Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band—Trout Mask Replica

Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band—Trout Mask Replica

Trout Mask Replica—If there is an album that can truly be called idiosyncratic, it's Trout Mask Replica. Nothing could have prepared anyone for it in 1969, and its existence continues to baffle listeners in 2015. Its reputation precedes it, of course; it has been constantly cited as a turning point in rock and, for that matter, popular music. Its purported influence can be hard to hear outside of Tom Waits (namely Swordfishtrombones), but its role as a game-changer is hard to deny, especially considering the volume of acclaim and supporters in both music and general pop culture.

Its famous weirdness was not entirely unprecedented. Captain Beefheart (Don Van Vliet) and the Magic Band were already one of the more curious psychedelic blues groups of the '60s, and compositions like "Safe as Milk" and "Beatle Bones 'n' Smokin' Stones" from Strictly Personal (1968) were as lyrically strange as anything yet to come. What didn't exactly mesh with the standard on Trout Mask were the wild new arrangements—namely Beefheart's newfound fascination with a wide array of brass instruments—and just the peculiarities of the melodies and rhythms. This experimentation was made possible by Beefheart's collusion with childhood friend Frank Zappa, who had recently founded the record labels Bizarre and Straight. Zappa, an avant-garde artist in his own right, both allowed the band room to create music free from expectations and produced the record himself.

The details of the album's preparation, creation, and credits as well as the circumstances surrounding its recording are subject to some confusion. The original double LP's liner notes state that all 28 songs were written by Captain Beefheart, though in a 2005 interview with the blog vanity project, Magic Band drummer Drumbo (John French) disputed this and other points:

"Don was the initial creative force in the band, there’s no denying that. Lyrically, he is unsurpassed ... However, he was not very organized, nor did he at all understand the extreme learning curve it took to actually bring his vision to life. As a result, the band members—some more than others—contributed a great deal more to the actual completion and arranging of the music than Don ever realized."

Drumbo referred to Beefheart and the Magic Band's living situation as a "cult atmosphere ... manufactured by Van Vliet ... as one of the methods he used to control us." This is corroborated by Zappa, who recalled in The Real Frank Zappa Book, "The whole band was living in a small house in the San Fernando Valley (we could use the word cult in here)," where Drumbo reported the conditions were such that Zoot Horn Rollo (Bill Harkleroad) "while writing his book ... once had to run outside and collapse on his lawn—vomiting—from reliving the trauma." He elucidated:

"I'm sure he viewed our comradeship as a threat to his leadership, and so [he] felt he had to keep us compartmentalized by nurturing hostility. He did this by betraying confidence, mostly. Something said privately about a third party would be injected into a group 'talk,' which would usually be quite embarrassing and sometimes humiliating. These talks would go on for days until the targeted person 'in the barrel' finally broke down, usually either in tears or just in complete submission to Don. It was very much like brainwashing combined with a very bad form of group therapy."

Beefheart admitted at least once in his lifetime to being a "dictator," saying in an interview for the December 10th, 1977 edition of Sounds, "I can't think of myself as doing something wrong, because I asked them every day, 'Are you sure you want to do this?'" which paints the Trout Mask Replica recording as something of a sadomasochist venture. Rollo claimed in a 1997 interview for Hi-Fi Mundo, "80% of it was done by him kinda beating the shit out of a piano in a rhythmic sense ... John French, the drummer, transcribed it, notated it all, and would dole out the parts to the players. So he had a concept of being away from tonality, but using rhythm as the main input, because that's what he had to offer ... he didn't know what he played after he played it." He referred to Beefheart as "a non-musician" who "[had] no idea what any of those black and white things were on the piano." Assuming this is true, Trout Mask Replica actually falls under an uncommon heading, genre-wise: aleatoric music. The album has been often cited as an example of jazz music, but this is not entirely apt; jazz is largely based around improvisation, and while Beefheart's original sketches were improvised, they only were as such insofar that the geneses of all songs are inherently improvisational. Beefheart and the Magic Band famously rehearsed most of the album's finished songs "to death," as Zappa explained (International Times, March 1977), recalling that "they did all the tracks in 5 hours, and that's doing some of them several times. I couldn't tell the difference between the takes."

While Rollo's assessment is likely colored by his unpleasant memories, Trout Mask Replica does have an air of musical primordia. It has been argued over the many years since its release whether the music is carefully planned and forward-thinking or simply rehearsed nonsense. The real answer is almost certainly somewhere in the middle: there is no doubt that Beefheart's lyrical prowess was, as Drumbo put it, unsurpassed. His improvisational ability and imagination were keen and pure in that regard, as evidenced by next-level bouts of inspiration like the opening fragment of Trout Mask, "Frownland": "My smile is stuck/I cannot go back t'yer Frownland ... I cannot go back to yer land of gloom/Where black jagged shadows/Remind me of the comin' of yer doom."

