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Uh, I'll just show you a chord.

Yes.

And we just set up a rhythm
on one chord

and I'll start doing something.
Make it up.

That's good.

Tell me a little bit
about the stage.

Yeah. It's-- look,
it's not going to--

it won't be professional.
It'll just be music.

Okay.

Homemade hoopla.

This is the first time
that I've had a reason

to play my guitar
in three years. So...

I'm sure you already know it,

but this is just the beginning

of your new future
in this country.

And I hope that your new future
will be very perfect.

Very perfect.

And as you confront
the new changes

that will take place,

please try
and keep your country unique.

Don't change
into something else.

Keep it unique.

And now, I will try
and tune my guitar.

Lardner: Many have always
considered Frank Zappa

a rock legend.

And one of his friends tonight
told me

that he wrote
and composed music

to the very end.

He was known for elaborate,
unconventional songs,

often with raunchy lyrics.

The social commentary
in his songs

targeted the music industry,

the educational system,
and politics.

Reporter: In America, Zappa
was denounced by the Church,

had his concerts broken up
by the police,

and his records banned
by radio stations.

Lardner: His wife and all four
children were with him.

They are together tonight

at their Laurel Canyon area
home with friends.

Frank Zappa, dead at 52.

Back to you.

Rolling?

And... yes.

Okay. This aisle here

is where some
of the best-known titles lurk.

Here's stuff from the Hot Rats.

Here's the original 24-track
masters of "Dinah-Moe Humm,"

"Dirty Love," "Montana,"
"Inca Roads," "RDNZL."

Shut Up n' Play Yer Guitar,
Joe's Garage.

Here's Sheik Yerbouti.

Tinsel Town Rebellion,
Drowning Witch, Utopia.

Oh, here's Eric Clapton
when he came over to my house.

Wild Man Fischer.

Captain Beefheart,

a little jam in the basement.

And around here,

down this darkened aisle,

is a collection of videotapes

from when I borrowed
my father's 8mm camera

and made a bunch of movies.

I became obsessed
with editing.

And I would edit just because I liked to edit.

I would splice any 8mm film
that was in the house

to anything else.

When I was little...

I didn't have too much interest
in music at all.

When I was about,
say, five or six years old

up until the time
I was about 13,

I was interested in chemistry

and especially in explosives.

I-- I learned how to make
gunpowder when I was six.

At that time,
my father was working

at a place on the East Coast

called the Edgewood Arsenal.

Edgewood Arsenal is where
they made poison gas

during World War II.

Presenter: At Edgewood Arsenal,
Maryland,

the Army Chemical Corp
developed the machinery

for producing the nerve gas GB,

which had been developed
by Nazi Germany.

And the nerve gas VX, which was developed in England.

There is enough gas there
and enough gas coming

of the nerve gas variety

to cause the death
of 681,481,000 persons.

Everybody that lived
in the project

had to have gas masks
in their house

in case the tanks
of mustard gas broke.

So the-- the toys
that I remember growing up with

were the little chemical beakers
that my father would bring home

and the gas masks that were
hanging in the hall closet.

And I used to wear that out
in the yard

and run around in it.

And I thought
it was a space helmet.

I had a lot of asthma.

I was very ill.

Almost cacked out a few times from the climate back there.

And so, he was looking
for a place

where I wouldn't be
constantly folding up

and a place where he could earn a better income.

And so, he took a position at the Naval Postgraduate School

in California,
teaching metallurgy.

The last experimentation
that I did with explosives

was when I was about
15 years old.

I'd mixed up
this quantity of powder

which consisted of, uh,
regular black powder

and then flash powder,

which is 50 percent zinc
and 50 percent sulfur,

mixed with sugar,

and attempted to set fire
to the high school

that I was attending.

It always seemed to me that if you could get a laugh

out of something,
that was good.

And if you could make life
more colorful

than it actually was,
that was good.

So, any artist
or individual who worked

in those two directions
was doing something good.

My family was really poor.

Not only that, they didn't
like music too much.

So I didn't really come
into contact

with musical expression
until 14 or 15 years old.

And my parents were opposed
to any involvement in music

that I might be interested in.

But I remember this magazine
article about Sam Goody.

Was saying what a wonderful
merchandiser he was

because he could even sell
an album

that had this ugly music on it.

The writer described this
as, like,

literally the most
frightening thing

that a human being
could listen to.

This evil, vile album.

The description was something that stuck with me,

and then a few months later,

I actually saw the album
in a store and bought it.

It was because of that
Varèse album

that I read about
in a magazine.

And hearing "Ionisation,"

that I--
writing orchestra music.

I had no interest
in Beethoven, Mozart,

or any of that kind of stuff.

It just didn't sound
interesting to me.

I wanted to listen to the man

who could make music
that was that strange.

Because the role
of the percussion

in most classical music
is you wait a long time,

and then somebody goes ping
with a triangle.

To me, that was all boring.

But in Varèse's music,

the percussion was playing
an integrated melodic part.

And it was in the foreground.

And since I liked drums,

it was a pleasure for me
to listen to it.

I thought it was fantastic.

I couldn't understand why people just didn't love it

the minute they heard it.

High school in Lancaster

wouldn't be equivalent to high school any place else

because Lancaster
was a small town,

and very few people
in the area

liked rhythm and blues music.

And the rest of 'em
were kind of white-bread,

Elvis Presley fanatic types.

And I don't even remember
how I met Don.

But he had dropped out
of school by that time

and spent most of his time
staying at home

listening to rhythm
and blues records.

So, I used to hang out
over there after school

and listen to
Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown

and Guitar Slim,

Elmore James,

Lowell Fulson,

and Johnny "Guitar" Watson
R&B records

till three o'clock
in the morning.

Went out of my way
to get ahold

of the rhythm and blues
records.

And it was very hard to obtain

because most of the white music stores didn't stock it.

And, uh...

I just heard that music
and I liked it

and couldn't understand
why other people didn't like it

as much as I did.

When I first picked up
the guitar, I said,

"How in the world could anybody get any sound out of this thing

other than
the open string sound?"

I couldn't conceive
of what the frets were for.

But when rhythm and blues
came along

and I heard examples
of blues guitar playing,

I thought that it was something I really wanted to do.

So, I just taught myself
how to do it.

Once I figured out
that the pitch changed

when you put your finger down on the fret,

I was hell on wheels.

I had my first group playing other people's material

when I was about 16 or 17.

It was called The Blackouts.

A racially mixed ensemble.

Which did not go down well
with the, uh, cowboys

and other bigots
who lived in this area.

And, uh, we managed to play
several jobs,

but the school
and the city authorities

were against having it performed because it was regarded

as a threat to the decency
of the community.

I started writing
orchestra music

before I ever wrote
a rock and roll song.

And then didn't try writing
any rock and roll

until I was in my 20s.

And as long as a person
has to earn a living

and if he happens to be a person who makes music,

he's going to have to do
something to generate
an income.

And the more humiliating
the conditions

under which the income
is generated,

the more the music suffers.

I did earn my living
as a commercial artist

for a little while.
I did greeting cards.

I wrote advertising copy for
the place I was working for,

called the Nile Running
Greeting Card Studio.

I talked 'em into letting me do my own line of greeting cards

on an experimental basis,

and one of 'em was, uh,

"Captured Russian photo
shows evidence

of Americans' presence
on Moon first."

And you open it up,
and there's a picture

of a lunar crater
with "Jesus Saves"

inscribed on it.

You are to hang by the neck until you are dead.

I'll see you in hell.

And they don't take me
seriously, do they?

They're only reporters.
They're all the same, God.

I had scored a couple
of films about that time.

The one that I got paid for,

I went out and bought
a good guitar
and, uh, took over

the debts and the assets
of a recording studio

in a town called
Cucamonga, California.

I'm living in this studio.

It doesn't have a bathtub.
It doesn't have a shower.

Doesn't have hot water.

I don't have anything to eat
except peanut butter,

instant mashed potatoes,
and coffee.

I go around gathering up
pop bottles

so I can buy cigarettes.

But I've got all
the electronic stuff I need

to make recordings.

Well, I've had long hair.

It was shorter than Beatle hair.

So, there was a certain amount of resentment

in the community for
my presence there at the studio.

And this mysterious 13.50 an hour recording studio

was, uh, bad
for their community.

So, they designed to, uh,
get me out of there.

Eventually this guy came to me and said

that he was a used car salesman and that he and the boys

were having a party
next Wednesday

and they would like to have
a stag film made.

And I said, "Are you kidding?"

