Mind Your Language! A Short History Of Swearing In Music

 

by Stuart Penney

Watching the 2023 series (or “season” as the Americans call them) of the HBO comedy Curb Your Enthusiasm, I was startled to hear creator Larry David employ that most jarring and unattractive of swearwords “cunt” several times in succession.  Larry was, it seems, getting frustrated with the sat nav system in his expensive new BMW, hence the unseemly outburst.  It’s rare enough to hear an American drop the C-bomb in anger at the best of times, but even more unusual to find them attempting to shoehorn the word into a comedy routine.  I winced involuntarily at the scene while thinking “Steady on there, Larry!” 

Now, I’m no prude and unless watching TV with my maiden aunt or the parish vicar (an unlikely contingency, I grant you), I generally have no problem with swearing, especially when used comedically.  But this Basil Fawlty-meets-Derek & Clive style display of expletive fury seemed a crass and unfunny overreaction to what was, after all, a minor inconvenience.  Yet, there it was front and centre in one of the most lauded TV comedy shows of recent times.  It gave me pause to reflect just how far we’ve travelled down the highway of sweary acceptance in recent years.

Swearing in the media - on records and TV in particular - is now so ubiquitous we hardly notice it.  The times certainly have a-changed and, as Larry demonstrated, even the strongest curse words now slip by virtually undetected.  Every modern TV cop drama, talk show and situation comedy is infused with swearwords galore which were once seldom, if ever, heard on the small screen.

This is a comparatively new phenomenon, however.  Decades ago clean-up TV zealot and perennial misery guts Mary Whitehouse may have got her bloomers in a knot over Alf Garnett’s frequent use of the words “bloody,” or “silly moo” in the sit com Til Death Us Do Part, but we rarely witnessed any genuine profanity on our television sets in the 60s and 70s.  Incidentally, Alf’s catch phrase “Randy Scouse Git,” so alien to American ears then and now, was hijacked by Mickey Dolenz for the seemingly random title of a 1967 Monkees single.  Perversely, the phrase was still deemed rude enough to offend British audiences at the time and so, in a bizarre turnaround, the record was released simply as “Alternate Title” in the UK. Strangely, "Randy Scouse Git" was not issued as a US single but did appear on the Monkees album Headquarters. 

Writer Kenneth Tynan (1927-1980), then literary manager of the National Theatre, is credited with uttering the first four letter expletive heard on British TV when he said “fuck” during the live BBC late night satirical show BBC3 in November 1965.  To put it in context, Tynan was asked whether he would allow a play to be presented in which sexual intercourse was represented on the stage.  For the first time a word which had previously been deemed deeply offensive, if not entirely taboo, was heard in millions of homes across the land.

There was an instant and unprecedented uproar.  The BBC switchboard was jammed for days (to be fair the Beeb apparently had only one telephone line at the time), letters of complaint flooded into the newspapers and for a while Tynan became the most notorious man in Britain. 

Oxbridge graduate and son of the Lord Mayor of Warrington, Tynan may well have been the first to drop the F-word on live TV, but he came from the educated upper middle classes and, as everyone knows, posh people really can’t swear properly.  Consequently, it was left to Sex Pistols’ guitarist Steve Jones to become probably the first truly working-class person to claim the live TV cursing award. 

On December 1, 1976, early evening viewers of Thames Television’s Today show were treated to the Sex Pistols repeatedly swearing and generally behaving badly during a shambolic live interview with the hapless Bill Grundy.  It was riveting TV and a genuine Roman spectacle.  Although the programme was broadcast only in the London area the fallout was immediate and far-reaching.  It became national headline news, sending the tabloids, and seemingly the entire country, into meltdown.  One memorable complaint came from a lorry driver who claimed to have smashed his TV screen in protest, after which he apparently sent the bill to Thames TV.  True or not, the lorry driver story has become a famous meme, frequently spoofed in the letters page of Britain’s favourite adult comic and bastion of all things sweary, Viz. 

The Pistols’ appearance on the Today show immediately passed into rock legend and for almost 50 years has been discussed nonstop in books, magazines, films and on TV.  Best of all, in March 2013 the BBC TV comedy programme It’s Kevin lovingly recreated the incident literally word-for-word and gesture-for-gesture with all protagonists dressed as, wait for it, members of the Amish community.  It’s genius - watch it here:  

Lest we forget, the Bill Grundy incident happened almost a year before the Sex Pistols’ only real studio LP Never Mind the Bollocks was released.  The title of that album also caused widespread consternation, with a Nottingham record store raided by police and the manager charged with “displaying indecent matter” for showing the LP sleeve in his shop window.  Eventually the case was, if not exactly laughed, then at least sniggered out of court after defending QC John Mortimer (author of the Rumpole of the Bailey books and TV series) produced an expert witness who established that “bollocks” was a perfectly legitimate Old English term meaning, among other things, “nonsense.”

That was just about the last time I recall anyone getting upset about what we used to call bad language.  Today such fuss seems inconceivable, especially when, with one vowel change, “fecking this” and “fecking that” are now heard with tedious repetition on comedy programmes of Irish origin such as the otherwise excellent Father Ted and the eternally execrable Mrs Brown’s Boys.

In 1975 Billy Connolly lampooned the Tynan affair in the song “A Four-Letter Word” on his live album Get Right Intae Him.  Connolly based his satire on the 1952 Roy Rogers’ song “A Four-Legged Friend” written about Roy’s horse Trigger, thus continuing the tradition of art imitating life, imitating art, in this case with a pronounced Scottish accent.  Ironically, although certainly no shrinking violet himself when it came to effing and jeffing onstage, Connolly did not swear at all on this track.  Trivia fans will surely delight in the knowledge that “A Four-Legged Friend” was the first record the wonderful Richard Thompson ever owned, on a 78rpm shellac disc, naturally.  

Sexual innuendo, smut and vulgarity (if not outright profanity) had been around in the world of jazz and blues since the 1920s at least.  This spilled over into British popular music too and a few of George Formby’s records were banned by the BBC.  These included the innuendo laden “With My Little Stick of Blackpool Rock,” “With My Little Ukulele In My Hand,” and “When I’m Cleaning Windows.”

But when did actual bona fide swear words start to appear in popular music?  Back in the mid-60s Frank Zappa sneaked more than a few surreptitious four-letter zingers onto his early albums (and, via an assiduous re-issue programme, he continues to do so today from beyond the grave).  In fact, just as Frank’s mid-60s contemporaries The Fugs took their name from a euphemism for “fuck” found in Norman Mailer’s book The Naked and the Dead, so the name of Zappa’s band The Mothers was an abbreviation of America’s favourite curse word “Motherfuckers.”  Frank's record label Verve-MGM was having none of this in 1966, of course, so the band name was amended to the more palatable and psychedelic-sounding Mothers of Invention, although the last two words were quietly jettisoned by the early 70s.

In August 1969 Country Joe McDonald delighted the Woodstock generation with an updated potty-mouthed live version of “The Fish Cheer” (“Gimme an F, gimme a U, gimme a C, gimme a K - what's that spell?" etc,) while during the same year proto punks the MC5 ran into problems with their Elektra album Kick Out the Jams which contained the line “Kick out the jams motherfuckers.”  A major US record store chain refused to stock the LP and, as the situation escalated, said store boycotted Elektra’s entire catalogue for good measure.  As a result, the MC5 were promptly dropped from the label.  Swear all you like lads, but business is business seemed to be the moral of the tale.

In 1972 Harry Nilsson encountered similar trouble with the song “You’re Breaking My Heart” from his album Son Of Schmilsson.  Even though it contained only four examples of the word “fuck” this was enough to see Boots the Chemist, then a major UK record retail chain, refuse to stock the LP.  In Harry’s defence he was almost certainly drunk at the time, as he was throughout most of the 70s. 

To my mind, the award for the finest display of swearing on a pop record should go to Ian Dury for the song “Plaistow Patricia” from his 1977 LP New Boots and Panties.  Containing five of the juiciest swearwords in the English language unleashed back-to-back, the opening line of this track is so thoroughly, eye-wateringly rude that even now, almost 50 years later, it will almost certainly never be heard in full on the radio.  Hell, I'm loath to repeat it even here. Predictably, in Australia and some other far-flung territories, local pressings of the album were emasculated, and “Plaistow Patricia” appeared minus that all-important introductory opening line.

Vulgarity on record seemed to reach its hedonistic peak (or its nadir, if you prefer) with Derek & Clive and their albums Come Again (1977) and Ad Nauseum (1978) released on Virgin records, plus their 1976 LP (Live) on Island.  But although they were certainly bought (and requoted, ahem, ad nauseam by rock fans, these were predominately spoken word comedy records which, for our purposes, hardly counts. 

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  The earliest example of profanity on a UK record I can recall was a much gentler affair than Dury’s smorgasbord of vulgarity.  It came in September 1969 at the end of the interminable 18-minute title track of Al Stewart’s second album Love Chronicles.  Even though it featured guest appearances by rock heavyweights Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones (then still working as session players), Al’s somewhat fey use of the F-bomb (find it in verse 38 of 40 if you have the stamina) flew almost unnoticed under the censor’s radar, causing barely a ripple of discontent at the time.  

