Tag Archives: Doc at the Radar Station

Captain Beefheart

The first time I heard a Captain Beefheart track (“Plastic Factory,” off Safe as Milk), I thought I was listening to a long-lost Howlin’ Wolf outtake. The second time I heard a Captain Beefheart track (“My Head Is My Only House Unless It Rains,” off Clear Spot), I thought I was listening to an up-and-coming blue-eyed soul singer. And the third time I heard a Captain Beefheart track (“Orange Claw Hammer,” off Trout Mask Replica), I thought I was hearing a field recording of a forgotten 19th-century poet in his old age. So when people say Captain Beefheart was an artist of extremes, they’re not kidding. Walt Whitman claimed he was vast and encompassed multitudes, but Captain Beefheart really sounded that way.

Beefheart, aka Don Van Vliet, just died of complications from multiple sclerosis, and it’s been great to see the range of tributes he inspired. As “obscure” artists go, he will prove to be a very influential one. He was already a role model for Tom Waits in his mid-Eighties transformation, and most of the ambitious post-punk bands owe him at least a name check.

Beefheart’s most challenging music sounded like free jazz, but he notoriously flogged his players into performing his music note-for-note, with no room for improvisation. Even his more straightforward blues rockers contained baffling, surrealistic lyrics that might have been transcribed directly from his id — or broadcast from another planet entirely.  More than one acquaintance described him as a visual artist trying to express his ideas through music, so when Beefheart retired from recording in the Eighties in order to concentrate on his painting, it seemed like the most natural of transitions.

Beefheart was a childhood friend of Frank Zappa, who gave him his monicker, released some of his albums, and used him on some famous tracks, such as “Willie the Pimp” off Hot Rats. Zappa was far and away the better known of the pair, but I don’t think there can be any doubt that Beefheart was the more adventurous and ambitious artist. He had none of Zappa’s instrumental prowess, but it’s impossible to imagine Zappa recording anything as nakedly emotional as “Her Eyes Are a Blue Million Miles,” or as poetic as “Orange Claw Hammer,” in which an old sailor encounters his daughter after decades at sea:

Come little one with yer little dimpled fingers
Gimme one ‘n I’ll buy you uh cherry phosphate
Take you down t’ the foamin’ brine ‘n water
‘n show you the wooden tits
On the Goddess with the pole out s’full sail
That tempted away yer peg legged father
I was shanghaied by uh high hat beaver moustache man
‘n his pirate friend
I woke up in vomit ‘n beer in uh banana bin
‘n uh soft lass with brown skin
Bore me seven babies with snappin’ black eyes
‘n beautiful ebony skin
‘n here it is I’m with you my daughter
Thirty years away can make uh seaman’s eyes
Uh round house man’s eyes flow out water
Salt water

Many of the Beefheart tributes cite Trout Mask Replica as his masterpiece, but I beg to differ. Personally, I find the album all but unlistenable these days. Doc at the Radar Station is a far better and more accessible sample of Beefheart at his most extreme, while Clear Spot and The Spotlight Kid (conveniently available on a single CD) showcase his blue-eyed soul side at its most appealing. They’re still plenty weird, in an approachable way — I wish the Lowell George-era Little Feat had covered “Nowadays a Woman’s Gotta Hit a Man.” Or you could try his debut album, Safe as Milk, in which the bluesman and the garage-rocker exist in perfect, jangling harmony.

Top 14 Reasons Why Captain Beefheart Was a True American Genius.

RIP, Captain Beefheart.

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Friday finds

beefheratThe first volume of John “Drumbo” French’s memoir of his years in Captain Beefheart’s Magic Band is coming out in June. The Captain Beefheart Radar Station has the good news, and some teaser pages from the publisher. Here’s a recording of a 1993 interview (with musical accompaniment) that Beefheart did with Co de Kloet on Dutch radio station NPS. Here’s a 13-minute documentary about the Captain from 1994, loaded with his curious takes on life and interesting turns of phrase. Check out Raymond Ricker’s report on the Captain’s 1981 performance at the late lamented Stanhope House in northwestern New Jersey, highlights of which included Ricker’s jaw getting pierced by the broken end of the headliner’s gong mallet. Beefheart novices will find this bargain CD collates the best two of his listener-friendly records, while this CD showcases his jangly, weird style to best effect.

Joyce Carol Oates reviews Brad Gooch’s new biography of Flannery O’Connor. Guess I’m just going to have to buy the thing.

Hollyword: ActorViggo Mortensen has his own boutique publishing house, Perceval Press. Now director Bret Ratner has Rat Press.

Desolation vacations: Sail the Great Pacific Garbage Patch! Visit the world’s deserted amusement parks!

Hmmmm — this looks interesting. A spring trip to Washington D.C. may be in order.

“There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.”

Madame Mayo has lots of advice for writers. Good advice, too.

A secret passage or hidden room is the perfect addition to your home, and Creative Home Engineering will build it for you. Dennis Cooper’s post includes video clips of secret entries employing rotating fireplaces and bookshelves that slide back when you pull on a favorite title. There’s also a rundown of some of the better-known mansions equipped with secret passages. If this all sounds like nothing but good spooky fun, be sure to read the tragic history of the Sessions House.

Stop Smiling is, in the words of editor Nate Martin, a magazine that “harkens back to the golden age of magazine publishing — think 70s-era Esquire — with plenty of long-form interviews.” Sounds good to me.

Yea, verily, Robert Crumb hath completed the Genesis project. The first book of the Bible, retold Crumb-style as a 201-page graphic novel, will be issued in the fall. On a related note, my single favorite piece of Crumb artwork has been reissued as a gorgeous, top-quality giclee print. Maybe if I sell a book this year . . .


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The Captain and He

The first time I heard Captain Beefheart, I thought I was listening to a long lost Howlin’ Wolf outtake. Then the jangling weirdness of the music started to kick in. As you can see from the song above, “Nowadays a Woman’s Gotta Hit a Man,” Beefheart had his own take on the blues, which he undercut with all kinds of disparate influences. His influence can be heard in everything from Public Image Ltd. to the Swordfishtrombones era Tom Waits. After touring with Beefheart in the early 1980s, jazz-fusion guitarist James “Blood” Ulmer said, “When I listened to him, I realized where a lot of stuff I’d been hearing came from.”

Captain Beefheart, aka Don Van Vliet, was a childhood friend of Frank Zappa, who produced — in a manner of speaking — Beefheart’s third album, the clamorous Trout Mask Replica. Beefheart sang on “Willie the Pimp,” the only vocal track on Zappa’s Hot Rats, and the two collaborated outright on the 1975 concert album Bongo Fury. Here’s a clip from an interview in which Zappa — looking weak and ravaged shortly before his death from prostate cancer — reminisces a bit about Beefheart:

Though Trout Mask Replica has the hipper-than-thou vote as Beefheart’s greatest record, I have to say I find it pretty much unlistenable except for scattered bits and the long poem “Orange Claw Hammer.” Doc at the Radar Station is much the superior “weird” Beefheart record, while the title of best “straight” Beefheart goes to Clear Spot, which includes one of his loveliest songs, “Her Eyes Are a Blue Million Miles.” It was a pleasant surprise to hear it on the soundtrack while watching The Big Lebowski.

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