RETROSPECTIVE: MIKE KENEALLY AND FRANK ZAPPA
badda bing
the 80s, and in 1985 I got through to him. The main question I had
was about some lyrics in the "Strictly Genteel" finale (they were
"bent, reamed and wasted"), but I also mentioned it was a dream of
mine to work with him someday. His response: "Keep dreaming. I'm
never going on the road again."
Through the '80s Marty and I continued to capture my songwriting
efforts on four-track tape. Another experiment was launched in 1985
with nuptials impending...my first attempt at a day job. I attempted
to sell keyboards for a couple of months at a store called Music
Mart. I even appeared in TV commercials for the store, standing on a
stage in a line with my fellow employees, singing the Music Mart
jingle. I quickly discovered that I did not have the salesman's
temperament and beat a hasty retreat, although at least one good
thing came out of the job: a musician named Larry Rathburn saw me
demo a Roland synth by playing the main riff from "Jump" and decided
on the spot that I should play keyboards in his band LA (which also
featured Annie Levin, an extremely engaging vocalist...LA = Larry &
Annie, see?). For nearly two years this band was an extremely
dependable source of income, and we had a lot of fun. Larry now
plays around San Diego as Rockin' Joe Rathburn and remains a good
friend.
Although I was still an active member of LA, I felt the need to lead
an original band, and Drop Control was formed in January 1986:
Marty, me, Doug Booth on bass and vocal and Alan Silverstein on
drums and vocal. We played at being a quintet for awhile (Andy
Vereen came to a couple of rehearsals, and an electric violinist
named Chris Vitus sat in with us on at least one occasion) but
ultimately it was decided to stay with the more wieldy quartet
format. Although it was our intention to play original music, the
lure of the ducat proved irresistible and eventually we found
ourselves playing covers. It was with this band that I made my only
public appearances playing alto saxophone, on "Tequila". The second
time I attempted it, it sounded so awful I laid down on the ground
with the sax, left it on the floor when I got up and never picked it
up again. As Drop Control took up more and more of my attention I
found it difficult to be in two full-time bands, and took my leave
from the group LA.
(This following section is the official getting into Frank's band
story, with every detail I can call to mind at the moment.) Drop
Control was in the middle of a fairly lengthy stint at a club called
the Moonglow (its empty husk still resides at the intersection of
Clairemont Drive and Clairemont Mesa Blvd., unless something else
has moved into it by now) when I called 818-PUMPKIN and discovered
that Frank was in rehearsals with a new band. My initial thought was
"Cool. I get to see another Zappa show." But upon further reflection
I realized that this would very likely be my final opportunity to
work with him (I sadly didn't realize how true that was...at the
time I just figured he wouldn't want to do more than one last tour,
especially considering what he'd told me on the phone a couple of
years earlier).
So the day after hearing the message on the PUMPKIN answering
machine, I called back early enough to get an actual human on the
phone. It happened to be Gerald Fialka (to whom I owe an EXTREMELY
IMMENSE debt of gratitude). I informed him who I was, that I could
sing and play keyboards and guitar, and that I didn't know if Frank
was auditioning but I was highly conversant with the Zappa
repertoire and would love a chance to try out. (Legend has grown in
some quarters that I can play every Zappa tune - one version has it
that I can play them BACKWARDS - but I've never claimed this. My
only claim was that my FAMILIARITY with the repertoire was
extensive, and that [owing to the fact that I've got a good ear] I
could be counted on to provide a working version of the rock tunes
[not the orchestral or Synclavier stuff, although I did know "Night
School" and part of "Beltway Bandits" at the time] at a moment's
notice.) Gerald thanked me for calling and said he'd pass on the
information. I hung up, thinking that nothing would come of it but I
was glad to have taken the initiative.
To the best of my recollection it was THE NEXT DAY when I got a call
from the office, a woman (it might have been Muriel) who asked if I
could come up to audition for Frank THAT NIGHT.