This was possibly because Love Chronicles was bought mainly by folk music types with a high tolerance for such language.  In any case, Stewart probably escaped censure by employing the expletive in a quasi-romantic context, vouchsafing that “It grew to be less like fucking and more like making love.”  If you say so, Al.  Speaking as one of those wannabe bohemian folkies, how sophisticated we imagined ourselves to be walking around with a copy of this album under our arm back in the day. 

It's worth noting that Love Chronicles narrowly beat Jefferson Airplane's Volunteers album into the shops. The opening track on the Airplane LP "We Can Be Together" was an early adopter of the F-bomb in late 1969, but Al won the swearing race by just a few weeks. However, on August 19 (the day after Woodstock), the Airplane became the first to swear on US national TV when they performed "We Can Be Together" on the Dick Cavett Show complete with the line "Up against the wall motherfuckers."

All of which brings us neatly to John Lennon.  He may have been part of the greatest band the world has ever seen, but without the steadying hand of his erstwhile songwriting partner Paul McCartney reining him in, John’s solo catalogue has always had a whiff of the curate’s egg about it: superb in parts, but wayward and misguided elsewhere. 

If we ignore the trio of experimental LPs Lennon made with wife Yoko: Two Virgins, Life with the Lions and Wedding Album (as all but the most rabid Beatle completists were perfectly happy to do), plus the ad hoc Live Peace In Toronto, side two of which few have ever confessed to playing more than once, chiefly because it consists of Yoko howling over guitar feedback for 15 straight minutes, his debut solo album John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band didn’t arrive until December 1970.  This is where we find the track which inspired me to write this piece, “Working Class Hero.” 

A totally solo performance recorded with bare bones production featuring only John and his acoustic guitar, the tune was loosely borrowed from Dylan’s “Masters of War,” itself liberated from the traditional English folk song “Nottamun Town.”  But it was the lyrics of “Working Class Hero” which made the song controversial.  For a start it contained not one but two instances of the word “fucking.”  No big deal now, perhaps, when expletive use in popular music is everywhere, but unusual for 1970.  

After all, it was not something people expected to hear from an ex-Beatle, not even a loose cannon such as Lennon who had recently frightened the horses by posing bollock naked with Yoko on the cover of the aforementioned Two Virgins LP.  Fun fact: Unlistenable it may have been, but an original 1968 UK mono pressing of Two Virgins will now cost you in excess of a week’s wages so, to paraphrase Alan Partridge, who had the last laugh?

Private Eye spoofed the Two Virgins LP in October 1968

Adding insult to injury, another John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band track “I Found Out” featured the delightfully Byronesque line “Some of you sitting there with your cock in your hand.”  And to think, this was only seven years since mop top Lennon had sung “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

The inner sleeve of the album contained the song lyrics.  On UK copies the offending swearwords were replaced by an asterisk, with a footnote reading “Omitted at the insistence of E.M.I.” just in case there was any doubt who Lennon blamed for the censorship.  But the full unexpurgated version could be heard by playing the record, in Britain at least. 

This was not true in some other countries such as Australia where (presumably) the local branch of EMI physically (not to say outrageously) took a razor blade and snipped the swearing from their copy of the master tape, causing the two songs to skip half a beat and lose tempo in places.  The censored version continued to be used down under for more than a decade, meaning those clumsy edits could be heard as late as 1981 on the Aussie eight LP box set John Lennon released after his death.  They could easily have requested a new copy of the John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band master tape from EMI in London, but it seems they simply didn’t think it necessary.  It was only pop music, after all.

I don’t remember “Working Class Hero” causing too much of a stir in the UK at the time.  It may have ruffled a few feathers, but tucked away on side one, track four of the LP, the song was ignored by many and out of harm’s way. 

Billboard, November 1970

All that changed with Lennon’s death in late 1980.  Whenever a famous musician shuffles off to Buffalo, their back catalogue, sometimes moribund for years, invariably springs back to life.  People develop an urgent need to hear their music again, creating an upswing in sales.  Book and magazine tributes are hastily written and the serious newspapers commission reverential obituaries from esteemed music journalists.  Not for nothing is it said that death can often be a good career move.

John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band 

Pop stars didn’t come any bigger than Lennon and following his untimely demise we saw several of his records jump into the UK charts with almost indecent haste.  The recently released Double Fantasy album and its accompanying singles “(Just Like) Starting Over” and “Woman” all reached number one, while “Happy Xmas (War Is Over),” “I Saw Her Standing There” (a live duet with Elton John), “Watching the Wheels” and the decade old “Give Peace A Chance” also crept into the lower reaches of what we once called the Hit Parade.

None of these records sold as well or had the same emotional impact as “Imagine,” however.  The title track of Lennon’s second solo album, it was first released as a US single in October 1971 with “It’s So Hard” (also from Imagine) as the B-Side.  This was not the case in the UK.  No singles from the album appeared in Britain until October 1975 when “Imagine” was released on 45 to tie in with Lennon’s hits compilation Shaved Fish which went on sale the same month. 

More than any other, “Imagine” is the one song we associate with Lennon’s post-Beatles work, so it was no surprise to see it rush-released yet again immediately following his death.  The single went on to sell almost 2 million copies in the UK alone and consistently makes various “greatest song” lists around the world.

In early 1981 as the re-released posthumous “Imagine” single began its climb to the very top of the UK charts, a curious thing happened.  People started to notice the song lurking like a ticking time bomb on the B-side.  That song was “Working Class Hero” a track possibly unfamiliar to the fair-weather fans who had arrived at Lennon’s solo catalogue after his death via the radio-friendly Imagine album, or perhaps his banner-waving singles.  And it turned out that some people didn’t particularly like what they heard. 

In retrospect this was undoubtedly the worst possible choice of song to issue as the B-side of such a huge selling anthemic single.  The kind of people who buy such things, usually on a nostalgia driven basis, just weren’t ready for it.  For a start, unlike the A-side, it didn’t feature on the hits compilation Shaved Fish (although the sleeve notes on the "Imagine" single kind of implied it did), so that was odd to begin with.  In fact, the only other UK appearance of the song on record thus far had been on the 1970 album John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band. 

Some were moved to express their dismay via talkback radio.  In the months following Lennon's shooting there was much debate surrounding US gun control and “Working Class Hero” was soon dragged into the discussion.  Angry callers rang the London news station LBC to express their shock and dismay, claiming it was “disgraceful” and “unacceptable” to hear such language on the back of their newly purchased “Imagine” single, which some claimed to have bought for their children. 

Veteran LBC talk show presenter George Gale (1927-1990) was more than happy to indulge this outrage.  Known to be fond of a drink, erstwhile tabloid journalist Gale was the inspiration behind the Private Eye satirical characters "Lunchtime O'Booze" and "George G. Ale."  He was also apparently a supporter of right-wing politician Enoch Powell, and among other crackpot notions, he would later call for the re-criminalisation of homosexuality in the wake of the AIDS epidemic.  So, to reactionary old George, 53 at the time and probably largely unaware of Lennon’s solo work, the “Working Class Hero” furore was simply grist to his old school conservative mill. 

Some years earlier over in America, Democrat member of the US House of Representatives, the wonderfully named Harley Orrin Staggers heard the song played on WGTB, a student-run station based in Georgetown University, Washington DC and in 1973 lodged a complaint with the Federal Communications Commission.  The manager of the station, Ken Sleeman, faced a year in prison and a $10,000 fine, but defended his decision to play the song saying, "The People of Washington DC are sophisticated enough to accept the occasional four-letter word in context, and not become sexually aroused, offended, or upset."  The charges were subsequently dropped.

Together with George Harrison’s impressive triple set All Things Must Pass (November 1970) John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band was arguably the strongest of the Fab Four’s debut solo records.  With its “Don’t believe in Beatles” refrain on the iconoclastic song “God” attracting the most attention, Lennon’s post-Beatles’ career probably peaked with this album (along with the stand-alone singles “Cold Turkey” and “Instant Karma”) then promptly plateaued with the big-selling follow-up Imagine, from whence it began a steady but inexorable decline in quality and loss of focus.  Following his move to America the law of diminishing returns soon kicked in, with each new release proving more disappointing than the one before it. 

Those who recently shelled out a week’s wages or more for the Super Deluxe multi disc Mind Games box set will not thank me for reminding them that Lennon’s fourth solo outing sold relatively poorly on release back in late 1973 (a situation not helped by some ghastly cover artwork) after which sales rapidly tailed off. 

Mind Games followed the unloved and politically overcooked Sometime in New York City double set, an album so problematic in today’s climate that during Yoko Ono’s recent Tate Modern exhibition of her work Music of the Mind (Feb-Sept 2024) the sleeve had to be displayed face to the wall to hide a song title and lyrics containing the “N” word.

Ultimately, only a week before John’s death in 1980 Mind Games suffered the indignity of being re-released on the budget Music for Pleasure label.  For such a major artist, this was a sad state of affairs indeed.  Having your records appear on what was, in all but name, EMI’s graveyard label was always a clear indication that they had run their course and were no longer marketable at full price.  The following year Mind Games was joined in the MFP bargain bin by Rock ‘N’ Roll, a record Lennon had cobbled together (often under duress) with Phil Spector purely in order to avoid a copyright infringement lawsuit from the publisher Morris Levy who pointed out (not unreasonably) that John had purloined parts of Chuck Berry’s “You Can’t Catch Me” for the Abbey Road track “Come Together.” 