He said, "Well,
we have about 100 dollars."

And I said,
"Well, I can't make you a movie

for 100 dollars, but how
would you like a nice tape?"

So, that night,
we manufactured a tape,

which was supposed to be
sex on tape,

but there's absolutely no sex involved in this thing.

But suddenly, the next day,

the door swings open
and vice squad officers

from the San Bernardino
Sheriff's Department

come blasting in there.

Pictures. Flash bulbs,

and it was right out
of a bad movie.

They took every tape,

every piece of film
in the studio as evidence.

And I went to jail.

They sentenced me
to six months in jail

with all but ten days suspended

plus three years' probation.

That's the kind of stuff
I had to put up with

living in small-town
environments.

I don't have anything
against small towns.

I think they're wonderful if you like that kind of stuff.

But it's very difficult
to do the kinds of things

that I do
in a small-town situation.

And the only thing I wanted to do was write music.

And so, if I was ever
going to hear what I wrote,

I would have to put
a band together.

All right. This is a song that we've been work-- working on

in secret for a... a while now.

Going to make an attempt
to record it.

If we mess it up,
we'll just stop

and do it over again.

It doesn't have a name yet.

But, uh, doesn't really
need one.

He was a such a genius
in his writing,

and he knew so much
about all the old music.

He was able to marry
all of that together, man.

It was-- I... I haven't heard
anything like it

before or since.

Whatever brought you
to Hollywood?

I came in search of Bob Dylan.

And, uh, I came to see
the Lovin' Spoonful.

And I came to get away
from my father, mainly.

And then we started
living on the streets here

because he wasn't too happy
about the overall situation.

So, one night
we came in there,

expecting to see our favorites,

the Grassroots
and Billy Preston,

and lo and behold,
after two weeks,

they changed the bill.

And there was a group
called Mothers playing.

The main thing I remember

is that they played a song
that was 20 minutes long.

And everybody was getting tired dancing in the middle of it.

And on the second set
that you played,

you played a song called
"How Could I Be Such a Fool?"

And I remember listening
to that song

and thinking
I'd never heard it before.

And I was really surprised.

I started thinking to myself,
"God, did he write that?"

And when I figured out
that you had,

'cause I asked you
after you came off stage,

I was going,

"My god, he's got talent.
I don't believe it."

Do you think that
perhaps you might, uh,

in a year or two be
the new musical messiah?

As in the Beatles and Presley

ten years ago and ten years
before that? Whoever it was.

I can honestly say
that I do not think so.

The Mothers of Invention.

Bunk: I... I don't remember,
in all the years with Frank,

hearing too many bands
that had horns.

Guitar players, you know,
all over the place.

Not too many, uh,
bands had horns.

But, you know, at the
same time,

I didn't hear any other bands

playing Stravinsky or classical music or anything.

So, uh, that was fairly unique.

And that made me feel good

about what we were doing
musically.

I'm not a weirdo or any of
these other things.

But when you get around
other people

that are just naturally
funny and do weird things,

I ended up just feeling
very comfortable.

It was exciting
in the beginning.

It truly was.

But of course,
it was musically difficult.

Some nights, Frank would jump up into the air

and come down,
and he would expect us

to know what song
he was gonna go into.

You know, a perfectionist here,
you know.

That made an impression that, jeez, well, you know...

So, it became our duty...

to engage in, uh,
these kind of things

that-- that--
that would make him laugh.

The band wasn't specifically

anything other
than Frank's ideas.

And each show
was like a composition.

And they happened
because the band

is following his direction.

You know, I used to think,

"Okay, he's called me here,"

and I don't mean
in the early days,

I mean in full flower
of playing with him.

We'd talk for a minute,
and then there isn't even

a "Thanks for coming by"
or "Okay, see you later."

He would just turn
the other way,

and I would be waiting
for him to turn back to say,

"Oh." But if he turned back, it would be, "You still here?"

You know, it's like,
I was dismissed

without even being dismissed.

And you could interpret that
as being, you know,

what a fucking self-centered
asshole.

But I think that he was just
so single-mindedly

needing to get his work done.

Bunk: In the four years
I was with Frank,

he shook my hand once
and said, "Good job."

I don't ever remember Frank
embracing somebody.

Maybe that was his environment
when he was growing up.

So, I kind of accepted that
as...

"Don't get too close, okay?"

And, uh, I didn't.

I must say, this is
a rather unprecedented
response

for the bullshit that we do,
so sit down

and we'll do some more
if you like it.

So...
so, it was in April of 1966.

It was at Los Angeles Airport, actually.

I was working as a secretary
at the Whisky,

and there was another girl
doing filing.

And little did I know

that she actually lived
with Frank.

She shared a house with him.

And she got a phone call.

And it was Frank.

And he said, "Come pick me up."

The night that I went
to pick you up at the airport,

and when I told you that
I was bringing

this lovely young thing with me

because she was
a lovely young thing.

And you needed
to get some action.

And you said, "No, come alone."

And so, I said, "Okay."

So, I took her with me
to the airport.

And then we brought you home.
We went and got those steaks,

and I gave her
my black slip to sleep in.

And you guys slept in my room

'cause I had the only double
bed in the house.

- Mm.
- And I slept on the couch.

And you waited and took her
to work at the Whisky

in the morning.

It was that weekend,
and... and she called

on the phone. You said,

"Tell her if she wants to fuck
to come over."

And I said,
"Huh, I can't say that to her.

You'll have to say it yourself."

And so you did.
And then she came over

and you guys were on the couch fucking.

One thing
that I'm very clear about

is I married a composer.

I don't know about whatever
he is to anybody else,

but to me he was a composer.

And you have to be
out of your mind

to begin with to take it on.

There's no guarantee
that you're ever going to be

able to earn an income.

No one cares about
what composers do.

And everything is against you.

Absolutely everything
is against you,

which makes the odds
pretty fantastic.

The guy who came
to see us, Tom Wilson,

was having a good time
with some girls.

And he was dragged
to the Whisky a Go Go

to witness one of our songs,

which happened to be a blues
kind of a number.

He said, "Oh. White blues band. Okay, we'll sign them,"

and signed the group

and then went right back
to the girls.

Bunk: I don't think Wilson

heard a lot of the other things

because when we went
into the studio,

he was totally surprised.

And I'm sure he wasn't sure

whether this was
going to sell or not.

And we were out there.

This is a number
we always play

when people ask us
to play more.

Because we know
that after we play this,

they couldn't possibly
ever want to hear us again.

We're going to play
a piece of music

that was written
by Edgar Varèse,

called "Octandre."

Do you consider
that your group

is just as talented
and as skilled as, say,

men from a symphony orchestra?

Oh, I... I think
there are definitely things

that this group of musicians
can do that you...

you wouldn't be able to find
symphony musicians to do.

Because not only
do they manipulate

their instruments
with great skill,

but they have to do it all
from memory.

And they have to do it
with choreography.

You insist on very high

and exacting standards.

Yeah. I have to insist on them.

I don't always get them,
but I have to insist on them.

I think if you shoot
any lower than that,

you're going to wind up
with something sleazy.

So, we try and-- like,

the parts
are real complicated,

so if you don't stay on it

and make sure
everything is right

you don't get
an accurate performance.

Bunk: Man, we would go in

for a minimum eight,
ten, twelve hours.

I mean, you know,
drinking black coffee.

He wouldn't stop.

I mean, it was, you know,
it's like, "God."

It didn't matter
if it was Christmas

or Thanksgiving
or whatever, man.

We were going to rehearse
and, you know,

make sure that we were ready
to-- to play the music

because he was just writing
all the time. All the time.

So, we were always
introducing stuff.

It was, uh,

a very unusual approach,
I think.

But we were never
that popular in Los Angeles.

Our market really wasn't
the peace, love,
hippie type people.

That wasn't our market.

Hippies did not like us
because we didn't do

the things
that they approved of.

Compared to New York,

Los Angeles is a very conforming community.

When we moved to New York

there was virtually
no scene at all.

There was no
long-haired anything there.

People looked at us
like we were from Venus.

A lot of people
have associated you,

rightly or wrongly,
with the drug culture

that came into being in the
'60s about the same time

as your music
first became prominent.

First of all,
I have nothing to do
with the drug culture.

I don't use drugs,

and I don't advise other people to use drugs.

And a lot of the things
that I think are wrong

with the society today

are a direct result
of people using drugs.

It's so prevalent
that if you don't use drugs,

people think you're weird.

The Beatles
played in Hamburg,

and they had their way
with this club

for months on end.