Here's where I did something that I would never ever do now. I
TURNED DOWN the audition because Drop Control had a gig at the
Moonglow that night. You have to understand what a piece of shit
club this was. I didn't even call the other guys in the band to see
if it was OK if I went up for the audition, I just got all
integrity-filled and said that I couldn't POSSIBLY skip out on a gig
(playing Huey Lewis tunes and "I Want Your Sex" by George Michael,
and maybe "Born On The Bayou" sometimes). (Actually something like
this DID happen recently, when I turned down an audition for Todd
Rundgren's band...but I ran it by Dweezil before I officially
declined.) So I asked the mystery woman if it would be possible to
come up during the weekend (it was Friday when this conversation
took place). She said she wasn't sure if Frank was conducting
auditions during the weekend but someone would get back to me if he
did. I hung up and suddenly felt really stupid about what I'd just
done - there was a very real possibility that I had blown my chance;
what if another guy got an audition before me and got the gig? - but
tried to comfort myself with the thought that I had done right by my
band. (Later my band would inform me that I was an idiot to not take
the audition that night, and they were very right.) Marty and I
arrived at the Moonglow that night and despite my misgivings about
the day's events I was determined to do right by Huey Lewis that
evening. Walking into the club I saw another band's equipment on
stage. Huh? I asked the club owner Jim Duncan what was up. Oh,
sorry, he'd meant to call me...he decided to hire another band for
the evening.
I won't attempt to put into words how I felt then. I can feel rage
rising in me now just thinking about it. The worst part was that I
couldn't even convey to this cocksucker the magnitude of his sin -
he'd never heard of Frank Zappa. Marty had to physically sit me down
and try to cool me out. I think I downed a few beers in succession
and managed to drown my misery to the point that I could vacate the
premises without tearing anybody's fucking head off. We went home
and I endured a very miserable night...with the promise of an even
more miserable weekend (this was Friday night...the PUMPKIN office
was closed and would be until Monday morning and I had no other
number to call).
The next day I was alone in the house staring at the phone until it
rang. I said hello and was asked by a woman if I would hold for
Frank Zappa. I suggested that this was a definite possibility. Frank
got on a few seconds later, genially introduced himself and got to
the point.
"I understand you know everything I've done." (Hmm, a slight
exaggeration...how should I deal with this?)
"I'm familiar with all of it, yes."
"Do you have any idea how many songs that is?"
"Yeah, they're all in the other room."
"I don't believe you. Get your ass up here and prove it."
I suggested that this was a definite possibility.
Frank gave me a list of some of the tunes the band was soon to
rehearse (I still have the titles scrawled in a lyric book within
which I was writing a song called "Targetland" when the phone rang).
He said I should come up that evening for an audition, prepared to
play "What's New In Baltimore?" and "Sinister Footwear II". I can't
remember why now, but I didn't have access to a car right then, and
Viv wasn't around for some reason. I got in touch with Marty and
made plans for him to drive me up. Then I frantically learned those
two tunes - utter bears, both of them - and got them to a
respectable level of playability ("Sinister" I'd messed about with a
few years earlier and promptly forgot, "Baltimore" I'd never played
before).
Marty drove me up to LA and I practiced the tunes, and every other
FZ song I could think of, in the back seat. I remember sweating over
a couple of notes in "Little House I Used To Live In" - Marty
noticed my building panic and said I was as prepared as I was going
to be, and Frank would either realize it or not. Lurching into a
frenzy at this point wasn't going to help me at all. I recognized
this for the sage advice it was and calmed greatly, although I kept
playing. We even stopped for burgers.
We had more trouble finding the rehearsal studio than we should have
and I began to worry that Frank might leave before our arrival, but
this was not the case. The rehearsal space was enormous (formerly
part of Francis Coppola's Zoetrope Studios) and occupied only by my
brother and myself, Bob Rice, Bruce Fowler (just leaving) and FZ.
Since I'd been playing the guitar in the back seat I didn't bother
to put it in its case. Frank's first words to me were "nice case".
(I realize I've told this story a billion times and many of you may
not want to read it again but I wanted to get every last detail out
of my head and onto this page before I disintegrate.) Bob Rice was
playing a Synclavier sequence of "The Black Page # 1"; I plugged
into Ike Willis' rig and chumped along with it. Frank was not
horrified. He asked to hear the two songs he'd mentioned on the
phone and I chumped through those as well (playing the post-solo
melody in "Sinister" with no backing for its composer is daunting.