The unaccompanied "The Dust Blows Forward 'n the Dust Blows Back" is excellent, evoking a sort of nostalgia. "Dachau Blues" is a curious story about World Wars I and especially II (Dachau having been a concentration camp) that borders on insensitive, though this feeling cannot be inferred with specificity. "Ella Guru" is one of the more traditional-sounding songs, but it is quickly run over by the flagellating horns of "Hair Pie: Bake 1," which is wordless aside from a conversation between Beefheart and some neighbors at the end. "Moonlight on Vermont," the closer of the side one and an overall highlight, quotes "Old-Time Religion" and Steve Reich's "Come Out."

"Pachuco Cadaver" is a mad blues that breaks down into a long bout of stream-of-consciousness. It naturally flows into the similar "Bills Corpse" and the somewhat-pretty-by-comparison "Sweet Sweet Bulbs." "Neon Meate Dream of a Octafish" [sic] sounds fittingly as though the vocals were recorded underwater. "China Pig" is great, and notably also seems to support Zoot Horn Rollo's claim that Beefheart was something of a novice; in the beginning of the song he asks Doug Moon to play "one of those [imitates slow blues number]" with no additional instruction. "My Human Gets Me Blues" seems to be a Beefheart statement on transgenderism. "Dali's Car" closes out the first LP with a bout of diminished chords and minor improvisation.

After the instrumental "Hair Pie: Bake 2," the "fast 'n bulbous" dialogue with The Mascara Snake (Victor Hayden) continues (from the beginning of "Pachuco Cadaver") before the crazed rant of "Pena," vocalized not by Beefheart but guitarist Antennae Jimmy Semens (Jeff Cotton). Another spoken-word monologue from Beefheart, "Well," precedes the album's centerpiece and longest song, "When Big Joan Sets Up." "Fallin' Ditch" exhibits just how rehearsed Trout Mask Replica actually was ("What do you run on, Rockette Morton? Say 'beans.'"). The jaunty "Sugar 'n Spikes" and soulful "Ant Man Bee" are a pair of high points.

The album's most lyrically dense song and final a cappella performance, "Orange Claw Hammer," opens side four. On "Wild Life," Beefheart's brass actually corresponds somewhat to his vocals. "She's Too Much for My Mirror" is possibly the least essential song in the set; "Hobo Chang Ba" is one of the few songs where Beefheart alters his delivery, and it even features jingle bells. On "The Blimp (mousetrapreplica)," Semens cries out about "the blimp" over the telephone while the Mothers of Invention accompany him with a generic roll, which is a refreshing change of pace. "Steal Softly thru Snow" actually sounds like traditional poetry. The album ends with a pair of musings on the old, the flat "Old Fart at Play" and the more simply psychedelic "Veteran's Day Poppy."

The legacy of Trout Mask Replica is rarely disputed, but the question of whether or not the music is good has always been a sticking point. Almost every song seems charming after enough listening, having each its own distinct personality. On the other hand, many are superfluous musically. This can probably be attributed to Captain Beefheart rather than the band, since he insisted on being credited as the sole writer, and there's only so much the band could have done with his rough drafts anyway. As it is, it's a fascinating record with a rich history, and it's a unique experience that shouldn't be passed up. It's just not a pretty one, and the complexity of the compositions should not be overstated as they often are.

Scott Walker—Scott 3

Scott Walker—Scott 3

Scott 3—Though it was and continues to be a divisive record among fans, Scott 3 is in many ways the quintessential Scott Walker album. It exhibits the point in Walker's career when he decided he must turn to more serious music; as he put it, Scott 2 was "the work of a lazy, self-indulgent man," featuring only four original cuts to go with the three from Scott and a handful of originals that surfaced as single A- or B-sides and Walker Brothers material. Scott 3, to be pointlessly accurate, is 76.9% original, and tellingly pushes the three Jacques Brel covers to the bottom of the running order rather than the alternating format of the previous LPs. Luckily, Walker turned out to have the songwriting chops necessary to make this move, unlike any number of contemporary idols-turned-legitimate. Songs like "Montague Terrace (in Blue)," "The Plague," and "The Amorous Humphrey Plugg" ranged from good to great and displayed eclectic sensibilities and richness of flavor.

Unlike its similarly experimental successor, Scott 4 (not counting the minor record Scott Walker Sings Songs from His T.V. Series), Scott 3 enjoyed a similar degree of success to Walker's first two albums, though its songs were less congenial and even the Brel covers were moodier. The disenchanted "It's Raining Today" is an excellent but unsettlingly dissonant piece of art that characterizes the album, "Copenhagen" a tribute to Denmark's scenic capital. "Rosemary" deceives by appearing fairly minor, perhaps deliberately; its lyrics realistically portray a depressed youth who Walker either compares to himself or the storyteller: "That's what I want/A new shot at life/But my coat's too thin/My feet won't fly." The cavernous "Big Louise" is its contrapositive, being less nuanced lyrically but having a fuller sound while exploring nearly the same story. "We Came Through" is the odd man out, charging out of the gate to break the stillness. It can be a breath of fresh air when the LP is played in order, but its lyrics are somewhat overly broad. "Butterfly" is a pleasant yet prosaic vignette.

