Keeping Track of Soundtracks Part Five

The hits keep on coming, kids. So much rock and pop music was used during a certain period in cinema, rough 1965 until 1974, that it is difficult to get a grasp of it all. Sometimes the actual items themselves are also difficult to see; music rights weren't always secured for new media not invented at the time of filming, causing huge legal headaches later. The enterprising young pop star who knew which way the wind was blowing wanting a piece of the pie just as much as the movie moguls.

Donovan was huge in the 1960s, right up there with the Beatles and Dylan. I admit liking his material quite a bit, a part of my personal soundtrack growing up. He started out folk, equally facile in everything from jazz to heavy metal, using the best arrangers and studio musician to produce a string of classic singles and albums. Donovan may have been the first rock musician to explore world music significantly, as early as 1966. Significantly, his music synthesized many trends into a commercial whole, and he still keeps on exactly the same as always.

His first soundtrack work was in one of the last British 'Kitchen Sink' dramas, grubbing stories of working class life specific to England at the time, 'Poor Cow'. Like McCartney's 'The Family Way', it told the story of young people, sex, and consequences. Unlike McCartney's music, the song 'Poor Cow', used under the titles, is contemporary, even released as a single around the world. Donovan was credited with a full soundtrack, but I have never seen the movie nor album, unsure how extensively his work might have been.

1969's 'It It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium' was a big ensemble comedy, American tourists trampling across Europe, a big hit at the time. Donovan, who had quite a number of American television under his belt by this time, including complete one hour summer replacement specials (remember those?), gets to act this time; a guitar carrying youth who gets to sing on camera. Not much of a stretch, he fits in well for a few scenes. Strangely, he writes but does not perform the title song, and the song he does sing in the movie was given away at the time to Mary Hopkins.

'The Pied Piper' is another thing altogether, a strange Medieval fairy tale almost too grotesque for children. This time Donovan gets the big role, although he is not on screen that much. Directed by Jacques Demy after a string of hits, some musicals like 'The Umbrellas of Cherbourg' as well as the flop 'Model Shop' using excellent music by Spirit, this has a Monty Python feel about the Middle Ages, even if 'Monty Python & the Holy Grail' was years away in the future. Another reference would be 'Time Bandits', a children's film not afraid to scare kids.

It's quite an interesting film, filled with excellent British character actors like Donald Pleasance. Donovan's character is not that likeable, coming into town to do a job, getting stiffed by the mayor, leaving with all the children to an unknown future. Perhaps that's why I enjoy it so much; it doesn't conform to plot devices or clichés. Again, Donovan provides a complete soundtrack, yet it was never released for some reason.

That same year, 1972, came another European film, 'Brother Sun Sister Moon'. Donovan only provides the soundtrack this time, only the international version. Directed by Franco Zeffirelli, hot off a hippie take on 'Romeo & Juliet', it is a hippie retelling of the story of Saint Francis of Assisi. An Italian film, it has an alternate soundtrack by the excellent Riz Ortolani. Italian film composers during this time period were uniformly excellent and inexpensive, scoring films from around the world.

'Brother Sun Sister moon' is pure art cinema, an ambitious film, a hit in Europe like 'The Pied Piper', not doing much business in the states. If you are in the mood for two hours of pastoral peace and love, it is a great movie. It also reflected Donovan's personal philosophy, one that he carries to this day. After this, he jumped off the star treadmill, moving to the California desert to raise his kids.

The Kinks, especially leader Ray Davies, were tremendously interest in film and television. Aside from writing the theme song for a British comedy in 1968, 'Til Death Do Us Part', he specifically wrote music for five episodes of a BBC drama, 'Where Was Spring?'. Later that year he conceived his first true rock concept album, 'Arthur, or the Decline & Fall of the British Empire'. It was originally planned to be a television play, with a completed script, scheduled for production. Granada TV pulled out a the last minute, citing expenses; all we are left with is the excellent album.

After appearing as both actor and musician in 'The Long Distance Piano Player' for television, Ray finally had the chance to provide a complete soundtrack for a movie. Unfortunately, that movie was about the world's first penis transplant; 'Percy'. A particularly juvenile strain of British humor, all innuendo with little wit, the movie is a typically terrible example of a 'Carry On' film. The soundtrack, however, was serviceable, with a few excellent songs.