Despite the inevitable sales boost these records received in the wake of John’s death, interest in the Fab Four (and especially their solo work) had virtually collapsed at this time.  In 1980 Capitol Records in America reported that sales of the Beatles’ catalogue had slumped to an eight-year low.  The very day Lennon was killed I spoke to a young chap in the office where I worked at the time.  “Tragic news about John Lennon” I mused, sadly.  He shrugged and said, “I don’t know too much about the Beatles, mate” before walking off.  This from someone who, I estimated, was born around 1960.

Ringo’s Blast From Your Past and Ringo albums were also relegated to Music for Pleasure budget status, as were George’s Dark Horse and The Best Of George Harrison.  Things reached a pretty pass in 1980 when the Beatles compilation Rock & Roll Music, originally released as an ill-conceived double set in 1976, was bizarrely reissued as two individual MFP volumes, where it was joined in 1984 by The Beatles At The Hollywood Bowl.  Those last two titles have since been virtually disowned by all concerned and significantly, have never officially appeared on CD.

As the fabbest of the Fab Four, Paul escaped demotion to the bargain bin a while longer than the others.  But it didn’t last.  Toward the end of the 80s even some of Macca’s slower-selling titles appeared on the cut-price Fame label (an MFP offshoot) albeit with something close to their original artwork.  The final ignominy came in 1984 when even John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band was also reissued by Fame.

Other than the accidental “Fucking hell!” he let slip during the recording of “Hey Jude” (find it buried in the mix at 2:55), Macca never really went in for bad language on record.  There was “We haven’t done a bloody thing all day” on “Uncle Albert / Admiral Halsey” from the 1971 Ram album but that was considered charming, rather than offensive (and John had already given us “Stupid bloody Tuesday” in “I am the Walrus” anyway).  Paul did find himself on the receiving end of BBC bans for the 1972 singles “Give Ireland Back To The Irish” and “Hi, Hi, Hi” but that was for political content and misheard smut respectively.  In parts of God-fearing America, the Beatles single “The Ballad of John & Yoko” was also censored with the line “Christ, you know it ain’t easy” edited for radio play.

Today we live in a very different world and the shock value of swearing on record has all-but evaporated.  In recent years we’ve experienced Rage Against the Machine with their F-bomb loaded “Killing in the Name Of,” the strange world of Cardi B and her "now wash your hands" brand of dirty rap, not to mention Dave Grohl and his Tourette’s-like use of “Motherfucker” every second word during onstage announcements.  It’s a very long way indeed from 1969 when they beeped out “son of a bitch” on the Johnny Cash single “A Boy Named Sue.”

As for “Working Class Hero,” it all came full circle when, in October 2005 a John Lennon double CD compilation was released with that very title.  As far as I’m aware, no one has yet phoned their local radio station to complain.

As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
'Til the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
'Til you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty-odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be

There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill

A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me

Hollywood Dream – The Thunderclap Newman Story

by Mark Ian Wilkerson

Published by Third Man Books on October 1, 2024

Reviewed by Stuart Penney

“Here in Townshend’s home on the banks of the Thames, a diminutive teenage guitar phenom met with a lanky hippie songwriter / drummer and a rotund, straight-as-an-arrow GPO engineer / throwback boogie pianist.”  Seldom can such an ill-matched assortment of musicians have been thrown together with such a rewarding outcome.  But that, in a nutshell, is the Thunderclap Newman story. 

This is also the story of Pete Townshend who discovered, mentored and produced the trio.  Freed from the constraints of his high-pressure day job with The Who (he describes Daltrey, Moon and Entwistle as “awful to be around” at that time) and bogged down recording and promoting the Tommy album, he immersed himself in what began as a fun, homespun side project, gaining immense satisfaction and the only UK number one single of his career in the process. He also contributed a warm and heartfelt foreword to this book. 

Originally titled "Revolution," Thunderclap’s hit was renamed "Something In The Air" to avoid confusion with the Beatles' track of the same name.  The song’s unashamed call for civil insurrection, including the line “Hand out the arms and ammo,” was somewhat at odds with its lilting melody, soothing two chord progression, tumbling guitar passages and soaring string arrangement.  Deceptively simple in structure, the record was far greater than the sum of its parts.

It all started at Ealing Art College where the teenage Pete Townshend encountered Andy Newman, a strait-laced, wildly eccentric figure who played 20s / 30s style jazz and ragtime piano.  Townshend became infatuated (even to the point of stalking Newman at one point) and after the Who took off resolved to make records with him.  Conveniently, Pete also encountered the other future Thunderclap members along the way. 

John “Speedy” Keen was Townshend’s driver, sometime songwriting buddy and erstwhile flat mate who co-wrote “Armenia City in the Sky” the opening track on the album The Who Sell Out.  Meanwhile, he knew of the Scottish guitar prodigy Jimmy McCulloch from Who support slots.  Pete’s original plan was to make separate albums with the three until Who manager Kit Lambert came up with the dubious (yet ultimately brilliant) idea of putting them all together in the same band with Townshend producing.

Following their big hit, which took everyone by surprise, including Pete, concerts were booked, but as a live act Thunderclap Newman were quickly found wanting.  Typical was a show supporting Deep Purple.  According to one account a hostile crowd threw coins and booed them off after only 15 minutes.  Townshend was not slow to point out their shortcomings, either.  “Fucking get it together!” he would yell as yet another rehearsal fell apart.  Things got so bad on their first tour, both Speedy and Jimmy said they wanted out.  “And that was the end of that” said bassist Jim Avery (who was drafted in for live work).  “That’s why Track (Records) took us off the road.”

Back in the studio, the original trio began work on what would prove to be their solitary, if rather wonderful, album.  With Townshend in the producer’s chair and playing bass under the alias Bijou Drains, Thunderclap eventually gelled, and Hollywood Dream arrived in late 1970, more than a year after “Something In The Air.”  Finally, Pete was happy: “Recording it is one of my favourite experiences" he said. “People that know and love that record are very special people in my eyes.” 

Unfortunately, by this point the momentum created by “SITA” had all-but evaporated and the band was almost back to square one.  Hollywood Dream was a fine effort, nevertheless, packed with great songs.  I’ve loved it since snagging a white label advance copy from the Polydor offices in 1970.  I wrote about that incident HERE.

McCulloch’s lyrical, bluesy guitar belied his tender years (he was just 15 at the time and, according to Townshend “never played a bum note in the studio,”) while Keen’s reedy falsetto worked perfectly with his infuriatingly catchy songs. 

Underpinning it all was the piano work of Andy “Thunderclap” Newman himself. Playing an incongruous mix of honky-tonk and Bix Beiderbecke style boogie-woogie, his jazzy solos were shoehorned into almost every song.  This became the band’s trademark, whereby each tune would change key / tempo and veer off at a tangent, allowing the piano interlude to happen. It was a strange and wondrous thing to behold and while it worked perfectly in some songs, I’m sure it put off as many casual listeners as it attracted.

Virtually every track on Hollywood Dream was a joy.  From the ten-minute version of “Accidents” to a then-unreleased Bob Dylan Basement Tapes number “Open the Door, Homer”, via every bizarre piano solo, guitar instrumental and quirky pop / psych gem along the way.  

The album reviews were mixed but generally favourable, especially in America.  Presumably hoping we wouldn’t notice, John Mendelssohn quoted from the Bonzo Dog Band song “I’m Bored” when he wrote in Rolling Stone “How anyone will manage to remain a nasty narrow-minded jade in the presence of this unremittingly delightful album defies the imagination.”  But, despite such praise, sales were poor.  The album limped into the US top 200 at #161 and didn’t chart at all in Britain.

To be strictly accurate Thunderclap Newman were not simply the one hit wonders many believe them to be.  Sure “Something In The Air” swept all before it in the summer of 1969, even knocking the Beatles’ “The Ballad of John & Yoko” off the top of the UK charts in the process.  But the following year they crept almost apologetically back into the lower reaches of the top 50 with a shorter 7” version of “Accidents” an equally lovely song which, among other things, warns of the dangers of trainspotting.  In fact, the song started life titled “Spotting Trains.” 

Following the album a couple of Australian musicians were drafted in on bass and drums, and this five-piece line-up played several live dates before the band finally fell apart.  Personal and musical differences between Keen and McCulloch were cited as the reason for the split and by mid-1971, after just the one album and four singles, Thunderclap Newman was no more. 

Part two deals with what happened next and for me this was the most interesting and enlightening part of the book.  

As the strongest musician of the trio, Jimmy McCulloch was by far the most productive and in demand after the split, working with John Mayall, Stone the Crows, Blue and others.  But it’s his four years with Wings which receives the most attention here.  Wilkerson has done a great research job and McCartney fans will lap up the detailed Wings coverage which is where it all started to go wrong for McCulloch.  