"Two Ragged Soldiers" is Walker's masterpiece this time around, depicting two tramps who may be homosexuals, though this is not explicitly confirmed; Walker borrows a turn of phrase from Virginia Woolf (either in regard to A Room of One's Own or more likely The Lady in the Looking-Glass) to say, "They spoke transparent phrases to looking-glass women," indicating that the soldiers—which is not to say they are actually soldiers, as Walker presents those words as a simile—are superficial in their interaction with the opposite sex; "Sometimes passions in winter turned to cold soundless moments" and the continual theme of turning to fantasy (which in this context would mean that their lives together can only be fantasy in an age when homosexuality was not wholly accepted) combine with the sorry line, "Good mornings to faces who just turned away," to paint a somber portrait of outcasts.

The slight yet affable "30 Century Man," which has become one of Walker's most enduring songs, sees the singer waxing folk as he sings outside linear time: "Shame you won't be there to see me/Shakin' hands with Charles de Gaulle." It is also one of his few unaccompanied songs from the period. "Winter Night" is possibly the only truly pointless song on the record, basically existing only to heavy-handedly point out that Scott 3 is a winter album. "Two Weeks Since You've Gone" is a middling iteration of a common Walker thread seeing the end of a friendship or relationship soon after the point of separation. The three Jacques Brel covers, "Sons Of" ("Fils de..."), "Funeral Tango" ("Le tango funèbre") and "If You Go Away" ("Ne me quitte pas") are agreeable, faithful renditions.

Scott 3 was the black sheep of Scott Walker's four numbered LPs. Five of Walker's ten originals clock in at under 2:30, which gives it a fragmented feeling similar to Low by devotee David Bowie eight years later. That does not detract from their quality, but it makes for a jarring listen sometimes, especially considering the many layers of melancholy. It's transitional, relying on a few covers to fill space while Walker found his muse, and his vision would be better realized on Scott 4 to follow, but Scott 3 is nonetheless a rewarding work with flashes of brilliance.

Scott Walker—Scott 4

Scott Walker—Scott 4

Scott 4—There exists a trope in which a fictional character is split in two, resulting in two discrete personalities, usually one good and one evil. This storyline has existed in literature at least as long as The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886), but it was popular in the earlier days of television as well, notably in the Star Trek episode "The Enemy Within," which first aired in October 1966. Of course, while the concept is metaphorical, the human struggle between conflicting sides of the same identity is very real.

Scott Walker's first three LPs were mixes of interpretive covers—generally American songwriters and Belgian singer-songwriter Jacques Brel—and his own originals, which had slowly become the bulk of his material. Scott (1967) was one-quarter original and Scott 2 (1968) a third, which were both huge hits in the United Kingdom (Walker's effective homeland, though he was, in fact, born and raised in the United States). Scott 3 (1969), though it hit the third slot on the UK charts, was received with more skepticism, in part due to its lack of recognizable tunes. Walker penned ten of its thirteen songs and pushed the three Brel covers to the end of side two; the originals were dissonant, murky, and arcane—nothing disagreeable, to be sure, but also not an ideal pop formula for 1969.

Instead of continuing the formula, Walker released two successive albums in the second half of the year. First came Scott Walker Sings Songs from His T.V. Series (that series being the BBC's Scott, the footage of which has been lost), which was reminiscent of the early part of his career with the Walker Brothers, featuring standards and songs written by other popular artists. Four months later came Scott 4, which was entirely the opposite, with Walker reaching the culmination of his study of chant and classical music, composing all songs included on the album. The striking "The Seventh Seal" is typified by this. Its lyrics outline the plot of the 1957 Ingmar Bergman film Det sjunde inseglet, foreign films being a passion of Walker's. "On Your Own Again" (arranged by the former Wally Stott, who handled most of Scott 3) is a pleasant ode to an ended relationship with the peculiar line, "I was so happy, I didn't feel like me." The sparkling poem "The World's Strongest Man" is the other side of that sentiment: "Take me back again to your warm design."

The orphic "Angels of Ashes" evokes Van Morrison's Astral Weeks. The seemingly self-referential vision "Boy Child" is an affecting trip through spacetime, while the expat folk farewell "Hero of the War" criticizes not only war but, surprisingly, the soldiers themselves. "The Old Man's Back Again (Dedicated to the Neo-Stalinist Regime)" is a haunting response to the Prague Spring of 1968 and the reforms of Czechoslovakian leader Alexander Dubček, perfectly accented during its chorus by the choral ensemble. The beautiful "Duchess" is a fairly straightforward love song that illustrates how important the arrangements (by the usuals Stott and Peter Knight, and on this song Keith Roberts) were to the record as a whole; the same can be said of "Get Behind Me," which is otherwise somewhat forgettable musically. However, Walker's skills as a wordsmith generally make each song worthwhile, the fitting closer "Rhymes of Goodbye" no exception.

Scott Walker showed a keen ability for performing stylized covers of popular music, but Scott 4 was the record where he proved he could do it all by himself. Unfortunately, it would mark the last time he'd produce a complete album of original material for fifteen years. It's tragic that so much possible music was forgone during that period, especially considering the weight of music like "The Seventh Seal," "Boy Child," and the stunning "The Old Man's Back Again." That is neither here nor there, however, and Scott 4 remains a shining testament to Walker's talent, and a timeless, inexhaustible listen.