Celebrate. Dance. Play Frank's music. Post something on the world wide web. Sing praise for one of the least definable icons of the twentieth century.
What Mr. Zappa means most to me is music. Gloriously unhinged, yet planned down to every note. His manic perfectionism. His occasionally brilliant lyrics, and his throwaway smut. His weird and novel approach to the lead guitar break. From Hungry Freaks Daddy to G-Spot Tornado. Peaches En Regalia and Pedro's Dowry. Inca Roads and Joe's Garage. Percussion, always percussion.
And then there was the philosopher, observer, social commentator, politico. It always seemed that when Frank had a rant, he just couldn't help himself. There's just so much stupid one can tolerate.
Whatever Frank Zappa means to you, celebrate that.
If you're new to this blog or even Zappadan, there's more here.
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