Understand also...I still consider myself a babe in the woods in a
lot of ways when it comes to theory, and I've come a long way in
seven years. Back then when I learned a Zappa melody I was going
completely by feel; I didn't break it down and figure out that "this
is a septuplet over two beats followed by a triplet followed by a
quintuplet with the second and fourth notes missing" or
whatever...in other words I was faking my way through it. This
became dreadfully apparent, to me at least, when I started
rehearsing with the full band and had to get my shit together in a
hurry. But, going one-on-one with Frank at the audition, somehow my
inexperience was not a hindrance. I lucked out).
Then Frank wanted to test my repertoire comprehension and started
suggesting random song titles. The ones I remember now are
"Cheepnis", "We're Turning Again" and "Studebacher Hoch". I
presented presentable versions of each. We harmonized, vocally, on a
couple of things (he liked the blend but was a little concerned
about the "shaky" quality of my voice, which I assured him was
pretty much unique to this event) and he made me try to sing "he
could be a dog or a frog or a lesbian queen" to watch me struggle
through the leaping fourths. He put a chord chart for "Yo Cats" up
and I failed miserably, which he acknowledged.
He asked if I knew "G-Spot Tornado" on guitar. I didn't but I had
learned "Night School", so he had Bob Rice get the Synclavier
print-out of the score to read along as I played the melody. When I
got done one of the famous eyebrows rose heavenward. "There was only
wrong note". I started feeling really good around this time.
Then he set out the music for "Strictly Genteel" on top of a DX-7
and asked me to play the piano part. I couldn't sight read worth a
damn, still can't, so I squinted at the page and played it by ear.
Now I've heard interviews where Frank says he's gotten incensed at
auditioners who pretended to read, but I must have done a reasonable
job because even when I copped to doing exactly that, Frank was
visibly amused rather than offended. And at this point he shook my
hand and said I was a remarkable musician, and that I'd best return
for the rehearsal on Monday so "the rest of the band can witness
your particular splendor".
Marty and I did a lot of screaming in the car on the way home.
The best part was when we got home and I checked my answering
machine, finding three successive messages from Jim Duncan, the
owner of the Moonglow (the club that had nearly ruined my life the
night before). Drop Control was booked to play there again on
Saturday but I of course blew it off when Frank called for the
audition. Here's an approximation of the three messages:
"[beep] Hi, Mike, it's Jim Duncan at the Moonglow. It's about an
hour before showtime and I was kind of wondering where you guys
were. I'm sure there's no problem - I'll see you when you get here."
"[beep] Mike, Jim Duncan again. You were supposed to start playing
five minutes ago. I hope everything's OK, see you when you get
here."
"[beep] Mike, it's Jim. I'm sorry it had to come to this. Obviously
there was some misunderstanding. I'm sorry. Goodbye."
I could not POSSIBLY have been happier than I was to hear those
messages.
[Demolished Moon-Glo Club]
The following Monday marked the beginning of my audition period with
the full band. When my brother and I arrived at the rehearsal hall I
was instructed (I don't recall by whom) to set up my gear on the
upstage riser, in the same portion of the stage the horn section
would soon occupy. At this point the horn guys might have been
hired, but if so they didn't start attending rehearsals until a
while later. And when they did, they were originally positioned on
the floor in front of the riser, in the position that I would
eventually occupy. One day I came in to rehearse and found that the
positions had been switched, the horns were now behind me. But I get
ahead of myself now, as I always do. On my first day of
rehearsal/audition the band consisted of Chad, Scott, Ed, Robert,
Frank and, tentatively, myself. Ray White had just done a
disappearing act and there was not yet anyone to fill the lead
vocalist chair - Ike made a social appearance on that first day but
I don't recall him singing; there was about a week of vocalist
auditions before Ike officially joined (thank God - the other guys
who auditioned were a shockingly motley lot. I remember being
stunned that a person of Frank's position in the industry was giving
any of these guys a shot - but then he was doing just that for me,
wasn't he?).
Back yet again to my first day. I was busily setting up my little
amplifier and little effects (borrowed from Marty - a Roland Jazz
Chorus amp and a couple of blue rackmount effects units - none of
which I had any idea how to work. I was a keyboard player
y'understand) in my little station next to a Yamaha DX-5 synthesizer
(Frank's synth, and the one I would come to use on the tour - I
especially liked a combo patch which had a very chiffy tuned
percussion sound stacked with a French Horn - most readily audible
on the fast written sections of "Inca Roads" on "Best Band"). I
introduced myself to Chad, Bobby and Ed, all of whom received me
with politeness.