Mood swings brought on by drink and drugs made him unpredictable and self-destructive and he left Wings in late 1977 to join Steve Marriott in a short-lived re-boot of the Small Faces.  “He’s a good lad, Jimmy, a good guitar player” remembered McCartney, before adding, with a touch of understatement “but sometimes he’s a bit hard to live with.”  It all came to a tragic conclusion when McCulloch succumbed to a drug overdose in 1979, aged just 26.  “In the end he was just too dangerous for his own good” opined Macca.

As for Speedy Keen, he took up residence in Pete Townshend’s Soho rehearsal studio and began work on a solo album Previous Convictions, released in 1973.  Like Hollywood Dream it was critically acclaimed but failed to sell and his career languished.  Finally leaving Track Records (which was on the brink of collapse by then), Keen landed a deal at Island where big boss Chris Blackwell himself took a shine to him and work began on a new project.  Backed by members of Paul Kossoff’s band Back Street Crawler (minus Kossoff) Speedy set about re-recording the demos he’d brought with him from Track.

A second solo album Y’Know Wot I Mean? arrived on Island in 1975, but it fared no better than the first.  In 1977 Speedy was credited as producer on the Heartbreakers’ L.A.M.F album (one of the last records to be released on Track) and also worked with Motorhead on their self-titled Chiswick Records debut.  He then lived on a boat in reduced circumstances for some years before passing away in 2002 following heart surgery.

Andy Newman’s lone solo album Rainbow appeared on Track Records in 1972.  It was a predicably eccentric effort and sales were poor, although Pete Townshend incorporated one of Andy’s pieces on his 1982 All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes album for which he received some welcome royalties. Newman also worked with Angie Bowie, Bonzo Dog Band’s Roger Ruskin Spear and Bob Kerr of the New Vaudeville Band.  

A new incarnation of the re-named Thunderclap Newman Band, with Andy as the only original member, enjoyed moderate success in the early 2000s before playing their final show at the 2012 Isle of Wight festival.  Newman died in 2016 aged 73.

Meanwhile, “Something In The Air” had taken on a life of its own.  The song has appeared in countless movies, television programmes and adverts, usually whenever a late 60s mood is required.  It has been covered by many artists including Labelle, Herbie Mann, Eurythmics, Fish (ex-Marillion), The Lightning Seeds, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and The Dukes of September (featuring Donald Fagen, Boz Scaggs and Michael McDonald).  Today, turn on any classic rock radio station anywhere in the world and the chances are you’ll hear “Something In The Air” within the hour.

This is a fascinating story which fully deserves telling.  You’d think a 420-page book about a band who only released one album and scored a solitary (albeit massive) hit single might struggle to hold your attention.  But you’d be wrong.  This is a cracking read and Mark Wilkerson has found the sweet spot between scholarly research and a riveting human interest story.

Original UK pressing of Something In The Air with Speedy Keen's name misspelled

Frank Zappa: Random Notes & Personal Memories

by Stuart Penney

Once upon a time I lived in the same street as Frank Zappa.  Yes, it’s absolutely true.  For a few months in late 1970 and early 1971 Frank and I were neighbours within a brisk walk of each other in Notting Hill.  Zappa was in London filming 200 Motels at Pinewood Studios and the family (FZ, Gail and the two oldest kids Moon and Dweezil) rented a swanky, up-market residence at 56 Ladbroke Grove.  Meanwhile, the Little House I Used To Live In (actually a miserable garret atop a run-down five storey walk-up) was just along the road at number 198.  You must admit that’s an impressive claim and I feel it elevates my Zappa fan status somewhat.

Without wishing to sound elitist, I’ve always thought of myself as a major Frank Zappa fan and a completist to boot.  I’m not one of those who owns just a handful of his more popular records.  Oh no.  In fact, there was a time when I could boast that I owned ALL of them.  Yes, I had the full set, comprising every last one of Frank’s albums (including the classical music titles and The Old Masters and Beat the Boots box sets), both on vinyl and CD where applicable, with multiple copies of some (US and UK pressings, mono and stereo etc.)  That’s no mean feat considering he released around 60 official albums during his lifetime alone.  And, since 1994 at least another 70 have appeared posthumously, bringing the total to a shelf-straining 130 individual titles or thereabouts.  But that, my friends, is only the beginning.

Any Zappa collection worthy of the name must also include any number of vinyl compilations from around the world, most of them featuring selections from his late 60s albums.  Frank took an understandably dim view of random “best of” collections of his work, but his label Verve-MGM cared little for that, endlessly recycling the early Mothers' material over which he had no control at the time. 

Then there are the vinyl singles, DVDs, VHS Tapes, cassettes, books and assorted memorabilia to be reckoned with.  And that’s before we get to the Zappa-owned Straight and Bizarre label releases by the likes of Wild Man Fischer, Captain Beefheart, Alice Cooper, Tim Buckley and the rest.  Also, depending how far down the FZ rabbit hole you want to go, we have myriad associated recordings from the Zappa alumni (Steve Vai, George Duke, Jean-Luc Ponty, Flo & Eddie, Dweezil and many more).  And, please, let’s not even mention the seemingly endless number of FZ bootlegs, which outnumber the official releases many times over.  Yes, I think it’s fair to say that life as a Zappa devotee has never been for the faint of heart or, indeed, the light of pocket.

But following matriarch Gail’s passing in 2015, we entered a new phase.  Whatever flimsy restraints had existed on the Zappa catalogue quickly evaporated and the discography virtually exploded, with Super Deluxe expanded reissues of major albums, multi disc live collections and cripplingly expensive box sets appearing seemingly monthly.  Some items were on general sale (if you knew where to look), others only available by mail-order or as official downloads from the Zappa Family Trust website.  It all became very confusing, not to mention extremely costly.

In the face of this veritable tsunami of new material, my completist boast no longer held water - in fact it began to leak like a rusty sieve.  If we thought it was hard to keep up before, it now became almost impossible.  Heaven help the brave soul who decides to start a Zappa collection today.  While possessing the physical product will always be the best and most desirable way to go ("because people like to own stuff" as Frank himself once said), there came a point where the once reviled streaming and/or download option suddenly began to make perfect sense.

But let’s go back to the beginning.  To amass such an impressive collection, you must start early and that’s exactly what I did.  I’m proud (if not a little smug) to say my Zappa obsession started in 1967 with his first album.  I’ve never been much of an impulse buyer when it comes to records.  In fact, as far as I recall, I’ve only ever secured two LPs purely on the basis of their sleeve artwork alone and with absolutely no knowledge of the music or musicians within.  One was The 5000 Spirits or the Layers of the Onion by the Incredible String Band and the other was, you guessed it, the Mothers’ debut album, Freak Out.  Like many a casual browser before me the thought occurred: if the sleeve is this amazing then how good must the music be?  I wasn’t disappointed.  

I picked up these records within months of each other in mid-1967 and I think you’ll agree both were wise, if not life-changing, acquisitions, informing so much of the music I would listen to in the decades ahead.  They are wildly dissimilar in style and content, of course, but both tapped into the 60s zeitgeist perfectly, their attention-grabbing sleeves impossible to ignore.

My well-worn UK mono copy of Freak Out bought in 1967

While the pop/psych and blues/rock material on Freak Out such as “Hungry Freaks Daddy,” “Wowie Zowie,” “Who Are the Brain Police” and “Trouble Comin’ Everyday” was hugely enjoyable in a quirky kind of way, the real meat of this album lay with the tracks “Help, I’m A Rock,” “It Can’t Happen Here” and “The Return of the Son of Monster Magnet.”  This was genuinely weird stuff; unlike anything I'd heard before.  As Captain Beefheart would opine almost a decade later, here was a bunch of “opaque melodies that would bug most people.”  It was unashamedly ugly music guaranteed to alienate the uninitiated or clear a room of unwanted guests.  There was genius at work here and I couldn't get enough of it.

In Britain the truncated single LP of Freak Out (missing a few tracks) was released in March 1967, eight months later than the US version.  So, when I spotted the American double album sometime later in a second-hand store, I had to have it.  Yes, by some miracle it included the desirable “Freak Out Hot Spots” insert map of LA which is now hugely collectable in its own right and probably worth more than the album itself.  A tiny reproduction of the map was included with the 2006 release The MOFO Project/Object. 

From there I began to track down the Zappa albums in vague release order.  My second acquisition was We’re Only In It For The Money which I first heard at a Sheffield party in 1968.  Call it happenstance, or even serendipity, but the Velvet Underground LP White Light / White Heat was also on the turntable at the same get-together.  I have only the faintest memory of that evening, but it must have been some mighty shindig if we were grooving to “Sister Ray” and “The Gift” alongside “What’s The Ugliest Part Of Your Body” and “The Idiot Bastard Son.”

I immediately loved both LPs, which is ironic considering Frank and Lou Reed apparently couldn’t stand the sight of each other.  But here they were on the same record label, with the same producer (Tom Wilson ostensibly produced the first two albums by each band), one group representing sleazy, decadent New York and the other laid back, sunny LA.  The war of words between the pair continued for years, with insults flying from both sides.  But it all seemed to turn out OK after Frank’s death when, in 1995, Lou did an abrupt volte face and inducted Zappa into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame with a warm and complimentary tribute.  

