Quentin Tarantino: A word, please.
I recently finally sat down to watch your film “The Hateful Eight.” I loved it of course. I don’t know how it is possible, sir, but your talent for broad storytelling only grows more powerful as you continue your craft.
Nor can I wait for the sequel, “The Hateful Eight 2: HOLY CRAP WHAT HAPPENED HERE, OH, THE HUMANITY!”
Now I am not calling you out on wrecking an irreplaceable antique guitar on set. Although, Quentin. Tsssk tsssk tsssk. What a shame.
No, dude, I am calling you out for missing an obvious music selection for you fine film: “The Dust Blows Forward and the Dust Rolls Back” by Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band, found on the oft-ignored masterpiece, Trout Mask Replica.
This song, which features a crudely recorded Don Van Vliet, absolutely should have been included in your film’s soundtrack.
Imagine a broad shot of your travelers headed toward Minnie’s Haberdashery, crunching in the just pre-blizzard snow, and a gruff voice is heard, singing:
“There’s ole Gray with her dove-winged hat
There’s ole Green with her sewing machine
Where’s the bobbin at?
Tote an old grain in a printed sack
The dust blows forward and dust blows back”
This odd poem reflects a gruff naturalism and a cruel poverty. It brings to mind the exact time and place portrayed in your film. I’ll go even further in saying that this song IS your film.
“And the wind blows black through the sky
And the smokestack blows up in the sun’s eye
What am I gonna die?
A white flake riverboat just blew by
Bubbles popped big
And a lipstick Kleenex hug on a pointed forked twig
Reminds me of the bobby girls
Never was my hobby girls
Hand full o’worms and a pole fishin’
Cork bobbin’ like a hot red bulb
And a bluejay squeaks, his beak open an inch above a creek
Gone fishin’ for a week”
Or how about this: Have Michael Madsen sing “The Dust Blows Forward” to while away the time while they’re all holed up, just a haunting tune that helps to fortify the character.
“Well, I put down my bush
And I took off my pants and felt free
The breeze blowin’ up me and up the canyon
Far as I could see”
I mean, not even in the closing credits? Quentin. Dude. This song is begging to be in your movie.
“It’s night now and the moon looks like a dandelion
It’s black now and the blackbird’s feedin’ on rice
And his red wings look like diamonds and lice
I could hear the mice toes scamperin’
Gophers rumblin’ in pile crater rock holes
One red bean stuck in the bottom of a tin bowl
Hot coffee from a crimped-up can
Me and my girl named Bimbo Limbo Spam”
Go back, dude. Edit. It’s worth it.
- The Mother Of All Interviews (Part 2) (Kill Ugly Radio Wiki)
On Dec. 5, 1932, Richard Wayne Penniman was born in Macon, Ga. And every Zappadan, I wish that man a happy, happy birthday and many, many more.
I know. Little Richard’s birthday falling on the second day of Zappadan is merely a happy accident. Some might stretch that out a bit and call it a Zappadan miracle. Because, as it happens, Little Richard wrote and originally performed a little song called “Directly From My Heart to You.”
Now, I think the best recording of Little Richard performing this tune was the first. It’s slower, bluesier, dragging that limp left foot so deftly as it does. And Richard’s voice here is especially powerful:
There are, of course, many covers of this wonderful song, including a new one for me this year, as performed by Holly Golightly:
But, of course, the reason I obsess over this song and this particular day is due to the sublime performance of it by Zappa and a fiddler known as “Sugarcane.”
So one of the great things that happened in 2017 was that Howard Stern had a gentleman in the studio named Robert Plant.
I often listen to Howard on Sirius XM 100/101 as white noise. Gary’s phlegm. Ronnie’s weird obscenities. Cocktober. Robert Plant’s appearance, however, was one that demands strictly attentive listening.
And, did he offer a lovely fact.
Let me explain. Some time ago, I came across a book, Little Richard: The Birth of Rock ‘n’ Roll by David Kirby. I have found the introduction in this book to be quite illuminating, in that it lays out the truth: That Little Richard’s work was vital and paradigm-shifting like no other person’s contribution to the genre known and loved as rock and roll.