Then came a tall, head-shaven, impolite force of nature
skateboarding into and all around the enormous facility. This
combination punk-rocker/Marine drill sergeant on wheels was, of
course, Thunes.
He skated up to my feet (he was on the floor, I on the riser,
y'understand) and I immediately proffered my hand. "Hello, my name's
Mike Keneally, I enjoy your playing a great deal and I'm pleased to
meet you".
"Thank you what are you DOING here?"
"I'm auditioning to play in the band".
"OH GOD". He skateboarded away and left me to my shiftless
tinkering. Instantly he returned.
"Can you play 'T'Mershi Duween'?"
The song had yet to be released officially, though I was exceedingly
familiar with it through bootlegs. I'd never played it, and as this
was my first day I didn't want to misrepresent my knowledge of the
repertoire, so I told him I didn't know it. He snuffed, huffed and
skated away.
I began to gingerly piece the "Duween" melody together on the
guitar. I was playing unamplified, and Thunes was about a football
field and a half away, but somehow he heard my unplugged electric
over the sound of his racing wheels.
"YOU KNOW IT!" he shrieked and skated back. He began barking
string/fret positions at me and after a minute I was playing the
melody to his satisfaction...at least he appeared satisfied because
he didn't say anything to wound me, he just skated away once again.
Frank wasn't there yet (he rarely was for the first several hours of
each rehearsal - which were five-day-a-week, eight-hours-a-day
affairs). Scott, in his appointed role of clonemeister, ran the
early part of the rehearsal, and called "Alien Orifice". This is the
moment when I learned that picking up FZ tunes off of an album is no
substitute for seeing the stuff on paper, especially when it comes
to odd groupings, because when I played what I believed to be the
weird section after the guitar solo, the other gentlemen of the
group found my efforts to be greatly amusing. After my attempt at
playing the main "Alien" melody in Tommy-style block chords limped
to a miserable death, Scott padded over to me from his position of
authority, seemed to grow several inches and glowered: "That was BAD
MUSIC". Other tunes were called and I struggled through, not nearly
as ragingly as I'd hoped, but evidently some sort of impression of
my knowledge was being formed - Robert Martin asked me during a
break how come I knew Frank's material so well. This was the first
semi-encouraging sign of acceptance from the other band members.
Making a good impression on Frank was apparently a breeze compared
to these guys.
As night commenced, Frank arrived and took over the rehearsal; the
lighting got very moody and the situation very dreamlike. Frank
started a Synclavier sequence of "Mo 'n' Herb's Vacation" and Scott
ran like a motherfucker to find the printed bass part, spread it out
on the riser and began to play along with it. For many minutes this
went on and no one spoke a word. I watched Scott negotiate that
fucking piece, my every sinew suffused with awe. This guy was a
dead-on motherfucker and I was NOWHERE near his league. Frank called
"Filthy Habits" and I chumped the fives - Frank sang the
subdivisions to me and it took me embarrassingly long to nail it. He
said something like "why is that so hard for you to play?" Fuck. Yet
somehow he was not offended by my presence and at one point Frank,
Scott, Chad and I played a quartet version of "Sleep Dirt" which had
my brother swooning.
Writing about this stuff is affecting me very deeply right now. I
miss those days like fuck.
I didn't get the big yay or nay after the first night. My brother
and I stayed at my great friend Chris Joyce's apartment in North
Hollywood, after driving around for an hour trying to find which
little uninterrupted two-block long stretch of the extremely
sporadic Huston his complex existed within. I would stay at Chris'
"pad" for the four-month duration of rehearsals, driving home to San
Diego on weekends. Viv would drive up to visit me during the week
whenever she could. What an amazing time this was.