In 1971, the time of 'Percy', the Kinks were desperate for money. A major English Invasion band earlier, they had been banned from touring America in 1965. Despite creating uniformly excellent music, their fortunes slowly declined; the magnificent 'Village Green Preservation Society' was a major flop in 1968. Some fast cash-on-delivery was needed, although in his perverse way, Ray Davies wrote songs with the exact opposite meaning as the song, typically perverse for this aptly named group. Cheek out the excellent 'God's Children' to see what I mean.

Ray turned his attention to creating stage plays for rock concerts, possibly winning the award for most concept albums, beating out all those progressive rock groups. One such album, 'Soap Opera', was turned into a one hour television musical, 'Starmaker'. Ray even wrote the script as well as acting the lead part. For once, all the singing and music was done live in the studio. It you can find a copy of it online, it's worth a look.

There were  many one-off movies during this period, some of which have dropped out of sight ever since. "Celebration at Big Sur' was one such, an amateurish attempt to record a mostly folk 1969 festival on the California Coast. The music is great, but most of the time is spent backstage. If you ever wanted to see David Crosby naked in a hot tub full of women, or didn't get enough of freaked out hippies invading the stage while psychotic on drugs, this is the movie for you.

'Groupies' was an authentic documentary about the subject, done in 1970, very rare today. It was too authentic, like the Rolling Stones' 'Cocksucker Blues'. Real groupies, such as Cynthia Plaster Caster and Pamela Des Barres, dish the dirt. Not only that, but real rock stars show up, including Alvin Lee, pretty boy guitarist from Ten Years After, and Joe Cocker. There are a number of live musical performances, which is most likely why this one has never seen the light of day in recent decades. It's true to life, but not very pretty.

Much more interesting was 'Dirty Duck', an authentic animated film full of great music via Flo & Eddie, aka Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman. These two had been hitmakers in the highly underrated Turtles, voices like angels, been everywhere, done everything. As capable of comedy as they were of music, they hooked up with Frank Zappa, being featured players in the totally bonkers '200 Motels'. This was a collaboration with the animator from that film, Charles Swenson.

There was a bunch of animated adult films during this time, most famously two 'Fritz the Cat' movies by Ralph Bakshi. that tried to be hip, but Robert Crumb, the creator of the original underground comic character, hated them. Bakshi was from the 1950s; his idea of a musical interlude is Bo Diddley, cool but nearly two decades old. 'Dirty Duck' was the real deal, ugly, weird and hairy.

There is a Zappa vibe to the movie, not surprising considering the connections. Roger Corman, King of the B Pictures, financed it for a paltry $110,00, way too little money for an full length animated feature. It was completed anyway, with a great soundtrack by Flo & Eddie, sadly never released. If you are in for a wild ride, this is the movie for you.

Across the pond, there were some surprisingly effective movies being produced despite the crashing British economy. 'That'll Be The Day' combines Kitchen Sink drama with the story of a rising pop star, played by rising pop star David Essex. It conveys the look and mood of early British rock & roll, adding authenticity by using Ringo Starr and Keith Moon, among others. Highly regarded by critics, it was a substantial success when it came out.

The soundtrack utilizes many original tracks from the era. When George Lucas did the same thing a year later in 'American Graffiti', it was considered ground breaking. This is an effective drama with excellent acting from everyone, even the volatile Moon. Worth searching out, it ranks as one of the best rock movies of its era.

A follow up came out the following year, 'Stardust'. This is a more complicated film, the rise and fall of the same character as in the first film. Keith Moon is the drummer in his band, acting exactly like Keith Moon. Harder to find than the original, it didn't spawn a best selling album, only a single for David Essex. It spans Merseybeat to heavy metal, with plenty of betrayal in between.

This isn't a feel-good story; it is a tough but accurate portrayal of a young man hitting the big time, losing himself in the process. By the end, he has retreated into a Syd Barrett-style drug induced exile. The two movies, taken together, are the only contemporary look at the rock world, its effect of people and events, done from a serious point of view. I cannot recommend both of them enough.

Even better, surprisingly enough, was the glam rock group Slade's sole venture in cinema, 'Flame'. You could expect a movie from a grammar-challenged group with hits like 'Mama Weere All Crazee Now' and 'Gudbye T' Jane' to be in a film worthy of, say, Herman's Hermits. Instead, this is a Shakespearian tragedy, a band being torn apart by management demands, entirely more serious than expected. It shows the grubbiest sides of England, young men desperate for not just success but a way out, falling into trap after trap, eventually splitting up.