Little Richard was the one who explained to every subsequent performer how the music would be performed. How it would be sung. What energy you should bring to it. Before him, they crooned. Afterwards, they wanted to make their voices sound like Richard. He was the first new bud in a huge tree. Without Little Richard, Jim Morrison does not scream like that in “Love Me Two Times.” John Lennon does not sing “Yer Blues.” Jimi Hendrix’s GUITAR would not have existed without Richard, something that Hendrix acknowledged. Lou Reed cribbed lyrics from Little Richard and gushed as a rabid fan. As I wrote in 2013: “The ones we revere most routinely, the ones most frequently rotated in our playlists, they revere Little Richard.”
That’s true. Testify. Little Richard is, truly, the originator. And Mr. Plant has given us yet another example.
Listen to the first six seconds of this:
and then listen to the first six seconds of this
Indeed. John Bonham’s apparent earworm of that day? “Keep a Knockin'” by Macon’s best. The revelations of the man’s greatness and evidences of his importance as a rock innovator continue.
Before him, rock and roll singers crooned.
After him, they howled.
Little Richard is the man who showed the rest of all rock vocalists the way. And today, on this, his birthday, we thank him for it.
Little Richard, you are the originator. Happy birthday as always.
WE APPRECIATE YOU.
We’re Only In It For The Money You Could Be Saving With Geico
Today is Dec. 4, or as we call it around these parts, “Bummernacht,” the first day of Zappadan. It is called “Bummernacht” because it is the anniversary of Frank Zappa’s death. Zappa died 24 years ago today. It is also known as a day when many bloggers use the phrase “for the uninitiated…”
I think yinz understand the concept. It’s another good idea we’ve borrowed from our Muslim friends, such as algebra and observing objects in the sky with telescopes to draw rational conclusions about the universe. Ramadan. Zappadan. Both really really long observances. But with Zappadan, no fasting!
In fact, one has unlimited license during this time to heat up yer stovetop, burn a weenie to a crisp, and slap it onto a slice of bread.
But do so with caution.
That kitchen of yours may be dangerous.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (as quotated Dec. 4, 2009, at Fried Green al-Qaedas)
This article is about the Zapptist celebration during the opening of Zappadan.
The first (or 17th) day of Zappadan was originally known as Enttäuschung Nacht – German for ‘bummer night’ – but over the years it has been Americanized to the much simpler BummerNacht. This being the anniversary of Mister Zappa’s death, the original meaning is rather obvious, and we shall not delve further into it here.
Far from being a day of mourning, however, it is a day of great joy, for Zapptists know that a mere seventeen days later, on December 21st (Zero Day), Frank Zappa was born.
Traditionally, children are not allowed to participate in the celebration of BummerNacht, although teenagers are winked at if they decide to ‘run down to the library and not return until some ungodly hour of the night’. Celebrants are often seen cavorting to the exotic sound of the Mystery Horn while gorging on burnt weenie sandwiches and guzzling white port and lemon juice.
For me, Zappadan has traditionally provided a creative spark and a fantastic opportunity to mull in the Zappa. I have spent Zappadans in reporting mode, finding tidbits from the Miles biography to share. I have spent them in music appreciation mode, absorbing The Yellow Shark one year, and simply focusing on the Mothers era yet another. Zappadan began as a mere blogswarm. I think for many a fan, myself included, it has become a genuine installation of the holiday season. Thanksgiving. Zappadan. Hanukah. Kwanza. Christmas. Festivus.
So let me begin this year by saying this: I love Frank Zappa.
I am a second-generation freak. My Dad was introduced to an album called Freak Out by a roommate. My Dad in turn played me the song “Who Are The Brain Police” when I was 3.
It gave me nightmares.
Later, as a teen, I glommed on to Dad’s copy of Only In It for the Money, then later Freak Out in college. Zappa’s rebellion and his contempt for people like my then freshman roommates, really rang a cord with me at the time. Mister America, walk on by…
But it was on a bus trip back home for the holidays that I really came to love Frank Zappa with a little thing called Burnt Weeny Sandwich.
Have you heard this thing? It is glorious.
So several years ago, I became aware of this thing called “Zappadan.” And it has only grown and swelled until it is a TASTY LITTLE SUCKER. I see actual RADIO STATIONS observing the Zappadan. We see Zappadan generally celebrated outside of the grander blogosphere. Pretty nice for a one-time cute little blogswarm.
But hey. Enough of my yackin’! What’dya say? Let’s boogie!
- The Music of Frank Zappa: Musical Precedents and Influences, by Dr. Joseph Klein (University of North Texas)
- Frank Zappa in the 70s (teamrock.com)