Incidentally, fact fans, We’re Only In It For The Money (V6 5045) and White Light / White Heat (V6 5046) carried consecutive catalogue numbers on the US Verve label, implying they were released simultaneously in early 1968.  Meanwhile, over in Britain the albums were two numbers apart - SVLP 9199 and SVLP 9201 respectively – separated only by bandleader Don Costa and his easy listening mono-only album Modern Delights (Verve VLP 9200).  Admit it, this is the kind of content you come here for! 

We’re Only In It For The Money was funny, weird and brilliant in equal measure and absolutely packed with great songs, crazy edits and dazzling sound effects.  I was particularly taken with the simulation of a stylus skidding across the record on “Nasal Retentive Calliope Music” which, speaking as the kind of person who gets antsy if someone leaves an LP out of its sleeve for more than a few minutes, I still find rather disturbing almost 60 years later.  Although now I think about it, it must have sounded even more extraordinary for those hearing this track for the first time on tape, CD or, heaven forbid, Spotify.

“Who Needs the Peace Corps” was a wonderfully observed swipe at the hippie movement (one of several on the album) and the faux ad-lib spoken section was still being performed verbatim on the final Zappa tour of 1988.  Another highlight was “Flower Punk” which was played in the manic garage band style of The Leaves’ 1966 single “Hey Joe.”  The spoken coda on this track is especially ingenious.  Two (or is it three?) voices can be heard simultaneously, each one relating an unlikely story.  On stereo copies of the album these voices can be isolated to hilarious effect by panning the left/right channel control. 

Two years earlier the Freak Out sleeve notes had mockingly quoted LA Disc Jockey Reb Foster saying "I'd like to clean you boys up a bit and mold you. I believe I could make you as big as the Turtles."  In an early manifestation of conceptual continuity, the Leaves’ bassist and founder Jim Pons would later join the Turtles before being drafted into the 1971 “Vaudeville Band” line-up of the Mothers.  There he teamed up with Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan, aka Flo and Eddie, meaning that three-fifths of the Turtles eventually wound up in Zappa's band.  Naturally, Frank couldn't resist taking the opportunity to perform a tongue-in-cheek live version of their biggest hit "Happy Together" during this period.  Find it on the album Fillmore East - June 1971. 

WOIIFTM even featured a couple of spoken contributions from Eric Clapton, then riding high with Cream and considered the ultimate rock deity by many at the time.  Among other things, Frank persuaded Eric to say the line “It’s God! I see God!” in the manner of someone peaking on acid.  Even though it set out to parody the Beatles’ magnum opus (it succeeded magnificently, even down to the insert cut-out sheet which came with original pressings), Money really was Frank’s very own Sgt Pepper in many ways.  Without doubt it’s his finest Verve album and his greatest early work.  No one else was making records like this in the 60s.

The second album Absolutely Free eluded me for a while and the first time I heard key tracks “Call Any Vegetable” and “Brown Shoes Don’t Make It” was on the 1969 compilation Mothermania.  When, finally, I did turn up a copy I was astonished to find that “Call Any Vegetable” featured a quite amazing extended guitar solo which had been cut out of the Mothermania edit of the track.  Not only did Frank write incredible songs, but he was funny as hell and a monster guitar player to boot.  Was there nothing this Zappa fellow couldn’t do?  There was no going back now.  From this humble beginning, a massive record collection began to grow.  

As for the contractual obligation LP Mothermania, this is said to be the only Verve “best of” compiled by Frank himself, and in true Zappa style he sneaked a few things in without the record company noticing.  The line “shut your fucking mouth about the length of my hair” which MGM had purged from the We’re Only In It For The Money track “Mother People” was surreptitiously reinstated here, while “The Idiot Bastard Son” appeared with a radically different mix.  It may have been just a compilation, but Mothermania sported one of the most memorable and on-brand sleeves of the entire FZ catalogue.  To quote Suzy Creamcheese from the Freak Out liner notes "These Mothers is crazy.  You can tell by their clothes."

Possibly the weirdest place I ever stumbled across a Zappa album was mid-1971 in the gift shop of the cruise liner MV Europa sailing between Durban, South Africa and Venice, Italy (don't ask, it's a long story).  There, sitting incongruously amid a selection of cheesy LPs by James Last, Perry Como, Mitch Miller and other easy listening landfill was a gold label Italian pressing of the 1969 release The **** Of The Mothers, one of those Verve compilations mentioned earlier.  I instantly snapped it up and, after disembarking in Venice, hitch-hiked across five European countries with the record in my backpack before bringing it home safely to London.  

For those interested in pointless maritime minutiae, the 14,500-ton MV Europa was launched in 1953 and spent much of her working life sailing between the east coast of Africa and Italy, via Cape Town.  In 1976 she caught fire and sank in the port of Jeddah, Saudi Arabia.  You may insert your own Ship Arriving Too Late To Save A Drowning Witch wisecrack here.

Uncle Meat

Then there was the time I scored an entire carton of 25 copies of Uncle Meat.  Here’s how it came about.  From 1967 to 1973 I worked for a London music publisher.  Part of my job involved schlepping around the West End on foot five days a week in all weathers delivering and collecting documents, artwork, photographs and sheet music to and from record companies, publicists and the myriad publishing houses.  I later discovered that I had inherited the position from the guitarist Caleb Quaye, who had gone to work as an engineer at Dick James Studios in New Oxford Street before joining an early version of the Elton John band and hence to form Hookfoot. 

Transatlantic Records was based in Marylebone Lane until the early 70s

One regular destination was the headquarters of Transatlantic Records, then located at 120 Marylebone Lane, just a stone's throw from Manchester Square and the famous EMI House.  For reasons still unclear, around 1969 Transatlantic was tasked with issuing a handful of Reprise / Bizarre label titles in Britain.  These included The Mothers’ Uncle Meat and Lenny Bruce’s The Berkeley Concert (both licensed from Zappa’s Bizarre label), plus a pair of 1968 Reprise LPs by The Fugs: It Crawled Into My Hand, Honest and Tenderness Junction.

I’ve heard various explanations as to why this solitary FZ album appeared on a tiny independent label, best known for its folk, blues and jazz releases.  One is that the UK arm of Warner Bros (the parent company of Reprise), was a little nervous about Zappa’s lyrics.  Even so, Reprise happily issued the record in many other territories, so that explanation doesn’t really hold up.  That said, the Australian release of Uncle Meat was heavily censored, as was the Aussie version of 200 Motels.

A more likely theory is that Pye Records, the UK manufacturers and distributors of Reprise releases from the label's inception in 1961 until 1971, baulked at the content of the four records, forcing the change.  In any case, within months Reprise distribution moved from Pye to the Kinney Music Group (the new owners of Warner Bros - Seven Arts Music) and manufacturing switched to CBS.  The “RSLP” prefixes found on the catalogue numbers of UK Reprise LPs up to 1971 changed to “K” (for Kinney) thereafter and any reference to Pye Records was blacked out / overprinted on the labels (presumably they continued to use up old stock of the paper labels).  This is noticeable on early UK pressings of Hot Rats and Burnt Weeny Sandwich with the three colour “steamboat” Reprise labels.  Got all that?  Good.  I’ll be taking questions later.

Early UK pressing of Burnt Weeny Sandwich with Pye Records credit redacted. Spot the "Igor's Bookie" typo

I soon became friendly with the warehouse boys at Transatlantic and on one visit noticed boxes of Uncle Meat stacked floor to ceiling in the storeroom.  A contra deal was quickly worked out.  In exchange for a selection of the latest sheet music and songbooks handled by my company (Hendrix, Beatles etc) I could pick whichever records I wanted from the Transatlantic catalogue.  This arrangement went on for a while and, as well as Uncle Meat, it included LPs by Ralph McTell, The Dubliners, John Renbourn, Bert Jansch, Stray, Jody Grind, The Purple Gang, Pentangle and many others I now can't recall.

As for that carton of Mothers LPs.  I kept one for myself (which I still have) and traded the rest at the Kensington Market record stall for yet more albums.  Now, if all this sounds a little dodgy, in my defence I should point out this was the 60s, after all, when this kind of ducking and diving was commonplace in many companies.  That doesn’t make it right, of course, but just saying. 

By 1968 Frank had set up his own Bizarre label (initially distributed thru Verve-MGM and then via Reprise Records) and the albums began appearing thick and fast.  In less than a year we saw Hot Rats, Burnt Weeny Sandwich, Weasels Ripped My Flesh and Chunga’s Revenge, plus the aforementioned Mothermania and The **** Of The Mothers Verve compilations, although the latter wasn’t released in the UK and was available only via the import stores. 

The big one was Hot Rats.  It was a huge seller in Britain, reaching the top ten - still Frank’s highest charting UK album to this day, despite barely scraping into the US top 200.  It's also said to be the first record made using 16-track technology and the first ever jazz rock fusion album. The latter is open to debate, but it was certainly FZ's most focused work thus far and his first to appeal to a mainstream rock audience.  I bought them all of course, mostly from One Stop Records in Dean Street, or Musicland in Berwick Street, both of which were excellent West End specialist record stores at the time.