And in a similar way,
Frank had the Garrick.

You get to work out
what you want to do.

You get to experiment
with the audience.

You get to really be intimate with an audience.

That really helped Frank
to perfect

what he could get away
with on stage.

The attention
to the theatrical side grew

when we moved to New York

and had to do
a show every night.

The bulk of what could be
classified

as theater of cruelty took
place at the Garrick Theater

in '67.

And that was a unique situation because it was the same people

who kept coming back
to the theater all the time.

It was part of, uh, this little routine that we had

with the two
or three hundred people

that made up the audience
at the Garrick.

Bunk: We'd get out and play,

and Frank would start
abusing people in the audience,

you know, or calling people up.

Or turning his back
on the audience, saying,

"You know, let's run through
this," and ignoring them.

And they-- they loved it.

For Frank,
his measure of success

is how close did you get

to the realization

of the idea that you first heard
the first time you heard it?

If you get anywhere near that,
you can call it a success.

But most of the time,
you never even get close.

'Cause you have to rely
on all these other people

to do all this other stuff.

You know, people like musicians
and things like that.

To do the kind of music
theater that we were doing,

you needed people
who weren't afraid

to act up on a stage
and do ludicrous things.

'Cause that was part of
what the music was saying

that the whole world
was absolutely absurd,

and so, here it is.
We're giving it back to you.

In fact, if we hadn't left Los Angeles,

we would have just evaporated
after the first album.

Band member:
One, two, three.

I was a percussion major
at Juilliard.

I mean, this was back
in the...

the times of dynasties
in music.

I thought that I would love it,

and all of that derailed for me,

it just crashed and burned,

when I heard my first
Frank Zappa concert.

I just suddenly realized,

"I don't want to be
a timpanist in an orchestra.

And I don't want to be
a triangle player

in an orchestra."

To have to sit
in the back row on stage

to play my three triangle notes.

That was not anything that
appealed to me

from the moment
I heard Frank's music.

And it's not that I was
inexperienced as a listener

with other popular music
or music theater or any of that.

Frank embodied everything.

Everything that showed me
in that one concert

that I wanted to do that.

I would sit in my orchestration
classes at Juilliard

in my baroque history.

These classes taught
by the greatest people on Earth.

One day, I was in one
of the piano practice rooms

and I was absolutely
not even allowed to be there

because "That's just
for the pianists."

And there I would be,
trying to recall the melody

or the melodic shape of "Oh No."

Nobody was there.

And on this fabulous
grand piano,

I played that piece
to the best of my recollection.

And I can't tell you,
probably within 30 seconds,

an officer of the school
came in.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just playing
this beautiful music."

"Doesn't sound like any music
you're supposed to be playing
here."

And I said,
"It's 20th-century music.

What are you talking about?
It's by a living composer."

"Get out."

And if you were to hear
that piece on the piano,

it could live in a
concert hall.

It was that type of music
that he could produce

that was a product of
everything that was in him.

But you couldn't
really categorize it.

You couldn't say, "Oh yeah,
that's rock and roll,"'cause it
wasn't.

"It's jazz."
No. It really wasn't.

"It's pop music."
No. Not at all.

Well, what the hell is it?

It's Zappa.

And I knew
that it had changed my life.

That's the thing.

I didn't live my life and
then look back on it and go,

"Yeah. That was
the life-changing moment."

I walked out of that theater,
and I was actually disoriented.

I... my whole world
had been shaken up.

And Frank recently came back
from a town near Brussels

where they had a kind
of a European pop festival.

How did you communicate
with these kids

who speak Walloon,
who speak Flemish,

who speak, uh,
sort of a dialect of French?

- What did...
- I only talked to them once.

Murray: What did you say?

I said, "I'm really glad
that you... you guys

had a pop festival in spite
of the French government."

It's really very square.

It's just very depressing,
you know,

to think of what Paris
used to be famous for...

Go ahead, bleep it.

Oh, Frank.

Well, in the past Paris
was famous for its...

But now it...

Frank, you're going to kill
the tourist business

as far as the French
are concerned.

I hope so.

Fr-- France ought to get
its... ...together.

Bunk: You know,
when you look at stuff now,

I mean, e... everything goes.

And it also brings to mind,

because we played
with Lenny Bruce,

you know, how difficult it was
in terms of your language, uh,

that people would not accept.

Lenny Bruce had a-- an
incredible impact,

an incredible influence.

But, you know, Frank's
influence was really, really
strong.

And-- and it instantly just,
like, made a beeline

for the most influential
archetypes and figureheads

in rock music. You know, if you listen toSgt. Pepper.

It was obvious
that the Beatles knew

what... what was going on
with Frank.

They've explicitly said that
Sgt. Pepperwas our attempt

to make our own Freak Out!

And the inner spread
of the album,

whether Frank liked it or not, was powerful and iconic,

and... and, you know,
the... the record company

were not wrong
in terms of making an impact.

It definitely made an impact.

But Frank didn't think of it.

So there's a part of him
that just bristled

because it wasn't his baby,
you know.

And the second album,
he put his foot down.

Not only was he in charge
of... of the artwork

and he did his own collage
on the back cover,

but if he had had the time
and inclination,

he could have continued on doing his own album artwork.

And... and it would have been
fascinating.

But I think when Cal Schenkel crossed his path

and he saw somebody
that got what he was doing

and could capture it
and could also focus on it

exclusively while,
you know, Frank would look

over Cal's shoulder and say,
"Try that, try that."

Frank just hands him his head, and you get just amazing cover

after amazing cover.

And that-- it's beautiful

'cause they built
a world together.

Those album covers plays
into that thing of feeling

like you're part
of an alternative movement.

There had already been two otherSgt. Pepper parodies

by the time
that our package was ready.

And MGM was panic stricken

that they would be sued
by The Beatles

and wanted legal assurance

that The Beatles
weren't going to harm them

for putting this package out.

And all the legal gyrations
took about 13 months.

I know
I talked personally

to McCartney at one time
and said that, you know,

"The record company
is panic stricken over this,

and can you do anything
to help me?"

And it was like he was on the other end of the line, taking the phone and going,

"You mean,
you talk about business?"

Like, "Oh, we have lawyers
who do that."

He just had no interest in participating in a discussion

of the legal ramifications

of a parody
of theSgt. Pepper cover.

That was at a time when it was very, very unfashionable

to be a businessman
or even to have any contact

to the world of commerce.

I mean, people were living
in a dream world.

How did they expect
to earn a living

doing their music if they didn't have some idea

that the people
who were distributing it

were only there
to steal from them?

Most of the artists that I knew were too busy getting ripped.

If you just got high
and went out

and did your groovy music and, you know, then there were

business people who took care of that other stuff.

It's time for a revolution
but probably not in the terms

that people imagine it.

The thing that's wrong today
is that the... the people

who are in control of the media
and the government

and, you know, things
that... that run the lives

of the average person
in the street,

they aren't doing
a good job of it

'cause they don't really care.

Why don't you run
for president?

I thought about it
a number of times before.

And then the thing
that always holds me back

is that what would it feel like
to actually be the president,

you know, and have to stay
in Washington DC

in a house for four years?
That'd be pretty grim.

A lot of what we do
is designed to annoy people

to the point where they might, just for a second,

question enough
of their environment

to do something about it.

As long as they don't feel
their environment,

they don't worry about it.

They're not going to do
anything to change it.

And something's got to be done

before America scarfs up
the world and shits on it.

I wasn't
in the United States

when Moon was born.
I was on the road.

As I walked out the door
to get on the bus,

I said, "Well, if it's a girl, name it Moon,

and if it's a boy,
name it Motorhead."

Reporter: In California,
actor Ronald Reagan

and Mrs. Reagan arrive
to cast their votes

in the state's primary
election.

He's the Republican nominee
for governor.

It's his first
political contest.

Reagan was the governor
of California.

And there was a freak
contingent starting in
LA at the time.

And in those days, if you had long hair in this town

and you were driving a car,

it was such
an infrequent occurrence

that people would actually
wave to each other.

That's how...
what a tigh-- what a small

and tight community it was.

Well, Frank was considered

by everyone on the strip and all the people in the clubs

to be sort of the--
I mean, the ersatz Pied Piper

of Laurel Canyon.

He was right in the center
of it in the log cabin,

which was Tom Mix's old cabin

with his horse buried
under the bowling alley.

People can't believe
these kind of things.

With Houdini's house
right across the street.

And he... he was this
centrifugal force

of Laurel Canyon.