Again I have leapt into the future hastily. Rewind to the fourth day
of my audition/rehearsal period, Frank calls me over to say that Ray
White's whereabouts are still a mystery, and I seem to be doing an
OK job in the vocal/guitar slot (plus keyboards as kind of a bonus
skill), so it would appear I'm in the band. But if Ray returns, I'm
the fuck outta there. He extended his hand and I had no choice but
to accept the gig on these shaky terms. Even to get that much,
though, was a mind-blowing triumph. The rest of the band
congratulated me enthusiastically, none more so than Scott, who had
not stopped giving me shit for four days solid. Thank, well, Gail,
that about a week later Frank came into the rehearsal and announced
that he'd been talking over the Ray situation with Gail and they
decided that if Ray was irresponsible enough to disappear without
warning and then not contact them afterwards, that he would not be
welcomed back into the band even if he were to return. Although he
didn't then turn to me at that point and say, "Your position in the
band is now secure", I felt that it was safe to take it that way.
And it was.
Rehearsals continued, the horn guys arrived, Ike was installed
permanently. The twelve piece band was now intact. I had, of course,
the time of my life. Many tunes were rehearsed which did not make
their way into the live repertoire. Many hours were spent on a
weird, mechanical Devo-sounding arrangement of "I Come From
Nowhere". I sang lead on a medley of "She Painted Up Her Face",
"Half A Dozen Provocative Squats" and "Shove It Right In" which we
rehearsed constantly, then stopped rehearsing suddenly. We rehearsed
"Jezebel Boy" a trillion times, getting into the energy the
neighborhood supplied, then played it ONCE during the tour (and
didn't play it at all well - it's the version you hear on BTHW). One
day I spent about twelve hours in Chris' apartment learning "Moggio"
- when I was done I felt like I'd been skiing for a week solid. When
Frank called the tune in rehearsal, most of the guys in the band
hadn't worked on it and it didn't sound very promising, so he said
"Omit that". The song was stricken from the repertoire that quickly.
Scott saw my jaw hit the floor and said "That's what you call The
Clamp". And no impassioned defense on the song's behalf could loosen
it. (It was I who insisted on playing "Moggio" at the Zappa's
Universe shows - I wasn't going to have learned that fucker for no
reason.)
We messed around with "Night School" and "G-Spot Tornado". All the
new songs which would become "Broadway The Hard Way" were pieced
together without charts, Frank would bring in a printout of the
song's lyrics and conjure up musical settings on the spot, dictating
parts to the band as he went. Somewhere in the basement is many
hours of video footage of this process, like almost an entire
eight-hour rehearsal devoted to conjuring up "Jesus Thinks You're A
Jerk". While it was certainly work, it was just as certainly
exhilarating joy, and there was a LOT of laughing going on. Frank
was almost always in good spirits during the rehearsal period. It
was big, crazy, expensive, mind-boggling fun.
I couldn't believe I was a part of it...I remember lying on my back
on the riser at one rehearsal listening to a Synclavier sequence
Frank was composing that day and feeling just SO grateful...(you
know Chatfield is always telling me how important it is to write
things down...I'm having some memories well up that I don't want to
lose...indulge me, please)...I remember a dark little wardrobe
type-area at the rear of the rehearsal hall where I could hang out
uninterrupted and work on the hard parts of songs, I spent hours in
there shedding parts of "Strictly Genteel", and the fast line right
before "the difference between us is not very far" in "Cruisin' For
Burgers"...
...speaking of "Genteel", I remember playing it for the first time
with the whole band - that song was, for me, an act of acrobatics,
switching from keys to guitar and back sometimes in the space of a
sixteenth note - I remember Thunes running over to stand next to me
and intimidate me right before the wicked keyboard run that comes
right after "every poor soul who's adrift in the storm", and I
nailed it and he gave me the finger and ran back to his station...
...playing the instrumental interludes of "Drowning Witch" (on
guitar) and "Jumbo, Go Away" (on keys) after Frank called them cold
(just to see who in the band knew them) and listening as other band
members fell out of line, but I soldiered on...
...another time practicing one of the impossible guitar lines in
"Drowning Witch" and nearly having an aneurysm in the process, Chad
walking up to me, getting right in my face and saying "RELAX",
advice which I still summon when needed...
...me and Paul Carman launching into Jimmy Page's "Stairway" solo in
unison without telling Frank we were going to (he'd been playing an
improvised solo in that spot), Frank digging it, waiting until we
were done, then saying "OK. Now show it to the REST of the horn
section"...
...Frank giving the band sheet music for a song called
"Thirty-Five", composed on the Synclavier, and IMPOSSIBLE to play.