The guys in the group, especially Noddy Holder and Jimmy Lea, show acting talent. Even the soundtrack is not the usual ear blistering crunch, instead having delicate ballads when needed. Together with manager Chas Chandler, from the Animals as well as bringing Jimi Hendrix over to England, they fill the movie with every nasty rock story ever perpetrated. Expecting fluff, you get a harsh slab of the reality behind the machinery of fame. On this unusually high note, I'll leave this installment.

My Favorite Witch

With Halloween coming up fast, there seems to be a marathon of seasonally related movies at the Nestor household. My wife is partial to 'Halloweentown' and 'Hocus Pocus'. I tend towards the classic, 'Bride of Frankenstein' or 'Doctor X'. Halloween is, after all, supposed to be a holiday for kids. Maybe it was too many years working as a bouncer; Halloween was a pain in the ass. I'm always reminded of the Simpson's episode about 'Inappropriate Grown Up Halloween'.

Then there is the curious fact that, after decades at the top of the movie critic's heap, Orson Welles' classic 'Citizen Kane' was knocked from the number one spot. The movie that replaced it, 'Vertigo', is in my opinion, not the best Alfred Hitchcock movie, let alone the best movie of all time. I can see why critics would like it; the obsessive plot line mirrors their cinema fetish. Hell, I don't even consider 'Vertigo' as the best movie James Stewart and Kim Novak starred in together in 1958!

That movie would be 'Bell Book & Candle', my hands down favorite Hollywood Halloween film. It is funny, touching, has a great cast, and Kim Novak was never better. Gathering together plot elements floating around for a few years earlier, it not only has witches and warlocks, but they are beatniks living in Greenwich Village. What more could you ask for.

The idea of a witch in the 20th Century probably started with Thorne Smith, a popular author in the 1920s, most famous for the Topper series, featuring comical ghosts in a modern setting. His novel 'the Passionate Witch' was published in 1942 posthumously, immediately made into a movie, 'I Married a Witch', with Veronica Lake, directed by Rene Claire. Fritz Leiber did a better job with 'Conjure Wife', both funny and frightening at the same time. In both cases the plot idea is the same; the man has no clue that women commonly practice black magic in their daily lives. 'Conjure Wife' was the inspiration for at least three different movies.

'Bell Book & Candle', while not one of them, was based on a Broadway play by John Van Druten. the film adaptation by Daniel Taradash opens the action up excellently. Hollywood must have seen it as a hot property; at various times, David O. Selznick, Cary Grant, Grace Kelly, Jennifer Jones, and Rex Harrison, among others, were attached to it. Eventually winding up at Columbia, mogul Harry Cohn insisted on contract star Kim Novak. Boy, did he get it right.

Novak was one of the blonde bombshells of the 1950s. Refusing to change her name, she always tried to remain intelligent, getting good parts, while being in the studio system. For a woman during that time, this was no easy task. Columbia wanted another phenomenon like Marilyn Monroe. Instead they had a woman who reserved a part of herself, always slightly aloof, mysterious. Major directors such as Billy Wilder and Alfred Hitchcock complained that, while on the set, Kim looked great, in the editing room there was always something missing.

Her once removed personality is perfect for this part, just as it was perfect in 'Vertigo'. Ms. Novak retired from Hollywood on her terms around 1970, moving to San Francisco, becoming an artist, enjoying herself in a way that Marilyn Monroe, who put her entire heart and soul on screen, did not.
Kim played smart roles in a string of classic films, from 'Man with the Golden Arm', to 'Picnic' through 'Kiss Me, Stupid', only working when she wanted. For a major actress of her period who is still alive, she only has 33 appearances on the Internet Movie Database.

James Stewart also proved to be a major asset. The only reason that he was in the movie is that Harry Cohn was owed a favor for lending Kim Novak in 'Vertigo'. Stewart was one of the classic leading men of the Golden Age. After World War Two, he had been the first to set up an independent film company, producing mostly Westerns, playing desperate men, all very profitable.  A smart business, this very independence made him even more in demand by the studios. James Stewart was aware of his age, feeling foolish romancing actresses considerably younger. This would be his last romantic lead.

'Bell Book & Candle' also benefits from a tremendous supporting cast, especially Jack Lemmon and Ernie Kovacs. For most of his early career. Lemmon mostly played comedy, although he was the master of turning comedy into tragedy or visa versa. Here, he plays it very broad, a bongo playing warlock who steals every scene that he is in. As time progresses, Jack played more dramatic parts; we tend to forget what an accomplished comedian he was.

