were all of my albums. And that's the way it is. A hundred and fifty stations that really matter, programmed by 5 companies that tell them precisely what to play and nobody plays anything other than that on the station—no matter what—that's called 'freeze dried radio'. Your looking at a situation where for the rest of your life your going to hear the same 10 songs over and over again until you're blue in the face. And that's what happens. I'm not part of that ecological chain.
[Artis The Spoonman] described playing "Man Against Machine" onstage 10/30/81 at the Palladium against "Wendell the Drum Machine", and how HE got to conduct Zappa. [...] Apparently after FZ cuts off "Wendell", Artis continues on in a big ol' cadenza, and then cues Frank back in. He had a hell of a grin on his face describing that to me, as if it were a highlight of his career, him conducting the master.
Frank introduced me and let me solo for several minutes, then motions me back to trade licks back and forth and motions me back again to do it all over again! Ha! Frank I think played some of the very best guitar I EVER heard him play, He was hot! This was the finest night in my career! [...] A couple weeks later, Frank shared with me how much he enjoyed our playing and that my playing was outstanding. Wow, whether I was or not, how sweet to hear that from the master!
The Orchestra Nationale of Mexico City wants to do three of my ballets. That's the latest. Do you know about the orchestra in Poland? The Polish Radio Orchestra wants to give a complete concert of all of my orchestra works. [...] The Berlin Festival this August wants to do an evening of music with this orchestra in Czechoslovakia. The Buffalo Symphony wants to do a bunch of stuff in the springtime. All of these are offers that are in and nobody has signed a contract and nobody has finalized it. [...]
I wrote three pieces this year. In fact, I am almost finished with a piece that I was writing for Boulez's group because he wanted me to write something for his Ensemble Intercontemporaine in Paris. But that's a small orchestra.
Research, compilation and maintenance by Román García Albertos