Any kind of rock star,

especially the British guys
who came to town,

wanted to meet Frank.
So, we would,

you know, meet these
rock stars,

and they right away would say,

"C... can we meet Zappa?"

So, of course, Jagger was there, the Stones,

and all the local bands too.

But Jeff Beck, I mean.

Any... anybody you can think of at that time.

It was the center
of the world at that point.

Frank suggested,
since he had started
a record label,

that we actually
become our own group.

It was very ra-- unusual.

I mean, there were no rock--
girl rock bands at all

or rock groups.
We didn't play any instruments.

And he wanted us just to
capture our lives in
Laurel Canyon,

on the Strip.

He thought
we had something to say.

He always liked to preserve
moments in time.

Uh, what kind of, uh, girls
are these groupies?

Well, not all of 'em
are groupies, you know.

Some girls that will readily
admit that they are groupies

have a very special
sort of mentality, you know,

and they... they aspire
to that position.

But there are other girls
who would never admit
that they are groupies,

but who function
in that capacity anyway.

And the...
what about, uh, your wife?

I mean, does she like it?

Well, she's become
accustomed to it

over a period of years.

Well, early, early days,

I did not notice
any messing around.

When... when Moon
was a little baby,

and then she got pregnant
with Dweezil,

and she insisted
they leave that scene.

I remember that.

Okay, that's it.

She... she was having
another kid.

And, uh, you know,
I don't think she liked it.

She didn't. In fact,
I know she didn't like it,

but she knew about it.

I'm a human being,
you know.

I like to get laid.

I mean, is... you have to be realistic about these things.

You go out on the road, you strap on a bunch of girls,

you come back to the house,

you find out
you've got the clap.

What, you're going to keep it
a secret from your wife?

You know.
So, I come back there, I said,

"Look, I got the clap.
Go get a prescription."

So, she goes out and gets
some penicillin tablets.

We both take them,
and that's it.

She grumbles every once
in a while, but, you know,

she's my wife.

And he did include her in... in almost everything

that... that he was doing.

She was right there
at all times.

All right. Now what
do you want to do about...

I'll tell you the secret

to keep maintaining
a relationship,

apart from the hideous
uh, occupational hazards

that in-- that are specific
to rock and roll,

um, which can throw you
for an-- take you

on an emotional rollercoaster
if you let it from time to time.

But...

the main thing is don't have
those conversations.

So, Frank does what he does,
and I do what I do.

You know, I used to--
had an expression
in my own mind about it.

A polarity of passions.

Two different worlds there,

and it's sometimes
very uncomfortable

because he couldn't fucking wait
to get out of the house

and go on the road.

But then, he was also
very happy to come home

just to feel safe again.

One of the reasons
why I said,

"Let's get the fuck
out of here,"

because Manson had set up shop in the mountain behind us

at the log cabin.

There was this trail
that was maybe ten feet

from the bedroom window,

and every morning,
I would see their feet

cruising around
the neighborhood.

They were creepy.

I mean, the thing
about the '60s,

you just know stuff.

You don't know why you know it, but you just know it.

You feel it. It's... it's just in the air.

And I remember that.

Reporter: The family's leader,
Charles Manson,

denied that they were
a violent group.

I don't know if previous
generations felt that.

But I know we did.

Whoever was alive then did.

Alice: The way we met was that
I met Miss Christine

from the GTOs.

And they knew we were looking for a contract,

and... and they knew Frank was just starting his own label.

And we were this little band
coming to LA to try to make it.

Not knowing that he was going
to be our savior.

Every record company
turned us down

except for Frank.

It was weird.

He had the freaks,

and he had the very,
extremely intelligent

and the very artsy people
behind him.

And then there was the whole
middle that didn't get it.

You formally disbanded
the Mothers in 1969. Why?

Because it was a disaster.

We were doing a tour.

The tour wasn't successful.

At the beginning, I took 400 dollars out of my bank account

so I could eat.

And by the time the tour
was over,

after paying everybody
and everything,

I was 10,000 dollars in debt.

And it just seemed to me
that this was not the--

a lifestyle
I wished to continue.

Hey. That sounds like shit.

Want to get a level on this
before we actually make it?

Bunk: When we first went out
to play, after the concert,

we wanted to know if we were
actually going to get paid.

There was always that kind of,

"Wow.
What's going on financially?"

So, we didn't even get
a two-week notice.

And... and I remember saying,

"I just bought a new Chevy,"
whatever.

You know. So, no.

It was totally out of the blue.

Totally.

I think that
Frank realized, "Wow.

I just wanted
to create something,

and I wanted to make
a statement artistically,"

but there's people
relying on you.

There's people expecting
paychecks.

And then Frank is like, "This isn't fun for me anymore.

I don't want to feel as though
I'm responsible

for the-- the happiness
and livelihood

of... of a bunch
of other people."

"All I want to do
is... is make statements

and see how they sound."

The new format that I'm working with now is...

that if I want to form a group
called The Mothers of Invention

I'll stick anybody in it
that I want to.

It's just whoever happens
to be right for the type of work

that we're doing.

Like, for instance,
if I'm going to do a concert

with a symphony orchestra
and I don't necessarily

want to do a lot of vocals
with the orchestra,

then I don't bring the vocals.

Or I... I have, uh,
occasion to play a job

with a small group,
like four or five pieces,

where I'm just going
to play the guitar,

I'll bring along
an instrumentation

- likeHot Rats.
-Uh-hmm.

So, I-- it gives me
a little bit more

artistic flexibility,
you might say.

Most of what occurred
after that,

the groups were not
as permanent.

They didn't have the same
kind of personality

as the early Mothers.

The one that followed on
after that 1969 batch

was the group
with Mark and Howard.

And it had an identity.

- Oh, you're so professional.
- Oh, okay.

The way you get to travel
to all those exotic places.

Do you really have a hit single
on the charts with a bullet?

They had been in a group
called The Turtles,

but I guess The Turtles
had broken up.

And I had done a concert

with the Los Angeles
Philharmonic,

and they came to the concert.

And we decided that
I would put together

another touring band
called the Mothers

and go out
and do amusing things.

Hey!

We were redefining

the expectations
of entertainment.

But it seemed to me
there was no reason

why that audience
shouldn't experience

some of the things
that had already happened

since 1920
in musical development.

Things that they were
completely unaware of

just because they were
a "rock audience"

and therefore deprived
of musical experience.

It wasn't being presented
to them in any kind

of music appreciation class
in school.

Unfortunately,
there were some people

who thought that it was bad because nothing should change

real rock and roll.

And anybody who would interfere with that kind of aesthetic

was viewed as a threat and needed to be disposed of.

And basically, my career
has been...

year after year,
waiting to be disposed of.

How do you know
about success?

How do I know
about success?

I don't know.

I watched The Beatles
in the '60s.

I guess that's success.

Hey. Sit down
and cool it for a minute

so I can hear
what we're going to do.

And for-- and for those of you
in the band who have no idea

what's about to happen,
this is in A minor.

And it's not standard...

You pretty much couldn't find

a... a more pristine example
of somebody

at the absolute pinnacle

of mainstream musical
success...

who decides,
"Wow. This is bullshit."

I'd just like to say hello.

And so, when Lennon and Zappa finally crossed paths...

in some ways, it gave John and Yoko's artistic expression

a framework that they never
really enjoyed

in any other context.

And in some ways,
makes more sense

when the imprimatur of Frank
and the Mothers

are surrounding them.

Alice: I really think Frank was
afraid to have a hit record.

Because I think Frank could have
written hit records all day.

And he purposely sabotaged
a lot of his records.

It was interesting
'cause everybody

was going for the hit record,
and he never did.

That makes absolutely
no sense to me.

But I don't disagree with it
because I... I think

that that's probably correct,
but I don't think Frank was--

had any interest whatsoever
in writing an-- any hit tunes.

That's not even on his radar.

This man...

was just a walking mass
of contradictions,

and yet... now I'm going
to contradict myself.

At the same time,

he was very consistent
with those contradictions.

Do you see any commercial
potential in it?

I sure as hell hope so.

From 200 Motels
he expects the worst reviews

of any movie ever put out.

His intention is to create
a piece of film so bizarre

and parts of it
so full of bullshit

and other parts of it
so technically perfect

that the people are going
to leave the theater, going...

"I didn't understand it at all. What's he doing?

What's-- what's the message?
What's he trying to say?"

Well, that's the message.

Martin walks over in here.

You just come over and stand
near the side of the organ

and watch from the background.