Ernie Kovacs was known mostly for television; his material on the relatively new medium is today considered revolutionary. On film, he was more of a supporting man, playing a variety of 'kooky' roles or the occasional comic villain. Before he died in a car accident in 1962, he worked frequently with both Jack Lemmon and director Robert Quine, part of an informal stock company, Here, he plays an anthropologist, the straight man to Lemmon's trickster, and plays it well.

Robert Quine, the director, started as a fairly undistinguished actor, appearing mostly in Andy Hardy crap. Stepping behind the camera, he showed a knack for light comedy, what we would call today a 'rom com'. He was very good working with leading ladies, doing a couple of pictures with Judy Holiday, later with Doris Day in one of her best pictures, 'It Happened to Jane', also with Jack Lemmon and Ernie Kovacs.

Elsa Lanchester, veteran of 'Bride of Frankenstein', and Hermione Gingold round out the cast of fellow witches. Poor Janice Rule get s the thankless part of James Stewart's fiancé; once Kim Novak sets her eyes on him, Janice's life is pure misery to the end. That is part of the joy in this movie, a certain immorality unusual during the straight laced 1950s. Beatnik witches and warlocks having entirely too much fun in lower Manhattan was pretty far out for the times.

There is crazy jazz while Kim sells African art in her little gallery. The movie was very modern for its time, a move away from big orchestras and Stork Club settings. Kim Novak, as well as Elsa Lancaster and Jack Lemmon, make very convincing beatniks, their eccentricities hiding behind a bohemian lifestyle. All the witches can practice magic, so long as they suppress certain human - and perhaps more feminine - emotions.

The heart of the plot is the love affair between Kim Novak and James Stewart. It is the exact opposite of 'Vertigo'; she sees him, seduces with her magic powers, turns his fiancé's life into a nightmare, and seems to win the day. It is only when he discovers, through publishing a book written by Ernie Kovacs with the (disapproved of by the other witches) help of Jack Lemmon, that modern day magic does exist, that clouds form on the horizon.. There's a lot going on here, layers of meaning, complexity of emotions.

This entire film wouldn't work without Kim Novak. She is the hip young woman, listening to cool jazz, buying and selling primitive art, living in a pad in the Village. Her slight removal makes her seem not-of-this-world; she makes a bitchin' witch. This movie catches her at the absolute height of her sexual allure; she had plenty to spare.

If I seem to be playing coy with the facts I am. I sincerely hope that the reader will search this little gem of a movie out. It was very influential; 'Bewitched' didn't hide the fact that it ripped off this plot, running for multiple seasons on television throughout the 1960s. Check out this one instead, a surprisingly sophisticated entertainment with genuine plot twists and a very touching ending.

Kim Novak and Richard Quine had a long term relationship during this period. they made two more movies together, including the excellent 'Notorious Landlady', reunited with Jack Lemmon. During 'Strangers When We Meet', about an architect building a house for his mistress while he was secretly planning to leave his wife, Quine was doing the very same thing. The actual house was the house he was building for Kim, and he did divorce his wife that year. Unfortunately, the couple broke up, Kim never moving in to his dream home.

Quine's career stalled, with only 'How To Murder Your Wife', a fantastic if misogynistic comedy also starring Jack Lemmon, showing his fabulous talent in romantic comedy. Relegated to mostly television work in the 1970s, Richard Quine committed suicide in 1989. A pity; he had a string of excellent comedies lasting ten years.

The greatest mystery to me about  my favorite Halloween movie of all time can never be answered. Despite being the perfect film for the spookiest day of the year, a film about magic living on around us while we remain unaware, Columbia decided that it would be their big Christmas release that year. It did well in the box office, but what were they thinking? Christmas? Really?

Keeping Track of Soundtracks, Harry & Frank

It was very beneficial, if you wanted to do music for the entertainment industry, to be based in the Los Angeles area. There hadn't been much of a blues scene there, and before 1967, neither was the rock scene highly considered. San Francisco was the place to put flowers in your hair, even if the song was written and performed in Los Angeles. It was the use of session musicians, expert anonymous hired hands, stepping in for band members not up to snuff, that caused critics to be suspect of most L.A. based bands.

It didn't matter if the same thing was being done in London all the time. Young guns like Jimmy Page and Ritchie Blackmore played on hundreds of records before they became famous. Los Angeles was the corporate center of the entertainment industry. During the 1960s, that was considered the worse possible situation for rock music to thrive. Naturally, the Monkees, prefabricated to television specifications, epitomized this thinking. Even hip groups like the Byrds used session musicians all over their early material.

