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I don't know, maybe it's because of the juicy pages of Riccardo or that dragon dancing in a dream to one of your dilapidated symphonies, but the mere "hot rats," "Uncle Meat," and "Grand Wazoo" are no longer enough.
Oh yes, dearest Uncle Frank, it's time to catch up.
I owe it to the absolute out-of-place look on your face. To Calliope's nasal retention, to the young dancing pumpkin.
To the cauldron where you put everything: scraps, nonsense, laughter, caustic soda.
To the concert I saw at twenty of which I remember nothing.
To the four or five ecstasies you gave me. To the cheerful madness.
To the sounds coming from Balthazar's machine or from the magic wand of Professor Scanagatti from Totò a colori.
To how you mixed high and low, mindful, I imagine, of the well-known and unsolvable dilemma of Aloysius Grunt that goes: "if a little mouse sticks its tongue out at an elephant, is a small thing bigger or is a big thing smaller?"
In the meantime, to show you I'm serious, I'll tell you that I bought your biography. But then, upon reaching page twenty-four, I stopped reading. Why? Because it's page twenty-four, where Barry Miles tells of your passion for explosives, that one gets to the essential.
That, apparently, you used to blow up ping pong balls by filling them with gunpowder. Or created holes in the garage floor playing little chemist. And, even if searching a thousand years, one couldn't find a more perfect analogy with your music.
And anyway "lumpy sauces," "ravenous weasels" and "charred sandwiches" to me!!! I am ready. "Freak out" "Absolutely free," here I am!!! I'm thirsty for masterpieces.
Only then, with a very zappian fancy, the wheel of fortune brings out this "Orchestral Favorites." Or rather, it's just that the review is missing on Debasio.
In short, an almost overlooked album.
Never mind, we settle. All the more since the symphony band master, that is, the one who doesn't need words to offer us music with a grin, is, perhaps, my favorite Frank. After all, the great sages laugh without explaining anything to us.
Where did I read (perhaps in an old Adelphi?) about those long-haired, moustached, and extremely thin elders who answered every philosophical/existential question with the most cheerful of laughs? Were you one of them, Frank?
Anyway, the orchestra, since the dawn of "Freak Out" has always been a pet subject of yours, and I would have liked to be there when, while recording it, you showed up in tails to the session musicians only to pull out the magic wand, "come on, don't tell me this freak has really composed music!!!"
But now I’ll give you a little bit of traco traco...three pieces out of five...because I still need to digest the other two...
(One)
"Strictly Genteel" is a wonderful fanfare of uncertainty. Everything is caught in a sort of sleepy grandiosity, in a poison that contains its own antidote. And it almost seems as if you can see that giant with an unsteady gait always on the verge of stumbling. Among little tunes, volatile sounds, and horrid orchestral attacks, there is a kind of amused suspense, as if to say "when, when will it all go to pieces?" But the giant, always about to fall, never falls, and Scanagatti and Von Karajan are still there arm-wrestling.
(Two)
"Duke of Prunes" is pure light gas and, again, the dragon dances and smiles. If someone could bottle its wonderful attack, it might be the elixir of life. The hypothesis of the jujube broth is also valid, albeit absolutely in an anti-sentimental key. That type of sound with just zero point one of strangeness, between the little tune and the cheerful madness. The problem is that one shouldn't write about it, one should whistle it. Do it.
(Three)
In "Bogus Pomp" everything really happens and I almost imagine you, Uncle Frank, while with the spade you feed the horrendous orchestra machine. I recommend listening to thirty seconds a day, no more. And still, especially from minute six onwards, there’s a fabulous struggle between serious avant-gardism and I don’t know what. Still Scanagatti vs Von Karajan? Yes...
Well, dear Frank, let's stop here. Also because you certainly weren't kind to those who rambled about your music. But it's your fault. You're the one who ignites the imagination. And, to justify myself, I'll tell you that I'm more on Jodorowsky's side than Wittgenstein's. "That which cannot be spoken of must be spoken of." Amen...
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
01 Strictly Genteel (07:03)
Mark volman (vocals)
Howard kaylan (vocals)
Ian underwood (keyboards, woodwinds)
Aynsley dunbar (drums)
George duke (keyboards, trombone)
Martin lickert (bass)
Ruth underwood (orchestra drum set)
Jim pons (vocals)
Theodor bikel:
This, as you might have guessed, is the end of the movie. the entire cast is assembled here at the centerville recreational facility to bid farewell to you, and to express thanks for your attend
At this theatre. this might seem old fashioned to some of you, but I'd like to join in on this song. it's the kind of a sentimental song that you get at the end of a movie. it's the kind of a so
At people might sing to let you in the audience know that we really like you and care about you. we uh, understand how hard it is to laugh these days, with all the terrible problems in the world
Lord, have mercy on the people in england,
For the terrible food these people must eat.