Just the whole idea
that it is Frank Zappa

and The Mothers of Invention

has always given us
something to talk about.

You know, Frank is, you know,
our boss, and so there's always

that kind of management/worker
relationship.

It's all very temporary.

And, uh,
that's the way it works.

And you just--
you just never know.

I mean, like,
it isn't the final stay

for any of us.

You know, like,
this isn't the final Mothers

Frank will have.

It's hard to say
how long we will be together.

So, they see that you're getting
Martin back there and everybody.

You're waking them all up.

Steve: My perspective of it has changed through the years.

Because when I was in it,

I was a tool for the composer

and... and as--
is all of his musicians.

And he used his tools,
uh, brilliantly.

It's like, whatever you can do that's interesting and unique,

it's going to be exaggerated

and used as he deems fit
for his music.

Frank would often appear
to be cold, aloof,

and not personally involved
with his trained monkeys

as once he joked about.

We're just all
trained monkeys, right?

He's the circus ringleader
or whatever.

But I want to tell you that
he had great feelings for us.

He was-- he was human.

There were times
when I didn't feel

that he was so much.

And I did feel
he was cruel at times.

But he was a passionate man.

And he developed real love,

I'm not going to say equally
for everybody.

But the people that he loved, he kept bringing back

over and through
many of the bands.

Many of the tours.

Frank was very loyal
to the people

that had helped him
along the way

even if they were
the worst motherfuckers.

He would, um, go out of his way
to help them.

And I can count on one hand
the friends that he truly

would spend time with.

He was pretty forgiving
for someone that he knew,

but if he didn't know you,

one chance, that's it.

Done.

You know, so he could be
hardcore as well.

First of all,
he was not injured.

He was attacked.

This myth about him
falling off the stage,

that didn't happen.

Some idiot attacked him
and threw him off the stage.

And I know a lot of people know something happened to you,

and essentially, it was that

a person of somewhat demented condition, apparently,

had pulled you off the stage

at a place called the Rainbow Theatre in London.

And you were knocked unconscious
and pretty seriously injured.

And I know you were
in a wheelchair

a long time after that.

Uh, there's been a lot of talk
about some of things

that happened to the Mothers
as a result of that accident,

but I'm wondering what,
if anything, it did to you.

Did it affect your thinking?

Did it change
any of your perspectives?

Oh, certainly. Of course.

It helps you to find out
who your friends are.

Try sitting in a wheelchair
for nine months.

You'll find out
who your friends are.

The point that I was
in the hospital,

you have a bunch of guys

who earn their living
from touring.

And I was unable to tour
for the bulk of that year.

So, I'm used to being active
and traveling around

and having a good time.

And so, if you're sitting there
and you are an invalid

against your will, uh,
it does change your outlook

a little bit.

The nose
is the important part

when you're making
a Zappa head.

'Cause no one else
has one like it.

It doesn't have ears,
but that's because

they wouldn't be seen
once you get the hair on.

But the hair is actually
the... the simpler part

of this whole thing.

You can see here
how easily the hair goes on.

How did you find the animator, Bruce Bickford?

I was sitting here
with a broken leg,

and he climbed over my fence

with two reels of film
under his arm.

Now, this is tough
'cause the fence

used to be pretty high,
but he made it.

I hitchhiked
up to Laurel Canyon

and then found his house.

We looked at the stuff,
and he was impressed

by the number of figures
that I could sustain

in animation in one shot.

As far as I can tell,
he's the best ever.

And he wanted to know
if I could help him.

I was sitting in the basement, and here's this guy

with this footage.

And he's been on my payroll
ever since.

Motherfucker throws Frank
off the stage,

and whether Frank
likes it or not,

that's a huge marker
for a new phase.

He's got to convalesce.

And what do you do
if you're Frank Zappa

with that brain
and you can't move?

And you can't get up?

He's got a restless,
creative mind,

so he's going to start
creating.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I suppose you've noticed

that this is a clay forest,

and the forest has been
manufactured

for your edification

by none other
than Bruce Bickford.

Bruce, would you please tell us
what's going on

on this table over here?

Well, all you have to do
is just move it

a very slight amount.

And then you take the picture.

And you move it again.
And just keep going.

And you can pick up speed
after a while.

On making sure each time
that you get your fingers out

from in front of the lens
before you take the picture.

That's all you got to know.

Uh, at times, he...
he was stubborn.

We were gonna make a movie,

and all he could think about
was control. His control.

He had some emotions
that ran deep

that he wouldn't express.

Bunk: I just accepted everything
rather than questioning

why are you like you are?

But I could see the workaholic,

and that was where his joy
was coming from.

I think that Frank didn't,
like, express himself

as directly in terms
of his own emotions.

I don't think he saw that
as his purpose.

He had so much talent.

It defied everything.

When something cataclysmic
happens in your life,

there's any number of ways
you can deal with it.

You can just go,
"Oh, my god, why me?"

and be capsized.

Or you can say, "Well, I got no choice in the matter here.

Something has changed."

He's not going to continue
employing a group

while he's convalescing,

so that version
of the Mothers scatters,

starts doing their own things.

And as soon
as he's able to write,

wheel to the rehearsal studio, get some of the horn players
in there,

put the charts in front of him, hear what things sound like,

end up with a stack
of new compositions,

go out on the road,
surprise people yet again.

Let me tell you something.
Do you like monster movies?

Anybody?

I love monster movies.

I simply adore monster movies
and the cheaper they are,

the better they are.
All right?

And this is "Cheepnis" here.

One, two, three, four.

I want to tell you
one more time.

I want to thank you

because I really
appreciate this.

Thank you, thank you. Thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thank every one of you.
And good night.

Scott: I think at every point
in his life,

he was trying to do
the best thing

that he could
to have no regrets.

But what was Frank
honestly trying to do?

He didn't give a shit
about the immediate...

world of his-- of his
attempting to function

in the way that he chose
to function, which was

"If I'm alive,
I've got to be in the studio.

I've got to be
at the music paper."

My desires are simple.

All I want to do is get
a good performance

and a good recording

of everything that I ever wrote
so I can hear it.

And if anybody else
wants to hear it,

then that's great too.

Sounds easy,
but it's really hard to do.

Steve: Frank was a slave
to his inner ear.

So, he heard things
a particular way,

and then he tried to manifest them in the world,

but there were limitations.

And... there's financial
limitations to a degree

when you're dealing
with orchestra pieces.

And there's performance
limitations, you know?

You can just write something
that somebody can't play,
you know.

But the music needed to
resemble what he was hearing

in his head.

So, this led to a lot of... I think suffering on his part

due to the inadequacies
and limitations of others,

you know.
Sorry, Frank.

We rehearse all the time.

Every day before we play,
we rehearse.

We'll... we'll rehearse, uh,

before this tour,
we rehearsed for three weeks

four days a week,
five hours a day.

Steve: A lot of people think,
"Oh, he was very demanding."

No more demanding than anybody

that has a job
that they need to do.

But it would be really
difficult for a musician in
Frank's band

if he was asking you to do
things that you couldn't do.

But he always asked you
to do things

that he believed you can do,
but maybe you didn't.

"Black Page" was a piece
of music that Frank wrote.

It's probably, um,
at the foref...

forefront of innovation

in regard to
rhythmic polymetric notation.

No doubt. No doubt. Because
there's certain rhythmic

situations in that piece

that are extraordinarily
complex,

but the important thing

is it sounds like
a beautiful piece of music.

It's unique.

It's a comp-- and it's nothing
like anything else

in his catalog.
This is Frank, you know.

And so, the "Black Page"
is this piece of music

that was like this, um,

phenomenon to me
and to many others.

There was no doubt
that there was a person

who could write music,
fantastic music,

who cared
that it be played properly.

And what I'm hearing

was put on this earth for me.

It was for me.

That music is there

for as long as we have
any kind of, uh,

appreciation for the arts.

The music that Frank made
I think will last.

Producer: You guys
fucking nailed that.

Yeah. That was good.

Now that you are becoming a successful man

on-- in the music scene,
what consequences

could this probably have
for you?

I don't think about it.

A lot of times, the people...

like what you do
for the wrong reasons.

Live from New York,
it's Saturday Night.

No, I don't do drugs.

I just don't like the effects
it has on some people.

What do you mean, man?

What do you mean
you don't do drugs?

Frank Zappa doesn't do drugs?

I don't believe it.

Uh, well,
that was their idea

of something funny.

I think they actually did it
just to make fun of me,

you know, because you know

what their orientation
is all about.

You didn't get high
with the original Mothers?

