It take the paint off your car,
And wreck your windshield, too,
I don’t know how the people stand it,
But I guess they do
“Village of the Sun” Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention
September 3, 2006
So, I’m at the Price Chopper today, and I find myself silently singing along with the Musak on the overhead sound system, when suddenly I realize the song I’m hearing is the Musak version of “Village of the Sun” by Frank Zappa. Being a 70s rock music connoisseur, (yes, that is what I am. I can have a big ego even though I’m a girl) I looked ‘round at the people shopping on this rainy, late Sunday afternoon in Spencer, Massachusetts at the Price Chopper grocery store and said to myself, “Self? I guarantee you -- you are the only person in this store who knows this song.”
Ok, but there’s something you have to understand about “Village of the Sun.” “Village of the Sun” is about turkey dung. I mean turkey poop. Turkey crap. Yes, folks, turkey shit.
Frank’s introduction to the live version of the song (still available on CD on the “Roxy and Elsewhere” album) indicates that Sun Village is a place “out in back of Palmdale” (California) where Frank himself went to high school. Frank says, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a song, about this place, where I used to live, where they used to raise turkeys.” Six paradiddle beats of the bass drum – boom, boom, boom-boom, boom-boom; followed by one of the greatest guitar intros of all time (in my opinion). And then Napoleon Murphy-Brock’s scratchy voice growls, “Goin’ ba-ack home, to the Village of the Sun…”
Well, “Sun Village” (aka “Village of the Sun” depending on who you’re talkin’ to) just so happens to be my all-time favorite Zappa song. I must not be alone, because to hear this song in the middle of a grocery store 30 years later, complete with crooners singing about how turkey dung takes the paint off people’s cars, and hoping the wind doesn’t blow, well, it is nothing short of bizarre. If I weren’t so super-straight these days, I’d swear I was trippin’. Zappa, having died at least 13 years ago from colon cancer at age 52, must surely be rolling in his grave.
For those unfamiliar with Zappa and his Mothers of Invention (and I know there are many who are not familiar), Frank himself rarely sings lead himself. When he does, it’s more like talking than singing. The “Mothers” are an eclectic mix of mostly men, with some very talented ladies like Ruth Underwood peppered in here and there, who are all formally-educated musicians with backgrounds in classical and jazz, not rock.
Frank himself has said, “This is sort of like jazz in its own peculiar way. Jazz is not dead, it just smells funny.” Frank would gather together an ensemble for each studio LP, and for his tours, but most times the “Mothers” were not the same people all the time. Some, like Murphy-Brock, George Duke, Jean Luc-Ponty, Bruce Fowler and the inimitable “Flo & Eddie”* (of the Turtles fame – you know, “Happy Together”? I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you, for all my liife” yuh, those guys), would stay with Zappa and the Mothers for a couple of years, and then move on, making way for the next ensemble of mega-talented players. Zappa’s music was what I’ve always termed “complicated rock” and it’s the stuff I ate up in the mid-70s when I was in high school. We listened to Zappa, Pink Floyd, Yes, Spirit, Eric Clapton, Emerson, Lake and Palmer, Traffic and other musical geniuses, and were nuts about it. And the more we listened to it, and knew who these people were, the more we kids considered ourselves connoisseurs of this kind of music. These were guys who played clarinets, trombones, trumpets, electric violins and xylophones. This was not your average rock ‘n’ roll band -- this was crazy stuff.
In addition, Zappa’s lyrics were not to be heard, or understood, by our mothers! Singing about turkey crap is mild in comparison to such poetic wonders as “Dinah-Moe-Hum” a lengthy ditty about two sisters, and all the various things that Frank’s alter-ego does to the two of them in an attempt to bring them to orgasm. We’d play this song, over and over and over again, in my bedroom, as loud as it would go, and we’d “talk” along (it wasn’t singing) and we knew all the words, oh yes, we knew them all. And my mother would be right downstairs. Heck, sometimes she’d come into the room and the song would be playing. To this day, I don’t know if she ever deciphered any of those lyrics, but I sure hope not!
There were cute songs, like “Joe’s Garage” and “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow”, “Disco Boy” (from the album “Sheik Yerbouti”) and “Montana” (Movin to Montana soon, gonna be a dennil floss tycoon.). There were political songs like “Trouble Comin’ Every Day”. Musically, all the songs were incredible. Zappa was a friggin’ genius. I had the rare opportunity to seeing him play live in concert two times at The Orpheum Theatre in Boston. What an experience. His guitar playing was extraordinary. His second role as orchestra conductor (maestro!) to his band was like nothing I’d ever seen at a rock show, and never have seen again. The fans didn’t jump up ‘n’ down, yelling, singing, screaming, dancing like at the other rock concerts I’ve been to. Oh no, everyone stayed in their seats, mesmerized, and applause was polite. Only at the very end of the show did anyone whistle, holler or scream. Shouts of “woooo” mostly, and some wolf-whistles thrown in for good measure. Everyone was quite well-behaved. The only time I’ve ever seen an audience at a “rock” concert behave the same way was at Tori Amos nearly 30 years later (Tori being another misunderstood, classicly-trained genius and one of my obsessions musically speaking, but more about that later).
Zappa never took drugs, and it’s a common misconception that he did. His fans did, though. Frank was really a family man. Married to his second wife for years, and having four kids with her: Dweezil, Moon-Unit, Ahmet and Diva – most of them having a taste of their own fame through music and TV themselves.
And so, how did this culminate into a Muzak version of Zappa’s song, and of “Village” in particular? With the advent of the iPod and music downloading, perhaps. A few years ago, when Napster first became popular, and before all their problems, one of the very first songs I ever downloaded was, you guessed it, “Village of the Sun” by Frank Zappa. The live version from the album “Roxy & Elsewhere”, of course. In the mid-80s, when the CD was invented, what was one of the very first LPs from my collection I replaced with CD? Right again! “Roxy & Elsewhere.” And why? Why, so I could listen to “Village of the Sun” again, of course. And when I got my iPod for Christmas last year, what was one of the very first CDs I loaded onto iTunes? Yup! “Roxy” so that I could hear “Sun Village” whenever I want.
“Village” is really a beautiful tune, musically. One that even an elderly couple shopping at the Price Chopper in Spencer hearing it above their heads as they stroll the aisle with their empty shopping cart might enjoy. But come on, folks, it’s a song about shit. If only the Price Chopper knew! It’ll be our secret. Ours, and the guy who had the mad thought to Muzak-ize this particular Zappa song by bringing together a few guys and gals in a studio somewhere to sing it’s silly lyrics with far more seriousness than Zappa and Murphy-Brock ever intended.
* a.k.a. Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman.
All original material copyright © Kathleen S. Mueller. All rights reserved.