Early UK copies of Chunga’s Revenge were issued in a green sleeve, unlike virtually every other country, where the cover was red.  Britain eventually followed suit and later pressings changed from green to red.

Around 1971 Verve-MGM switched UK distribution from EMI to Polydor and the first five Mothers’ LPs (plus the Zappa solo album Lumpy Gravy), out of print for some time, were suddenly available again in Britain, mostly in their original US format for the first time.  Freak Out was restored to its full double album grandeur and the others (except Mothermania) received gatefold sleeves where appropriate.  Around the same time, thanks to the Polydor deal, we also saw a flood of Verve compilations released in mainland Europe, notably the German double sets Mother’s Day and Pop History Vol. 7 (although the latter had different Volume numbers depending on the country of origin, such as New Zealand where it was designated Vol. 6, but I expect you already knew that?)  

Going off on a tangent for a moment to illustrate the EMI / Verve-MGM connection, you may remember UK copies of Pink Floyd’s 1969 Ummagumma double LP on EMI’s Harvest label featured a copy of the 1958 Gigi movie soundtrack album pictured on the front as a kind of "found object," while pressings from the US and Canada did not.  It’s thought the reason for this was because Gigi was on the MGM label, which was part of the UK EMI group until 1971.  This was not the case in North America where MGM was an independent, autonomous company.  Capitol Records handled Harvest releases in the US, and they didn’t want another company’s album pictured on one of their sleeves, so Gigi had to go.  This was sorted out in later years as the major record labels began to merge until today the Universal Music Group (UMG) owns nearly everything, including the catalogues of both EMI and MGM.  

As a footnote to this, in June 2022 the Zappa Family Trust announced it had sold Frank's entire catalogue to UMG, including master tapes, song copyrights and trademarks, for a reported US$30 million.

Meanwhile, back in 1971 the albums just kept on coming.  In quick succession we saw Fillmore East – June 1971, 200 Motels, Just Another Band From LA, Waka/Jawaka and The Grand Wazoo.  This required several more visits to One Stop and / or Musicland. 

This was a strange period for Zappa fans.  There was a time when I rather enjoyed the juvenile locker room humour of the “Vaudeville Band” line-up of the Mothers.  Together with other like-minded FZ enthusiasts we would quote huge chunks of “Billy The Mountain,” “The Mud Shark” and “Do You Like My New Car?” almost as if they were vintage Monty Python sketches.  But the bawdy material on Fillmore East and Just Another Band From LA has not aged particularly well and much of it seems a little puerile today.  Although the music holds up perfectly, it must be said these are not albums to play in polite company and I seem to remember reading that even Mark and Howard later distanced themselves from some of the material.  The post Rainbow attack albums were a different story entirely and the big band line-ups of The Grand Wazoo and Waka/Jawaka produced some majestic music.  

The Concerts

In-between all this album buying there were the concerts.  I’ve lost count of the number of times I saw Frank play live in London, but I know it’s well into double figures.  If everything had gone according to plan my very first Zappa concert would have been February 8, 1971, at the Royal Albert Hall.  The Mothers were booked to perform extracts from the film 200 Motels with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.  But the concert was cancelled without warning only hours before showtime after a couple of RPO musicians walked out in protest.  The Hall's wonderfully named letting manager, Miss Marian Herrod then declared Frank’s song lyrics to be “obscene” and “filth for filth’s sake.” 

The Mothers behind the Royal Albert Hall early 1971. Manager Herb Cohen in the hat

I had tickets for that concert but back in the pre-internet dark ages we had no way of knowing what had happened until we showed up on the night to find hundreds of confused and dejected FZ fans milling around outside. 

Frank sued the Royal Albert Hall amid legal proceedings which dragged on for years.  Even though it seemed an open and shut case he eventually lost the claim in April 1975.  Taking the "Royal" part of the venue's name rather too literally (and in typically sardonic FZ style) he vowed never to return to Britain unless he received an apology from The Queen herself.  Spoiler alert: Frank didn’t get a plea for forgiveness from Her Late Majesty, but he did visit Blighty again, many times.

I was never much of an outdoor concert kind of guy, so I missed The Mothers at the Bath Festival (1970) and The Oval (1972).  My first actual Zappa concert was at the Empire Pool, Wembley on Friday, September 14, 1973.  The band comprised Jean-Luc Ponty, Ruth Underwood, Ian Underwood, George Duke, Ralph Humphrey, Tom Fowler and Bruce Fowler.  Over-Nite Sensation had been released just the week before and we were treated to songs from the upcoming Roxy And Elsewhere along with some older material.  Highlights included “Penguin In Bondage,” “King Kong,” “Brown Shoes Don’t Make It,” “Uncle Meat” and “Cosmik Debris.”

With the exception of another Wembley concert in 1980 (of which more later) all my Zappa shows from this point were exclusively at the Hammersmith Odeon.  It was always a pleasure to see concerts there.  Being fairly central it's one of the easiest London venues to access and is located only a stone's throw from the Hammersmith Underground station.  

The upstairs bar at the Odeon was invariably full of freaks and hippies when Zappa was playing.  This was my world, and these were my people.  You seldom saw them out and about, except maybe at Camden Market or Portobello Road at weekends, but when Frank was in town they came out of the woodwork in droves and the place was packed to the rafters with outrageously dressed longhaired men and beautiful women in colourful velvet and silk outfits.  Somehow, I always felt a little underdressed in the Odeon bar.

Between 1977 and 1984 Frank played over 20 concerts at the Hammersmith Odeon and in November 2010 an eponymous three CD set was issued containing material from four 1978 shows at the venue (the basic tracks for many of the tunes on Sheik Yerbouti were also culled from these tapes).  In fact, other than his favourite New York and LA haunts such as the Whisky a Go Go, the Palladium and the Garrick Theatre, FZ played Hammersmith more than any other hall.

Zappa visited London virtually every year in the late 70s and often played multiple nights at Hammersmith.  Sometimes I saw him 2 or 3 times on each tour.  For that reason, many of the concerts have merged into each other in the memory.  So, you’ll forgive me if I cherry-pick important highlights from just a few of those shows. 

1982 UK tour advert - Billed simply as "Zappa" by that point

Jesus

I’ll always remember the Hammersmith Odeon concert in January 1978 when Frank invited a bunch of audience members onstage to take part in a dance contest.  This was a regular thing with Zappa.  He liked to encourage audience participation at his shows and the volunteers seemingly had no qualms enduring what was basically ritual humiliation as they were instructed to fling themselves around to a jazz piece played in an impossible time signature - in this case it was “The Black Page #2.”

As the band vamped on the coda of “Titties & Beer” (this was the era of the Zappa In New York album) Frank attempted to coax participants onstage.  No easy task with a reserved English crowd.  The first person up (and the last to leave) was of course the infamous William “Jesus” Jellett, inveterate ligger and idiot dancer supreme.

Tall and gangly with a distinctive blonde mullet / pudding bowl haircut, Jesus was a fixture at seemingly every gig and festival in and around London from the 1960s to the 1990s, often dancing naked while he played his bongos or tootled on a wooden flute.  There can be few concert goers who didn’t encounter him at one time or other, either at various venues or on the London Underground where he would walk up and down the train carriages offering nuts and dried fruit to bemused passengers. 

Jesus can be witnessed demonstrating his terpsichorean skills in video footage of the Cream Farewell Concert, Glastonbury Fayre and The Stones In The Park.  He was also pictured on the front of the Chemical Brothers’ 1999 Surrender album.  The cover shows him dancing ecstatically at The Great British Music Festival at Kensington Olympia in 1976.  The sleeve image is a treatment of a photograph by Richard Young titled “Jesus Amongst the Fans.” 

Jesus makes the cover of Surrender by the Chemical Brothers

Frank had obviously encountered Jesus before and referred to him by name a couple of times, even before he came up on stage.  Needless to say, he was the most energetic of the volunteers, throwing himself around with gay abandon, writhing and squirming like a man possessed (which, come to think of it, he possibly was).  But when the dance contest was over Jesus seemed reluctant to leave.  He was clearly enjoying his moment in the spotlight and Zappa had to tell him more than once to vacate the stage.  He finally jumped down triumphantly and went back to his seat amid a huge cheer from the audience. 

In the February 4, 1978, issue of the NME, journalist Charles Shaar Murray wrote about the incident.  “Frank's avuncular jollity even extended as far as bringing up members of audience to dance on stage (Jesus popped up – natch – and was only induced to leave the stage with the greatest reluctance).”

Jesus shuffled off this mortal coil in 2021, aged 73.  I like to imagine that somewhere in a parallel universe he is risen, still dancing and twirling wildly while playing his bongos, with or without his clothes.  In another time and place he might even have been signed to Frank’s Bizarre label.

Bongo Fury! Jesus spotted in his natural habitat

Zappa In New York

By 1978 a bunch of new albums had appeared.  There was Over-Nite Sensation, Apostrophe, One Size Fits All, Bongo Fury and Zoot Allures.  As mentioned in an earlier blog piece HERE my great mate Charlie sold records from a stall in the Brick Lane Market.  One day he called asking if I would like a copy of the latest Zappa album, which he assured me was not yet on sale in the shops.  Charlie, are you kidding?  Of course I would. 

