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MUSIC REVIEW: Apostrophe FZ
Apostrophe by Frank Zappa (single cut)
Apostrophe'/Overnite Sensation
RYKODISC, Pumpko Industries, Ltd., 1974
1-818-PUMPKIN
I used to think this was music for colliding planets or perhaps semi trucks driving through large crowds of people at high speed. You know, like an entire continent gets ripped from its foundation during the planetary collision and sprays out into the vacuum of space, or maybe like there's this semi, and it's just plowing through a crowd the size of Woodstock.
That kind of music.
But after listening to this once again, very carefully, I've changed my mind. I no longer think this is music FOR anything. I now think it IS something.
And what it is, is a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Big Lizard.
This little ditty (5:53) is the ultimate power trio exercise in sonic intimidation. Bass, drums, and guitar. Just cut out all that other bullshit like voices and violins and all that other limp wristed crap and kill things with the basics.
A T-Rex, in case you didn't know, is pure essence of hell, reduced to the bare minimum. A very large mouth, chock full of knife-like teeth, a pair of beady little eyes, and a pair of large, no-nonsense legs to allow it to get to whatever the eyes have spotted, to let that mouth rip it to shreds and swallow it.
Bad news.
I used to think that FZ's guitar, quick and quirky with that funny hollow wah wah pedal sound, detracted from this piece. Its trebly twitchings seemed to clash with the immense weight and power of Jack Bruce's bass and Jim Gordon's drums. Of course, that was before I realized that Zappa's guitar was really the Tyrannosaur's eyes. Glittery. Nervous. Flicking first this way, then that. Surveying the countryside for living creatures to rip asunder and devour.
When Apostrophe first cranks up (and it wastes exactly zero time getting right down to business), all you can see at first is that awful mouth, with a set of choppers that would do Charles Manson proud. That would be Jack Bruce's bass. Right after that, you realize that this vision from hell is mobile. Got a whopper pair of legs to take it anywhere it wants to go. That would be Jim Gordon's drums. It's not until a while later that you come to the horrified realization that it's looking for something, perhaps even you. FZ's guitar has arrived.
And when all the pieces are in place, your Tyrannosaur proceeds to go to work and do its thing. The legs, while always intensely powerful and always there, aren't always propelling Mister Big Lizard across the landscape. Sometimes it's content to just stand there. But at other times it hops ominously in your direction. Can't ever be sure what it's gonna do next. Better keep an eye on it. And that mouth. Sometimes it's not even open. But you always know them murderous rows of dental hardware are in there. And when it opens up, there's no denying its evil intent. Worse yet, it goes over and bites your grandmother clean in half and then doesn't even bother to properly eat the pieces. Instead, the Tyrannasaur's wicked little eyes have spotted your little brother and it looks like he's going to be going down the hatch pretty quick here. You just might be next. Definitely a bad scene.
All in all, the Tyrannosaurus Rex is a wonderful piece of machinery. Really cool. Inside of me, there dwells a twelve-year old boy who can really appreciate this kind of shit. For the most part (a few run-ins with the private property of certain neighbors notwithstanding) he's been a pretty good kid. Now that he understands that FZ's guitar is the Lizard's fire control system, its eyes, he completely approves of this "song." I trust his judgement completely.
Maybe someday, somebody will dig up something even bigger and more horrific than a Tyrannosaurus Rex, but I sorta doubt it. Whether or not that ever happens, until then Apostrophe is going to be the meanest motherfucker going and that's just fine for me.
Play this one LOUD. And be sure to turn the bass all the way up.
A lifetime resident (despite having travelled all over the damn place at one time or another) of Central Florida, James MacLaren took a four-year degree in death thrills riding giant waves on the North Shore back in the 70's. Wound up in the inconvenience store following a lay off from the Cape, where he was involved with the construction of the Space Shuttle launch pads, among other things. Father of best son in the world.