- No.
- What about Freak Out!,man?

You mean, you were straight
when you wrote Freak Out!?

Oh my, God! Oh, my God!

Ah, wow, man,
that's such a mind blower.

I thought the whole skit
sucked myself, and, uh,

I was just stuck doing it.

They wouldn't let me
write anything for the show.

What is your function
on this planet?

I am a musician.

One, two, three, four.

Ladies and gentlemen.
Frank Zappa.

There was a part of him

that even though he had a lot of people's attention,

of feeling cynical
about the fact that,

yeah, all these people are... are looking,

but they don't know
what they're seeing.

Sometimes truth,
when you put truth up,

really quickly,
like "Here's the truth,"

uh, it's like, uh,
uh, um, daylight to a vampire.

You know what I'm saying?

Some people are used
to avoiding truth.

When someone puts it
right on the table,

don't bring that plate
out here again.

And don't play the music
that the guy that eats off

that plate on the radio.

He don't-- not only thinks,
he discerns.

We got to keep this guy
under check, you know?

'Cause he can't be out there.

And that's just my eyes
seeing it

as a Black man in America.

Anybody that comes
from the outside,

or so-called outside,
with ideas and new thoughts,

and you see this unknown hand
just go like this

and brush you aside.

In those days,
record companies

had a lot
more control over artists.

Typically, what a record company
would do is like sort of,

they would get it--
they were getting closer

and closer to 360 deals,
which means they own

all the parts of you
around your asshole

and everything else
that goes with.

So, Frank wanted to do
a box set.

They said, "No, nobody can do box sets. That's insane."

So then he took
the box set apart

and made four albums out of it.

He went over to Warner's,
and he just handed them over

and said, "Okay,
we're-- I'm done.

That's the end of my contract.
Here's your four albums."

And that changed everything
from that point on.

But more than that,
he's the first artist to go

completely independent.

You know,
we set up our own label.

As Frank and Gail get into the Zappa Records phase,

and you know, one of the first
albums that come out,

Sheik Yerbouti, which
is a very successful album.

And it's got crowd-pleasing,
really filthy shit on it.

But-- you get into the subject matter on that record,

and it's still dark. He's still in that dark place.

Almost every song on
that record

is just like attacking
a specific group of people.

You always were a renegade
against the music business.
Why?

Because most of what the music business does

is not musical.

How many lawsuits
do you have out now, Frank?

Probably about nine.

Nine lawsuits against
some of the most famous

record companies
in Los Angeles.

That's true.

What do you think
is the reason

that Warner Brothers
didn't pay you?

They're a bunch of assholes,
of course.

Steve: Besides the incredible freedom

of his creative perspectives,

his business perspectives
were very independent.

I mean,
he started his own label

back in the day
when this was relatively new

and he was sort of
at the forefront in a sense,

and that was very vital
to their, you know,

organization and their income.

By 1982, we had started
a small mail-order company,

and we did, like,

a million dollars' worth
of sales.

For us, that was good business because you only had to sell

a quarter as many records
really to make

the same amount of profit.

This is where all the fan mail
comes in.

This is where I read it,
and if you don't believe me,

look around you. There's boxes,
and I read everything.

In retrospect, people think you're a genius.

But while it's happening,
you're just,

"Okay, now what?"

And it's just an-- an idea
comes to you,

and then you go for it.

Good evening.

I'm here tonight
to announce my intention

to seek
the Republican nomination

for President
of the United States.

With the onset of Reaganism

and what was happening
in the country at that time,

in some ways, I think
that drew Frank out

of the more solipsistic
darkness

of what was happening
in his career.

This is the dawning
of the dark ages again

as far as I'm concerned.

Never have the arts been
in such bad shape

in the United States.

This is
the Central Scrutinizer.

As you can see,

music can get you
pretty fucked up.

Take a tip from Joe,
and get a good job.

The business of music
is all about this fake list

of who sold what.

The whole idea of selling
large numbers of items

in order
to determine quality to it

is what's really repulsive
about it.

MTV's Top 20
Video Countdown is sponsored

by Burger King
and by Three Musketeers.

The record industry decided

this is the wave of the future.

And they started signing
only groups who look good.

And the whole idea
was making picture music.

When the music business
was still sort of about

recording songs,

you could have a hit record

if it caught on in one
of 10,000

different radio stations
in America.

Now, instead of having 10,000 chances to make a hit,

you got one.

That's one small step for man,

one giant leap for mankind.

Steve: Even in the most ugliest
chord he ever wrote,

there's always a ray of hope
in there, you know.

As an entertainer,
I'm responsible for delivering

the best of what I can do
to the audience

that has bought a ticket
to see it

or buys a record to hear it.

And what about your friends?

Your neighbors? Your family?

Well,
I don't have any friends.

I have a wonderful wife
and four children.

I like them.
They're my friends.

So, your wife is your friend?

Right.

When you're not working,
do you just sort of

cut yourself off
from the rest of the world

and you're with your family?

Well, when
I'm not touring, I'm at home.

I have a studio in my house.
I do my recording there.

And when I'm done
doing that part of my work,

I go off on the road
and travel around

and do this kind of stuff.

They're here.

It's coming at you.

The kids didn't get
to see that much of him.

Just the way it goes.

He was on a mission,
and he was going to accomplish

that mission no matter what.

Well, the sweet thing
about "Valley Girl"

is that it was Frank and Moon in the studio.

Them, you know, connecting.

Undoubtedly having
a good time

even though it was the result
of Moon, you know,

putting a note under, you know,
Frank's studio door, saying,

"Hi, my name's Moon.
I live in the same house as you.

Uh, j-- just in case
you're-- you're interested,

I do this Valley Girl voice."

It was nearly 15 years ago

when the Beach Boys
brought national attention

to California girls.

These days, another kind
of California girl

is being immortalized on record.

There's a song
getting heavy airplay

on Southern California
rock stations

called "Valley Girl."

Hi. You're probably wondering
what we're doing right now.

Well, you see,
we have this problem.

We have this record
called "Valley Girl,"

and all these assholes
keep calling up

and asking for interviews
and photographs.

So, in the middle of the night,

we have to sit on the roof
and stand out here

and move around
and do dumb things

so that the world's
most famous photographer,

Norman Seeff, can take pictures
of this crap for Lifemagazine.

That's what we're doing here.

"Valley Girl"
was a very unusual accident

in the US.

We were a small label
distributed through CBS.

Nobody at CBS had any idea

that that thing would catch on the way it did.

The way it happened
was my daughter took

an acetate of "Valley Girl"
to a station in Pasadena

called KROQ, and as soon as they played it,

the phone started ringing, and it became an instant hit.

People loved it right away.

Like, oh, my God.

Meanwhile,
I'm in Europe on a tour.

I don't even know
I've got a hit record.

In 1982, you couldn't walk
around in the United States

without hearing something about "Valley Girl."

Next on Channel Five,
it's awesome

'cause we're going to, like,

crank with the whole
Zappa family.

For sure.
Totally on evening news...

And that was his first big hit.

His only big hit.

But it really came out of Moon

wanting to spend time
with her dad.

What's happening
in the future now?

Have you-- Are you planning
a follow-up right away

to cash in on the, uh,

the audience's receptivity,
or...

No. As a matter of fact,
the next thing

that I'm going to do is go out
to, um, Cal-Arts tonight

and hear a couple of piano
players give a performance

of some of my orchestra music.

So, there's "Valley Girl." A success, mainstream success.

But to Frank, it's like,
"Okay, what can I do now?

I've got people's attention."

One. Two. Three.

From everything I'd heard,

and heard about Zappa,

it just seemed like
he should write for Kronos.

Yeah.
So, if we can play those longer,

I think that will be
more effective.

How l-- uh, what length?

Hank: I have a quarter note
tie into...

- Oh, I see.
- It's very strange sheet music.

I think the first time we spoke

was after a concert.

I'm thinking '82, '83.

Shortly after that
is when he began to write,

uh, the new piece for us.

I always appreciated the fact
that he taught himself.

He went to the library
as a kid,

and he just checked out books
and stayed there and learned.

For me, that's been a big inspiration.

When I think
of Zappa's life's work,

I'm reminded of Charles Ives,

Harry Partch, Sun Ra.

These are American
experimentalists

that totally reimagined
the way music

might be heard,
might be composed.

And Zappa belongs
in that tradition.

I still write orchestra music.

But, you know,
nobody will ever hear it.

You sure?