( errrr, excuse me )
And may the lord have mercy on the fate of this movie
And God bless the mind of the man in the street.
Chorus:
Help all the rednecks and the flatfoot policemen
Through the terrible functions they all must perform.
God help the winos, the junkies, and the weirdos,
Female soprano:
And every poor soul who's adrift in the storm.
Chorus:
Help everybody, so they all get some action,
Some love on the weekend, some real satisfaction.
Female soprano:
A room and a meal
And a garbage disposal
A lawn and a hose'll
Be strictly genteel.
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
Reach out your hand to the girl in the dog book,
The girl in the pig book, and the one with the horse.
Make sure they keep all those businessmen happy
And the purple-lipped censors and the germans of course.
Chorus:
Help everybody, so they all get some action,
Some love on the weekend, some real satisfaction.
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
A swedish apparatus with a hood and a bludgeon
With a microwave oven. "honey, how do it feel? "
Everybody:
Yeah
Ahhh
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
Lord, have mercy on the hippies and faggots
And the dykes and the weird little children they grow.
Help the black man.
Help the poor man.
Help the milk man.
Help the door man.
Help the lonely, neglected old farts that I know.
Theodore bikel:
It's been swell havin' you with us tonight folks.
Mark volman:
But, don't leave the theatre yet, 'cause there's still more to come, but before we go on, I want to introduce to you my friend and musical associate, howard kaylan, who's going to give us all a
Closing benediction.
Howard kaylan:
They're going to clear out the studio...
They're going to tear down all the...
They're going to whip down all the...
They're going to sweep out all the...
They're going to pay off all the...
Mark volman:
(oh, yeah!)
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
And then... and then... and then... and then...
Hey hey hey, everybody in the orchestra and the chorus
Aww now, every one of our lovely and talented dancers
The light bulb men, camera men, make-up men
Mark volman:
(the fake-up men)
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
And, the rake-up men.
Jimmy carl black:
(especially herbie cohen, yeahoooo...)
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
They're all going to rise up.
They're going to jump up! I said jump up!
Talkin' 'bout jump right up on off the floor.
Jump right up and hit the door!
Mark volman:
They're all going to rise up, and jump off.
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
They're going to ride on home.
They're going to ride on home.
They're going to ride on home.
They're going to ride on home.
Howard kaylan:
And once again take themselves seriously.
Yeah, two, three, four, seriously.
Mark volman:
They're all going to go home,
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
Through the driving sleet and rain
Mark volman:
They're all going to go home,
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
Through the fog, through the dust.
Through the tropical fever and the blistering frost.
Mark volman:
They're all going to go home.
Howard kaylan:
And get out of it as they can be.
Jimmy carl black:
And the same goes for me.
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
Oh, yeah! oh, yeah! oh, yeah! oh, yeah!
Howard kaylan:
And each and every member of this rock oriented comedy group
In his own special way is going to get out of it as he can be.
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
They're all going to get wasted.
They're all going to get twisted.
They're all going to get wasted.
They're all going to get twisted.
Howard kaylan:
And I am definitely going to get ....
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
Reamed
Howard kaylan:
'cause I'm such a lonely.. I'm such a lonely..
A lonely, lonely, talkin' 'bout a lonely guy.
Oh, and I know tonight, I am definitely...
I am positively... I just have to get...
Mark volman & howard kaylan:
Bent, reamed and wasted.
Jimmy carl black:
A disaster area the size of atlantic city, new jersey.
Howard kaylan:
He's making me do this, ladies and gentlemen. I wouldn't do it if it weren't for this. you noticed, all through this material, I've been glancing over toward my left? well, I'll tell you the rea
Or that ladies and gentlemen. he is over there. he is over on the left. he is the guy that is making me do all this shit. right over there. now all through this movie, every time we've been on s
I've had to look over in that direction, right? you saw it... you know! well that's 'cause he's over there. I've got to watch him for signs. he jumps up and down like a jackass. I can't even be
The guy sometimes. but we gotta watch him. "after all," we said, "it's frank's movie." now, we're the mothers, but it's still frank's movie. he rented the studio, had all th
Heesy sets built...it's so moche!. he's telling everybody, right now, right over there to...(text obscured by disaster area, fades out)
05 Bogus Pomp (13:28)
We haven't lyrics of this song. Please, add these lyrics for other users. Use "Correct". Thanks to you.
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