Two musicians, Harry Nilsson and Frank Zappa, worked extensively in movies, managing to do so largely because they were in based out of Los Angeles. Both had great talent, both show up in some strange places, both left a considerable legacy. Otherwise, they were polar opposites; one a teetotaler, the other a hard partier. One on the road constantly through the 1960s and 1970s, the other one never performing a single live concert. This is the tale of Harry & Frank.

Harry Nilsson grew up dirt poor, working in a bank while he peddled his songs around Hollywood.  There was always a need for a good tune; soon enough, Harry landed songs with everyone from Fred Astaire to the Yardbirds. Hustling a recording contract, he managed a few albums that garnered acclaim, including high praise from the Beatles, but not much sales. A hit for the Monkees, 'Cuddly Toy', put him on the fast track, and he wound up working on a major motion picture.

The director was Otto Preminger, one of the handful whose name was above the title, and the movie, unfortunately, was 'Skidoo'. I am sure that I will return to this train wreck of a film at some future point, there is so much to say about it.. In short, it is so bad as to achieve legend. If you ever want to see Jackie Gleason on acid, this is the movie for you. 'Skidoo', jaw droppingly inappropriate in every way for every second, is the very definition of so-bad-it's-good.

Nilsson provided the soundtrack, supposedly because they wanted a hip young musician 'with it', part of the drug culture that the movie so desperately panders to. Too bad Harry only liked to drink, quite a lot as it will transpire in the future. Still, it was more camp that psychedelic. The music is better than the film, which is not saying much. Harry even gets to sing the entire credits for the movie, the only time I have heard that trick done.

The Beatles' acclaim was more important than a film so bad it was pulled from every theater after four days, so no permanent damage was done. There was a brief tour of Europe, which he hated so much that he never toured again, although it did result in a couple of television specials, in Sweden and Britain. To keep the money going, Nilsson started writing and performing on lots of television, shows like 'The Ghost & Mrs. Muir' or 'The Courtship of Eddie's Father'. His big break came when Bob Dylan, in a dry spell writing songs, missed his deadline.

The movie was 'Midnight Cowboy', the only X rated film to ever win an Oscar. It won three, in fact, and deserved every one. The director, John Schlesinger, used Nilsson's 'Everybody's Talking' as a temporary track while editing, to establish a rhythm. When Dylan didn't deliver on time, they kept the track, which became a monster hit, establishing Harry as a musical force. The song Dylan finally came up with, 'Lay Lady Lay',  would also have worked wonderfully.

'The Point' came next, a concept album about mathematics. Was Harry tripping with Jackie Gleason? It was very good, spawning a television movie the next year. Three Dog Night covering his song 'One', making it a number one. He covered Badfinger's 'Without You', also a number one. Nilsson was on top of the world. What could go wrong?

Too much partying; Nilsson was now a celebrity, hanging with Ringo Starr, Keith Moon, even John Lennon during his 'Lost Weekend in L.A.' phase. Ocean of booze, mountains of cocaine impaired his judgement, ruining his vocal chords. Records stopped selling, but that was not the worse. Rock bottom in every way was Harry's starring vehicle of a movie, 'Son of Dracula'.

This is the pits, made even more terrible by the inclusion of all Harry's previous hits. It may have seemed like a sure-fire thing at the time. In 1973, a movie could be made in England for nothing, the English film industry at a virtual standstill. However, it helps to have a script, some actors, and a notion of what you want the finished film to look like. This hunk of cinema shit avoids anything resembling entertainment, effectively knocking Nilsson to minor cult status for the rest of his life.

Frank Zappa was middle class, the smart weirdo in high school who went out of his way to piss people off. He never lost that trait, thank God. Teaching himself notation, he was one of the rare rock performers of his era who could not only write music, but write every part for a symphony. He love atonal music, but he also worshiped Do Wop, revealing the fundamental contradictions that made up his personality. Zappa seemed to live his entire brilliant life as if to prove Galileo wrong; the world revolved around FZ, not the sun.

Working in advertising as an artist, Frank hustled the outer reaches of Hollywood, eventually landing some scoring jobs on a couple of low budget independent movies. One was a Western written by his high school English teacher, 'Run Home Slow'. Zappa went to work, creating a full orchestral score that sounds very modern. Hard to find, never having a soundtrack album, a snippet was finally released on 'Mystery Disc' around the time of FZ's death.