Well, I don't wanna say never,

but, uh, the chances
of the music being played

are not very good because every
time we start negotiating

with somebody about having
a performance of it,

all these problems arise,
and it always comes down

to how much money they're
willing to spend to do it.

Because it-- we've had some
offers from orchestras who say,

"Yeah, we'd love to play it,

but we'll give you two
rehearsals."

And it's impossible to play it
in two rehearsals.

You just can't do it.

And I would rather not have
it played

than to have somebody
play it wrong.

Reporter: Tomorrow night, the London Symphony Orchestra

are giving a concert at their
home at the Barbican Centre.

The program of orchestral music they'll be playing

is music written
by the celebrated

American rock star
Frank Zappa.

Robin Denselow has been looking at the least known

and the least commercial side of Zappa's art.

Robin: Frank Zappa has been
quietly writing pieces

for a full orchestra alongside his rock work for years.

For their first
ever performance,

he's using the London
Symphony Orchestra.

The conductor, Kent Nagano,
was chosen by Zappa.

Do you expect
to actually make any money

out of the concert
and the recordings

that you've come here to make

- with the LSO?
- No. No.

Why then do you do it?

Well, I think that any artistic
decision that is based on

whether or not you're going
to make money is not really

an artistic decision.
It's a business decision.

And there are a lot of things
that I can do

to earn a living

and a lot of things that I have
already done

to earn a living,
which have produced the amount

of, uh, capital needed
to do this project.

I came here to spend money
on an English orchestra

to record my music
so I can take it home

and I can listen to it.

And if somebody else likes
that kind of stuff,

I will make it available
on a record

so that they can hear it.

That is my part of the public
service of spending the money

to make this event happen.

No foundation grant,

no government assistance,

no corporation,

no committee.

Just a crazy guy
who spent the money

to hire English musicians
to do a concert at the Barbican

and make an album
for Barking Pumpkin Records.

How do you get the London
Symphony Orchestra

to do your stuff?

- You pay them.
- Yeah.

But isn't this a really
prestigious organization?

Of course.

So, you pay them a lot
of money.

- Yeah.

It's just as serious to write
a song like "Valley Girl"

as it is to write the ballet
called Mo 'N Herb's Vacation.

To me, they're equally
serious problems in music.

Unless they have sufficient time to rehearse it,

the chances of an absolutely
perfect performance

are not good.

Now, uh,
how close did you get?

I would say that we're up
to about 75% on this record.

Conductor: So, you could you
take a look, please, at 159?

Robot: The inhabitants here
do not have the intelligence

to be utilized anymore.

So, man built me.

Human beings are expensive.

If given the choice between not making music at all

or making music in a medium
that a person can afford,

I will make music in a medium I can afford.

Ergo, the machine.

I had bought the Synclavier
and started doing

all the composition
in that medium

because you can write it
the way you want,

and you get to conduct it also.

Even have it executed at any speed or any amplitude.

You can control all the nuances
of the performance.

I would rather do it myself

than give it to somebody else to do.

Okay, Ahmet.

Stop the game, and I want to--
and have him get some

pictures of you with the clay.

I don't have any clay.
Thanks.

There's 1,000 pounds of it
around here someplace.

There's 1,000 pounds
right behind you, Ahmet.

Don't lie.

What do you want me to build?

Whatever you want.

It's not easy
to keep converting capital

from doing other things
and to reinvesting in it

to doing that kind of stuff
because there's no way

that the music
that I'm working on

is gonna pay its own way.

But I would rather do it
this way than to rely on

a government or to rely on,
uh, you know,

a king or a duke or somebody
who, you know,

wants to take drastic action
if he doesn't approve

of your work of art.

You know, forget that.

Do you still think that
music students in universities

are studying a dead language
in a dead institution

by dead professors,
and would you explain why?

Well, yes.

Because a lot of times, uh,
composers will come to me,

and they'll say,
"Well, what do I do?"

And I tell them,
"Get a real estate license

because if you expect to write
music in the United States,

what are you gonna do
for a living?"

If you want to be a composer
in the United States,

you must write for the media.

You can't just write music
because you're writing music.

You have to have some other
kind of a job

to support your habit.

And, uh, it's a sad story,
but it's true.

This is ABC NewsNightline.

Reporting from Washington,
Ted Koppel.

A lot of people,
and they are becoming

increasingly vocal,

find the songs
and the rock video performances

that go with them offensive.

Reporter: One group of parents
has heard more than enough.

The Parents Music
Resource Center

wants a labelling system
for albums and tapes,

much like movies
are rated today.

Later this month,
a Senate committee

will hold hearings
on the question.

A tribute to the clout
of the center,

whose members include
Susan Baker,

wife of Treasury Secretary
James Baker.

Susan: "Guess you could say she
was a sex fiend.

I met her in a hotel lobby,
masturbating with a magazine."

Reporter: Frank Zappa is one
of the few rock artists

to come out openly
against the labeling effort.

I mean,
if it looks like censorship

and it smells like censorship,
it is censorship

no matter whose wife
is talking about it.

It's censorship.

The analogy you draw is a...

Frank was being called
upon by Ted Koppel and CNN

and Larry King

and a lot of mainstream
news outlets

to come on and talk
about this stuff.

Well, he had cleaned up his act sartorially so much

that he was no longer visually the freak from the '60s.

He was somebody that understood that "If I'm gonna do battle

with these people,
I need to like, uh,

come to them on their turf."

And they're taking a right
away from him.

Frank became
the go-to person for comments

to deal with record rating
because nobody else

in the record industry
showed up.

I think that they're probably
concerned about airplay,

and they're probably concerned
about their careers,

and they're probably concerned
about, uh, you know,

taking a chance and opening
their mouth.

But I don't speak for them.

I don't speak for the rest
of the record industry.

I speak as a private citizen,

as a middle-aged Italian
father of four.

I got concerns here
about what's gonna happen

to the right to have free speech
and right to assemble

and the right to have somebody
use your own words

against you
in a legal situation.

And nobody is sticking
their neck out to say

that it's all a bunch of crap.

Mr. Zappa, thank you very much
for being with us.

Please proceed.

I've got an idea for a way
to stop all this stuff

and a way to give parents
what they really want,

which is information,
accurate information,

as to what is inside
the album.

I have no objection
to having all of the lyrics

placed on the album
routinely all the time.

I think your suggestion is, uh,
is an intriguing one

and might really be a solution.

I think your suggestion
is a good one

that they print those words.

That would go a long way

to satisfying
everyone's objection.

Thank you, Mr. Chairman.
Senator Hawkins.

Frank would say
it was a failure

because it still ended up with the Parental Advisory sticker

on the thing.

But I think he made
a difference there.

There were times
that I wished that he could

modulate his approach
a little bit

with a little bit less anger.

Sex equals sin.

But that anger resulted
in some wonderful moments

like theCrossfire
with James Lofton.

Do you think
the founding fathers

really had the First Amendment,
that they gave us

the First Amendment to defend
songs that glorify Satanism

and incest and suicide?
Do you really believe that?

- Absolutely.
- You really believe that?

- Yeah, I believe it.
- You're an idiot then.

- Yeah?
- You're an idiot.

Well, I'll tell you what.
Kiss my... [bleep]

How do you like that, buddy?

Well, take your teeth out.

I was surprised
to see you heading the protest.

Why wasn't someone like Prince

involved with you in that?
I mean...

He should have been
involved in it,

but I think that it's his right
to keep his mouth shut.

It's also
Bruce Springsteen's right

to keep his mouth shut
and anybody else

that they went after.
They never attacked my lyrics.

They attacked those people.

They even went after
Michael Jackson.

But you fought real hard
for these people,

and it was never
your music involved.

That's the thing
that shocked me.

It's the principle of the thing.

We live in a country where
we're supposed to be free.

Take a look at what happened
in China.

You got a bunch of kids there
who want democracy.

They don't even know what it is.

We supposedly have it here,
what do we do?

Sit around and go,
hmm, hmm.

"Let somebody else take care
of it for me."

Scott: From the very beginning,

there wasn't literally
anything like it.

As musicians, that was the way
that we spoke to each other.

Like, instead of quoting movies,
we quoted Zappa.

Scott: And it wasn't until
I started playing with him

that I realized that
he was fucking with America

as much as he was fucking
around with music.

Like, America
was just another canvas

for him to do his shit on.

This is working here.
Hello, which one's working?

None.

This is censorship.

Scott: How did he see himself
in a world

that was literally going mad?

He saw the big picture.

I cannot imagine in any way

it could keep a man
like him down.