We got through almost one bar. It eventually became "Navanax" on
"Civilization Phaze III" ("Put A Motor In Yourself" from that album
was originally called "Martin" and was also conceived around this
time, and used as intermission music on the East Coast leg of the
tour)...
...going out to dinner with Frank, Scott and Chad, usually at
Hampton's on Highland but once in a while someplace nicer, like
Chianti on Melrose where Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis walked in and
Jeff stood dumbfounded as Frank told him how much he respected his
work. "Well, I really respect YOUR work", Jeff sputtered, followed
by Frank asking when he was gonna make a sequel to "Buckaroo
Bonzai"...
...a lot of great dinners with Scott and Chad during the early
stages of rehearsal, me thinking how cool that the two of them were
the same age and had come into the band at the same time, and how
close they must've been; after awhile Chad stopped coming to dinner
with us, and Thunes and I became allies as the shit started to come
down on him...
...and the times I could have died from happiness and disbelief as
Frank relied on me to help piece together an arrangement of some old
song of his which he'd just decided he'd like to play. "Peace Corps"
in particular - not to be too fucking pompous, but that song
probably wouldn't have happened on that tour if I weren't there
(same with the Beatle stuff) - topped off by Frank not remembering
the monologue at the end, asking me to recite it, then assigning it
to me afterwards. I thought back to being in fifth grade and Elliot
the yard monitor, a kid maybe four or five years older than me,
lending me "We're Only In It For The Money" and me listening to it a
million times, utterly captured by the editing and the sound effects
and the sped-up voices and the lyrics and the humor - it's still my
favorite FZ album, the one that has had the most influence on my own
albums' structures. And now I was doing the monologue on "Who Needs
The Peace Corps?"? I mean, come on.
Dave Wilcher
> FZ answered phone calls at the Pumpkin office a couple of times in
> the 80s, and in 1985 I got through to him. The main question I had
> was about some lyrics in the "Strictly Genteel" finale (they were
> "bent, reamed and wasted"), but I also mentioned it was a dream of
> mine to work with him someday. His response: "Keep dreaming. I'm
> never going on the road again."
Thanks for posting that. I've read it numerous times, but always enjoy it.
dave
--
A person who won't read has no advantage over one who can't read.
-Mark Twain
Charles Ulrich
badda bing <badda...@gmail.com> wrote:
> FZ answered phone calls at the Pumpkin office a couple of times in
> the 80s, and in 1985 I got through to him. The main question I had
> was about some lyrics in the "Strictly Genteel" finale (they were
> "bent, reamed and wasted")
Does this mean that he had successfully made out "A room and a meal/And
a garbage disposal/A lawn and a hose'll/Be strictly genteel"?
My favorite wrong line is "Every one of our lonely Italian dancers".
Would you like some fries?
--Charles
Corné van Hooijdonk
God, that WAS really beautiful.
Thanks!
AAAFNRAA!!
badda bing
<cvhoo...@zonnet.nl> wrote:
>
>
>AAAFNRAA!!
If the science had existed back then, in 1988, allowed Mike Keneally
to be implanted an ovum, fertilized with Frank Zappa's sperm, to have
the fetus develop and see birth, there's no doubt that MK would have
went ahead with the experience.
An unconditional fan, like every musician would want to have, like
none other!
Corné van Hooijdonk
Maybe, just very maybe, there's a Turbo Prop Refrigerator in the deepest
dungeons darkest of the UMRK. In that fridge: a little bottle. In the
bottle: Slime, but not from the TV....
So, I would say: go for it. It's not to late!!!
AAAFNRAA!
Hoodoo
<cvhoo...@zonnet.nl> wrote in alt.fan.frank-zappa:
>> If the science had existed back then, in 1988, allowed Mike Keneally
>> to be implanted an ovum, fertilized with Frank Zappa's sperm, to have
>> the fetus develop and see birth, there's no doubt that MK would have
>> went ahead with the experience.
>>
>> An unconditional fan, like every musician would want to have, like
>> none other!
>Maybe, just very maybe, there's a Turbo Prop Refrigerator in the deepest
>dungeons darkest of the UMRK. In that fridge: a little bottle. In the
>bottle: Slime, but not from the TV....
Sure, until some cocksucker comes along and drinks the magic elixir...
--
.... --- --- -.. --- ---