Don't Get No Jizz Upon That Sofa....

...ok, now that I've got your attention, the addendum to the title of this post is "...Where Music and Memories Can Take You."




Apparently, 50 is the age where you start looking backward. Because you've acquired life experience that you had no idea was relevant as you were going on your merry way, you can't anticipate those moments when you're figuratively standing on your path, looking backward and reflecting on where you've come from. And then you suddenly find yourself sounding like your grandparents. This weekend, at a performance of "Joe's Garage" (produced by the Zappa Family Trust), I had the immense privilege of being led back down that path by Frank Zappa.

For many, Zappa is an unknown entity, for others (like me) he is burned into our consciousness. If you've spent any time around musicians, a tour bus, groupies or roadies, you'll know what I'm talking about.

He passed away on Dec. 4, 1993, but Until Dec. 20th he is alive and well at the Open Fist Theatre in Hollywood. I attended the show with The Former Mr. R. and our bro-in-law Bill; the only two people I know who would get it.

We were blown away by the interpretation of the content and the level of skill of the musicians (Zappa music ain't easy). Near the end of the show, as I sat in the darkened theater with TFMR listening to "Watermelon in Easter Hay", one of the 3 songs that Gail Zappa will never allow to be reproduced by anyone, anywhere, in any way (thank you Gail), I realized that for more than 25 years the language of Frank, which is like no other, was the language of our relationship. With divorce, the dynamic of that relationship has changed, but we are friends and the language remains the same.

If he sings the first few bars of "Crew Slut", I automatically chime in. At Christmas, I still sing-sing "I've got a present for youoooo"; and we both still think that "Fuck me, you ugly sonofabitch!" sung in German, is hysterical. And only those in the know will know what we mean when we say..."It looks just like a TeleFunken U-47!"

So as I sat in the dark with tears in my eyes meditating on Frank; I said a little prayer of thanks. I'm thankful to be able to look back on an interesting life; one filled with a love of wacky verbiage that we have passed on to our kids. For having the privilege to raise two extraordinary human beings who have a sophisticated sense of humor, who seek out and embrace the ridiculous and the obtuse; and who also have a healthy love of politics, and willingly question authority.

Thank you to the Zappa Family Trust.
Thank you Frank.