If anything, he would battle up

until the last drop
of his blood was shed.

Overrun by orcs,
he doesn't give a shit.

You cannot live your life
as if you are

about to not be able to do
your life anymore.

You know?

Czechoslovakia today
became the latest

of the countries
of Eastern Europe once held

so tightly in the Soviet grip to throw off

its hardline Communist yoke.

I guess it was
about a year before

the Velvet Revolution,
when I was visited here

by a Czech composer.

And through the interpreter,

he indicated that he wanted
to play some of my music

and wanted me to come to Prague
for the concert,

and I thought, well,
the chances of me doing that

were pretty unlikely because Czechoslovakia was pretty grim.

And the next thing I knew,
they had this revolution,

and this composer
was a member of parliament.

And I'd already made four trips to the Soviet Union

and had been trying to develop some East-West

international trade.

Boy, is it cold here.

And I arranged to come to
Prague on my way

back to the United States
from Moscow.

And it was during
my Prague visit,

I proposed to them
that if they needed

some sort of representation
in the West

to help them get investment or whatever they needed to do,

that I would be interested
in doing that.

So, when I got off the plane, there was 5,000 people

waving at me.
And, uh, you know,

never before in my life had I seen anything like that.

Get off the plane,

and, you know,
there's a lot of people,

but there's no police,
and there's no bodyguards.

There's no nothing.
Just people waving at you.

That's nice until you go
through the airport

and they start piling on you.

And to get from the door of the airport to the minibus

that was going to take us
to the hotel

took about 40 minutes.

Gary: When Frank was there,
it was like, Frank was

the President
of the United States

coming to visit.

And Frank was trying
to figure out

why was everyone there
so happy to see him?

And evidently,
in Czechoslovakia,

when young kids
played rock music,

the police would tell them,

"Turn off
that Frank Zappa music."

And all of a sudden,
here's Frank Zappa.

He was a symbol of this freedom,

which is incredible
when you think about it.

He had that kind of effect.

It was like the king
of freedom had showed up.

I mean, Frank was shocked.

Kathleen: Rock musician
Frank Zappa,

who's always been something
of a maverick,

has just returned from a trip
to the Soviet Union

and Czechoslovakia.
And in Prague,

he met with Václav Havel,

now the President
of Czechoslovakia.

He also visited
the Czech parliament

and was named
the Czech Cultural

and Trade Representative
to the United States.

And Frank Zappa joins us
this morning.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

Twenty years ago,
did you think that

- this would be your occupation?
- No.

What are the job specifications?

I'm supposed to represent them
for trade,

for tourism,
and for cultural matters.

Only rock business?

No, no, it's got nothing
to do with rock and roll.

Kathleen: So, is this
Frank Zappa the businessman

who's coming to the fore
and not the rocker?

Well, let's say that
Frank Zappa the rocker

has been pretty much excluded
from US broadcasting.

So, Frank Zappa the rocker
will now do something else.

It turns out that, uh,
when he had testified

before Congress, uh,

our fine Secretary of State
at the time, James Baker,

his wife had been involved
in the, uh,

little Washington clubs
going to save the world.

And James Baker
went to Czechoslovakia,

and he had told
the Czech government

that if they wanted
anything to do

with the United States
government anymore,

if they wanted aid or help
or anything

that they would have to get rid of this association

with Frank Zappa.

Our primary purpose is to educate and inform parents

about this alarming trend,
as well as

to ask the industry
to exercise self-restraint.

Some say there's no cause
for concern.

We believe there is.

Thank you.

When we were
on the road in '88,

he was already feeling poorly.

But, you know, he had been told
it was various other conditions,

various and he was--
he was trying

different ways to deal with it.

But, you know, he was getting
sicker all the time.

He retired
from the concert stage

at the same time that his
illness was coming on.

We sat in the--
in the control room,

and he...

he said, uh,

"Well, like, you know,
I've got some news for you."

And I said, "What?"
And he said,

"I've just been diagnosed
with prostate cancer."

And he sat back
and took a huge drag off

his cigarette
and looked resolute

and, you know,
and somewhat, you know,

like, you know, "Fuck that."
You know, like it's,

uh, you know,
"I've just been diagnosed

with prostate cancer."
He knew the--

what the effect of those words
were going to be,

but he also gave off
this attitude of...

"It's not gonna stop me
from doing what I have to do."

And politically,
I am in the process of, uh,

doing what we call
a feasibility study to see,

uh, if it's possible for me
to run for President

of the United States
against George Bush.

That's quite a comment.

You feel there's a chance?

Uh, yes.
Not a good one

because, you know, he has more balloons than I do.

Makes a lot of sense.

The next time I interview you, I may be calling you

Mr. President
instead of Mr. Zappa.

Maybe.

Do any of these things work?

Uh, we're here
to make a statement

on behalf of our family.

Although Frank was looking
forward to being here

and really intended to be here,

unfortunately, he's not here.

As many of you know,
he's been diagnosed

by journalists as having cancer.

We'd like you to know
his doctors have diagnosed

prostate cancer, which he's
been fighting successfully,

and he has been feeling well
and working too hard

and planned to attend...

You're a legendary workaholic.

-Are you able to work?
- Not anymore.

Not anymore.
Tell me.

Uh, basically on a good day,
I can go 9:30 to 6:30.

It's really slowed you down.

- Yeah.
- Has being sick affected

your music, what kind of music
you're writing?

No.

Can you tell me a little bit
about how you've been doing?

- Uh, fair.
- Fair?

Yeah. Good days, bad days.

More bad days
than good days?

Yeah.

Let's do it.
Tell her to hurry.

Yeah, she's got to cover up
the results

of my botched transfusion here.

Ready?

He is diagnosed,
and he really,

uh, started working in earnest.

And that in some ways, I think, was intentionally

a summing up while he was ill in the last couple years.

Steve: One of the things
that Frank loved

was musicians that really loved what they were doing,

and enjoyed playing

to the best of their ability
and took great pride

in the composer's music.

There was not enough
through the years.

You know, Frank dealt
with orchestras that were,

you know, basically paid
and came in

and did their job just by,
"Okay, here's another chart."

But then through the years,
the-- his music

as it started touching
more younger people

who were growing up
and taking up instruments,

some of them had a deep desire

to play Frank's music that way.

So, when Frank discovered
the Ensemble Modern,

this is a group of musicians that wanted to play his music

on a level that was yet
to be achieved.

When the final event
is put together,

I will make some structure
out of what worked

during the rehearsal.

At the end of the day,
you'll have it on paper.

And you'll be able to read it.

Okay?

Okay, so watch, and I'll just
move the pitch around the room.

And instead of just playing
your note, style the note.

Put some sort of different
vibrato rates on it, you know,

your-- that's the one note
you have in life.

You're really gonna play
the shit out of it.

And your big chance to be
a star with one note.

Here we go.

He worked lots of different

projects simultaneously.

But that shifted when it was
becoming more obvious

that he wasn't gonna have
the time that he needed.

And then I think he set up priorities himself.

Went too fast.
Da-da, da-da.

There's nothing weird
about the tempo relations.

There's nothing science fiction
about this tempo.

Yeah.

You make decisions
about what you can finish,

what's really important
to finish,

which, you know,

is another kind
of composition.

I see what it is.

I had written a letter
that I had hand-delivered

to the house

when I really thought I was not going to see him again.

It was essentially...

a letter of love and
gratitude...

for everything he had done
in the world.

And not just the world of music

and not just my little life

but the world.

And so...

I asked him to read it
after I would leave.

Of course, he opened it right while I was there.

He read it, and he said, um,

he was not effusive.

I didn't expect him to be,
but he said,

"That is really, really nice."

And he hugged me.

And he looked like he was
in so much pain,

and he hugged me.

But nothing.
It fucking sucked.

Before Frank died, he said,

"Sell everything, and get out of this business.

It's hateful, and take,
you know,

go get a house at the beach,
and have a good time."

So, there you have it
in a nutshell.

Thank you.

You got
an extraordinary reaction.

I mean,
20-minute standing ovation.

How do you feel about that?

Well, uh,
there's no accounting for taste.

Oh, come on.

You must have been thrilled.

I was. I was happier
that they did that

rather than throw things
at the stage.

We were loud.

We were coarse.

And we were strange.

And if anybody in the audience ever gave us any trouble,

we'd tell them to fuck off.

This is the
Central Scrutinizer.

Joe has just worked himself

into an imaginary frenzy

during the fade-out

of his imaginary song.

He begins to feel
depressed now.

He knows the end is near.