Charlie was something of an Arthur Daley character with fingers in many pies and I suspected much of his stock was not entirely kosher, if I may use that term.  But when a new, unreleased FZ album was up for grabs, all bets were off.  The opportunity was too good to pass up, so I made a special trip to the East End of London, not somewhere I often went willingly in the 70s.  The record turned out to be an early UK version of Zappa In New York containing material which would soon be deleted. 

One of the longest tracks, the 11 minute “Punky’s Whips” disappeared from later pressings and some of the other cuts were re-sequenced.  "Titties & Beer" remained on the album, but it was edited to remove references to Edwin "Punky" Meadows, guitarist with American glam rock band Angel.  Apparently Punky himself had no problem with the songs and, in fact, was greatly flattered to receive such attention.  But Warner Brothers, distributors of Frank’s DiscReet label, feared the lyrics may result in an expensive and damaging lawsuit. 

So, I ended up with the rarest, most desirable version of the album and I believe only a couple of thousand copies were sold before it was withdrawn.  The “clean” version went on sale a few weeks later minus “Punky’s Whips” and within weeks uncensored copies were selling for huge amounts in the small ads.  It was 1991 before the full version of the album became available again, this time on CD.  But even then, the re-instated cut of “Punky’s Whips” was a different recording. 

Once again Charlie had excelled himself.  But I never did find out where he got that box of unreleased copies of Zappa In New York from.  

Mr. Smothers

After the December 1971 Rainbow Theatre incident in which Frank was attacked and seriously injured, he began to employ bodyguards when on tour.  That’s where John Smothers enters the Zappa story.  An ex-army man built like the proverbial brick outhouse, he was also known as “Bald-headed John” or more often, simply, “Mr. Smothers.” 

The stage door to the Hammersmith Odeon was (and probably still is) situated to the right of the building down a narrow laneway.  Ever the Zappa fanboy, I’d sometimes arrive at the concerts early to see if Frank or any band members were around following sound check.  I chatted to Ike Willis, Arthur Barrow and Tommy Mars a few times, but FZ proved elusive. 

Then, one afternoon around February 1979 I wandered down the lane to hear raised voices.  There was an argument going on.  The imposing figure of Mr Smothers stood blocking the stage door while an agitated figure appeared to be remonstrating with him.  “I keep telling you” the man spluttered, “I’m Erroneous.  Let me in.  Frank definitely wants to see me.”  

“Erroneous” was the alias used by bassist Alex Dmochowski when he played on the Waka/Jawaka, The Grand Wazoo and Apostrophe albums in 1972.  He’d previously been a member of the Aynsley Dunbar Retaliation and in early 1970 briefly passed through John Mayall's band before moving to America. Dmochowski is also credited on records by Black Sabbath, Michael Chapman and Peter Green. He also played at least one gig with Green, as evidenced by this ad from Sounds.

From Sounds, December 1970

Whether this chap was really who he professed to be or possibly an erroneous Erroneous (a fraud, if you will) I couldn’t say.  Whoever he was, his claim was just this side of obscure enough to be credible.  After all, none but the most scholarly Zappa aficionado would have been familiar with the bass player from The Grand Wazoo. 

But Smothers was having none of it and he was getting angrier by the second.  “You ain’t coming in here man and that’s all there is to it!” he thundered.  “But I really need to see Frank!” the interloper insisted weakly.  At this point he made a lunge for the door, trying to push past Mr. Smothers.  Big mistake.  Smothers was not a man to be trifled with.  He grabbed the imposter, spun him around and pushing one arm up his back, police style, threw him out in the laneway where he hit the ground.  It was a slick move, with just the right amount of force, proving how good he was at his job. 

Other than a bruised ego the charlatan was seemingly unhurt.  He picked himself up and shuffled away, calling back pathetically over his shoulder “I’m telling you; I really am Erroneous.”  Let’s be honest, he probably wasn’t Erroneous, but I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him.  His carefully devised plan to meet Frank had crashed and burned.  An ineffectual force had come up against a totally immovable object - Mr. Smothers. 

Smothers would sometimes chat to the fans at the stage door and was genuinely friendly if you didn’t give him any trouble.  But after witnessing the Erroneous Incident (as it came to be known), I determined he was in no mood to talk to us about Frank on that particular day.

John Smothers acted as Frank’s bodyguard from 1972 until his retirement in 1984.  He was name-checked in the Joe's Garage song "Dong Work For Yuda" and appeared in the film Baby Snakes.  Smothers died in 2019 aged 89. 

Mr. Smothers keeps an eye on Frank 

Dweezil

Another memorable Hammersmith show was June 18, 1982, when Frank brought his 12-year-old son Dweezil out onstage.  Mentored by Steve Vai (then resident “stunt guitarist” in the Zappa band), the lad was still in short pants and had toy rubber monsters glued onto his heavy metal style pointy guitar.  The instrument almost certainly started life as a Charvel Star, a gift from Eddie Van Halen, although after replacing the neck Dweezil later often referred to it as a Kramer.  In 1982 the guitar was cream with an orange lightning bolt, but later photos show it refinished in red with the trademark Schwinn bicycle style white stripes in homage to EVH himself. 

Dweezil and Vai duetted on the twin guitar shred fest “Stevie’s Spanking” and the audience gave one of the loudest cheers of the evening about four minutes into the song when young Zappa Jr stepped forward to solo.  Meanwhile, Frank sat on a stool off to the side, calmly smoking a cigarette (as was his habit) proudly watching this unfold.

It was the first time Dweezil had ever played live onstage anywhere.  He told the podcast Produce Like a Pro “That was a great experience.  I was so excited to have been asked to play but I was incredibly nervous.  Since I could only really play the lead in the key of A, Frank devised a hand signal for the band to modulate the song “Stevie’s Spanking” down to A from its original key of B.”

The band played three shows at the Odeon on June 18 and 19, but Dweezil appeared only at the first.  Parts of this performance of “Stevie’s Spanking” (minus Dweezil) ended up on You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol.4 released in 1991. 

The first time Frank and Dweezil played guitar together onstage was December 23, 1984, at the Universal Amphitheatre in Los Angeles when they performed “Sharleena” during the encore.  This became available as a flexi disc in the January 1987 issue of Guitar Player magazine.  A longer version later appeared on You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Sampler (1988) and the same performance was also included on You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol.3 (1989).  The second encore at the same show saw father and son duet on “Whipping Post.”  This performance ended up on the 1986 CD Does Humor Belong In Music?

Wembley Again

On Tuesday, June 17, 1980, I was back at Wembley for my second Zappa concert at the famous venue.  The name of the hall had been changed in February 1978 and the Empire Pool was now re-branded as Wembley Arena.  Kicking off with “Chunga’s Revenge” the set list featured a bunch of early Mothers’ songs plus selections from Sheik Yerbouti, Joe’s Garage and the upcoming Tinsel Town Rebellion and You Are What You Is albums.  The encore was “The Illinois Enema Bandit” from Zappa In New York.

It was common to spot famous faces from the world of music in the audience paying homage to Frank at these concerts, but at Wembley my girlfriend was beside herself with excitement when she noticed actor Jonathan Caplan seated directly in front of us.  You’re probably asking, who the hell is Jonathan Caplan?  He played Elsie Tanner’s grandson Martin Cheveski in the world’s longest-running TV soap opera Coronation Street, that’s who!  Do try and keep up.  Young and handsome with a great haircut, Caplan appeared in the show for less than a year, but his 1980 stint on the Weatherfield cobbles exactly coincided with the Zappa concert.  He later appeared in episodes of Dr. Who and The Young Ones.

The Final Hammersmith Concerts

Frank played three shows over two nights at the Hammersmith Odeon on September 24 and 25, 1984.  I saw two of them and, sadly, not only were they his last ever shows there, but also my own final Zappa concerts.  Recent albums around that period included Ship Arriving Too Late To Save A Drowning Witch, The Man From Utopia and Baby Snakes, with Them or Us, Thing-Fish, The Perfect Stranger and Francesco only weeks away.

There was no hotshot “stunt guitarist” on this tour, Frank handled all lead guitar duties himself.  The band consisted of veterans Ike Willis and Ray White, plus new boys Scott Thunes (bass), Chad Wackerman (drums), Allan Zavod (keyboards) and Bobby Martin (vocals/keyboards). 

Before a note was played at the second of two concerts on September 24, Frank treated us to the “Roland Hyams Rap,” the sad but true story of a failed publicity man.  Hyams was hired to fly a group of British journalists out to Brussels to cover the Zappa show on September 7.  There followed a series of comical mishaps resulting in the scribes not reaching the concert until the encore.  They confessed to Frank that, thanks to Roland, they had spent the previous night at a local brothel where they convinced the ladies they were members of his band.  “So that gives you a rough idea of what impresses a Belgian whore” quipped FZ. 

Zappa was particularly outraged because Hyams had already been paid upfront for the job and was now refusing to give the money back.  “So, Roland, you’re in some deep shit, buddy” he concluded ominously before kicking off proceedings with “Chunga’s Revenge.”