Around the same time - independent movies could take years to see the light of day, if they ever did - Zappa hooked up with resident Hollywood madman Timothy Carey. Carey was a prolific character actor, a favorite of Kubrick early in his career, who produced and directed a nut-job movie as a starring vehicle for himself. Doing the worse Elvis imitation ever, the film is fascinating, if only to see how far Carey is willing to go. He does not disappoint. Neither does Frank, who serves up some reasonable early rock & roll.

Zappa slowly dropped out of the straight life, first working in a recording studio producing mostly surf music, then buying the studio. He was promptly busted by the cops for producing an obscene audio tape(!!!), setting up a life-long adversarial relationship. Hooking up with a scruffy Blues band, he called them The Mothers, quickly assuming control. They even made a very early appearance in 'Mondo Hollywood', a movie that dares show you hairy freaks dancing with abandon.

FZ was the ultimate hustler, even producing, writing and arranging a single for the seriously pitch-challenged Burt Ward, 'Boy Wonder, I Love You." Frank showed up not only on the Monkees television show, but also in 'Head', lecturing Davey Jones to work on his music. Zappa immediately assumed the position of elder statesman for the Los Angeles freak scene. As early as 1968, in the liner notes to the 'Uncle Meat' album, there was mention of an upcoming movie. It wouldn't be that easy.

There was filming at least as early as the Royal Albert Hall performance in 1968. An arrangement of some sort was made with cinematographer Haskell Wexler; quite a bit of The Mothers of Invention music shows up in 'Medium Cool', the best movie about Chicago in 1968, the year of the Democratic Convention riots. Wexler filmed a great deal of material around 1970, but none was released at the time. Documentaries all over European television seemed to follow the original Mothers whenever they toured abroad.

Dissolving the Mothers, reforming it with remnants of the Turtles (especially uber vocalists Howard Kaylan and Mark Volan, aka Flo & Eddie), Zappa managed to get MGM to back a musical, filmed in England, '200 Motels'. He co-directed with Tony Palmer, a veteran of the British rock scene who later admitted he understood absolutely nothing about the plot or the movie. In my opinion, that wasn't the point; Zappa simply wanted to hear his orchestral music performed, and it was expensive to hire the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. The movie was an excuse to get the funding he needed.

The movie is... unique, to say the least. Zappa insisted on all the music to be played live on the set, yet they only had a week or so to complete the project. It was filmed on videotaped, later transferred to film, the fist time this technique was ever used. Huge portions of the script had to be abandoned, but it doesn't matter. There are so many layers of reality stacked on top of each other, the texture is so dense, that watching it is akin to swimming in lumpy gravy.

You'll either love this movie or hate. I love it, but even I have to admit that, like most of Zappa's work, it is difficult to make it through to the end in one sitting. Ringo and Keith Moon show up, as do a few groupies. There is animation, all manner of weirdness. It is wonderful seeing this now being sold as a 'Classic MGM Musical' alongside 'Singing in the Rain'. Pity the poor sucker who falls for that ploy!

Zappa kept at it even after the notorious 'Smoke on the Water' Montreux fire, then getting pushed off stage a week later in London, nearly dying. He worked relentlessly, archiving virtually everything including both audio and visuals, finding ways to fund whatever creative impulse he had. There was an attempt to film a performance at the Roxy Theater around 1975, but technical glitches (cameras out of sync) kept that from being seen for over 40 years. He hired Bruce Bickford to do Claymation and animation just because he could afford to, at least for awhile.

Frank managed one last film in 1979, 'Baby Snakes', a typically weird concoction of live performances at a Halloween concert in New York City, backstage shenanigans, and Bickford material. His edit was over three hours long; the studio made him cut it down to less than 120 minutes. Another endurance test, you never know what's coming next. Of course it's too long, but again, there's nothing else like it in the world, although it is not as ground breaking as '200 Motels'.

With the advent of video editing, Zappa went crazy in the 1980s. He had his own mail order business, run out of his house by his wife Gail. No longer touring regularly, he cranked out a dizzying array of straight-to-video material, selling it himself. By the time he died in 1993, he hadn't dented the archival material. More new product continues to emerge decades later.

His output was massive before he died, even more massive after his death. Amazingly, he managed to pay for all of it as he went along, the only musician of his era to never be indebted to a record company. He was famously litigious, successfully suing any corporate entity to cross him. Love him or hate him, you have to admire the sheer volume of material, in rock, jazz, classical, as well as uncategorical. There will truly never be another Frank Zappa, that is for sure.