For almost 40 years starting in the mid-70s, Roland Hyams worked for (and later owned) several PR companies, including Work Hard PR, Modern Publicity and Rock Hard PR.  During that time, he represented many heavy metal and rock acts including Iron Maiden, W.A.S.P., The Almighty, Big Country, The Stranglers, Helloween, Glenn Hughes, Bad Religion and Bruce Dickinson.  In 1984, along with the Zappa debacle Hyams also had the distinction of being fired as Ozzy Osbourne’s publicist by Sharon Osbourne herself.  Hyams died in May 2022.

We heard many unreleased songs during the show, including “Truck Driver Divorce,” “Hot Plate Heaven At The Green Hotel,” “The Evil Prince”, “Ride My Face To Chicago,” “He's So Gay,” “Carol You Fool,” “Chana In De Bushwop”, “Let's Move To Cleveland,” “The Closer You Are,” “No No Cherry,” “Baby Take Your Teeth Out,” and “Whipping Post.”  All of these would later show up on the albums Them Or Us, Thing-Fish, Does Humor Belong In Music, You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol.3, and You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore Vol.4.

Among numerous highlights were Chad Wackerman’s electronic drum solo on “Let’s Move To Cleveland” (such hi-tech wizardry was quite a novelty in 1984) and Bobby Martin’s astonishing vocal power on the cover of the Allman Brothers’ “Whipping Post.”  Also noteworthy was Scott Thunes’ Stiff Records t-shirt featuring the label's pithy slogan - “If It Ain’t Stiff, It Ain’t Worth A Fuck.” 

The following night, September 25, we heard a very similar set, with the addition of “Zoot Allures,” “Penguin In Bondage,” and “The Illinois Enema Bandit.”  My companion for this show was Andrew Cameron, a professional photographer and assistant to the great rock lensman Fin Costello.  Andy (“Cammy” to his friends) worked with Fin on many famous photo shoots including album covers by Ozzy Osbourne, Metallica and Motorhead.  Under his own name Andy shot record sleeves for Genesis, Feeder and Radiohead.

I’ve seen many memorable marquee signs out the front of the Hammersmith Odeon over the years.  “London Welcomes Frank Zappa” may not have quite the same historical impact as, say, “From 8pm We’re All Working Together With David Bowie” (1973) or “Finally London Is Ready For Bruce Springsteen (1975), but for Frank’s final appearance at the iconic venue, it seemed absolutely perfect.  I asked Andy to take a few shots of the illuminated signage as we arrived.

Hammersmith Odeon, September 25, 1984                               Photo: Andrew Cameron

We were seated on the front row of the balcony and Cammy fired off a couple of rolls of film with his expensive Nikon SLR.  He wasn’t happy with them, claiming we were too far away to get the best results even with a zoom lens, so he gave the negatives to me.  Some of those photos are featured here.  Tragically, Andy passed away in January 2006.

The same 1984 band was featured on Zappa’s initial CD-only release Does Humor Belong In Music? released in early 1986.  It was the first Compact Disc I ever bought, and I didn’t even own a player at that point!  I had a nagging feeling that if I didn’t pick it up right away, the CD might be deleted and disappear just as vinyl records had a habit of doing.  Ironically, a couple of decades later, CDs did start to disappear, while vinyl miraculously rose from the dead. 

Hammersmith Odeon, Sept 25, 1984    Photo: Andrew Cameron

Meanwhile, Does Humor Belong In Music? not only remained on catalogue, but in 1995 it was even reissued and revised with a new (and much better) Cal Schenkel designed sleeve.  Sections of “Zoot Allures” and “Trouble Every Day” contained therein were taken from the Hammersmith concert on September 25.  NB: At some point during the transition from vinyl to CD the song title “Trouble Comin’ Every Day” had jettisoned the word “Comin’”.

Does Humor Belong In Music? 1st version

Does Humor Belong In Music? 2nd version with Cal Schenkel sleeve

1984 may have been my last Zappa show at Hammersmith, but I later saw many other unlikely concerts there, ranging from thrash merchants Slayer (1991) to comedian Ricky Gervais (2007) and much else in-between.  By this point, thanks to various sponsorship deals, the venue had been re-named a few times (Labatt's Apollo, HMV Apollo etc) but to some of us it will remain, always and forever, simply, the Hammersmith Odeon. 

I was out of the country in 1988, so missed Zappa’s UK dates on that ill-fated final world tour (he played Brighton, Birmingham and two shows at Wembley).  But we certainly weren’t short of product, what with the full Barcelona concert from May 17 turning up in high quality video from Spanish TV, plus live CDs aplenty including Broadway The Hard Way (1988), The Best Band You Never Heard In Your Life (1991), Make A Jazz Noise Here (1991) and Zappa ’88: The Last US Show (2021).

Towards the end his life Frank oversaw the six-volume / 12 CD career-spanning live set You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore (1988-92), Playground Psychotics (1992), Ahead Of Their Time (1993) and, finally, The Yellow Shark (1993).  I managed keep up with most of the posthumous releases until around 2016.  The last physical CD I bought was the Apostrophe re-boot The Crux Of The Biscuit which I reviewed HERE.  After that, it was downloads and streaming all the way. 

Of course, I always made the effort to see Dweezil’s band Zappa Plays Zappa whenever they came to town. It was a constant reminder of just how life-affirming Frank’s music is, especially when treated with such care and respect.  

One question I’m often asked by FZ newbies is “Where do I start with Frank?  What are his best albums?”  With such a monster back catalogue it must be baffling for those new to the world of Zappa.  It’s an almost impossible question to answer.  The standard reply is usually the holy trinity of FZ classics: One Size Fits All, Apostrophe and Hot Rats.  But that’s a lazy, simplistic answer.  He made many records the equal of those three.  What about the Avant Garde potpourri that is Uncle Meat?  Or the satirical pop / psych masterpiece We’re Only In It For The Money?  Or the smutty rock genius of Over-Nite Sensation?  Or the fretboard wizardry of both Shut Up 'n Play Yer Guitar and Guitar?  Or the silky big band jazz of The Grand Wazoo?  Or the brilliant doo wop pastiche Cruising With Ruben & the Jets?  And on and on it goes.

I could pick a dozen personal favourites, but there’s one album I seem to play more than the others.  It may not be everyone’s first choice, but I never grow tired of You Are What You Is from 1981.  Bordering on heavy rock (check out the riff-tastic "Doreen" and the title track) it features some of Frank’s greatest guitar work combined with a bunch of his finest compositions.  It’s one of those textbook Zappa albums that hits the sweet spot between dark, caustic humour and tremendous songwriting / musicianship.  Lyrically, YAWYI is right up there with his best work too: he takes acerbic swipes at religion ("Dumb All Over," "Heavenly Bank Account,") teenage angst, suicide, the superficial NYC disco scene ("Mudd Club"), identity politics and plenty more. All of it hard-hitting while being hugely funny too. It's a rare skill and Frank was an absolute master of it. 

There’s a hell of a lot going on with this album, with stuff flying in from all angles and there’s barely a second when something clever and interesting is not happening sonically and lyrically.  But Frank’s brilliant production prevents it all from becoming too cluttered.  Every instrumental overdub and vocal line shines through clear as a bell.

It's a fabulous band too, with the great Ike Willis and Ray White on vocals, Steve Vai (stunt guitar), Tommy Mars (keyboards), Arthur Barrow (bass) and David Logeman (drums).  Add to this the sadly recently departed Ed Mann (percussion), plus veteran Mothers Jimmy Carl Black and Motorhead Sherwood.

If you're not familiar with this album, do yourself a favour and check it out. You'll love it, it's a way of life. 

So, those are just a few random notes and personal memories of the irrepressible and irreplaceable Frank Zappa.  I could have rambled on a while longer.  I didn’t mention the Hammersmith show where we saw guitarist Adrian Belew jogging around the stage in his brown boiler suit doing warm-up calisthenics before the concert began, for example. 

Or the time Tommy Mars and a couple of other band members were busted for drug possession at their hotel.  The story made the London evening newspapers, and at one point it looked as if the concerts may be cancelled as a result.  We can only imagine Frank's response to this. No doubt the famously anti-drugs Zappa handed the culprits the Mother of all bollockings. Not because he wanted to police their free time, but putting the tour in jeopardy would have been unthinkable - not to mention financially disastrous.  Thankfully the shows went ahead as planned.  But those and many other FZ memories will have to wait for another time. 

It only remains to say that there has never been anyone in popular music who came close to equaling Zappa's prodigious output, his phenomenal work rate, his razor-sharp wit or his outrageously creative genius.  And in the modern era where computers, AI and autotune rule the world, I seriously doubt there ever will be. He existed entirely and gloriously outside the orthodoxy of the rock tradition. He could do it all and he did it in style.

I need to thank Andrew Greenaway for his help and inspiration and for jogging my fading memory on occasion.  Check out Andrew’s excellent webpage for all your Zappa requirements: https://www.zappanews.co.uk/. Or follow him on Twitter / X @idiotbastard.

Below are some pictures from the exhibition Frank Zappa At The Roundhouse: A Celebration Of His Life and Music, November 2010. Photographs are by Robert Penney. Find him on Twitter / X @penneydesign