The Pop Bag - Revision history

Spider of Destiny at 12:27, 25 April 2026

2026-04-25T12:27:37Z

Jason.Kreitzer at 02:30, 8 August 2021

2021-08-08T02:30:47Z

Jason.Kreitzer at 17:25, 28 July 2021

2021-07-28T17:25:53Z

PopFanDoug: wl

2019-08-24T22:06:44Z

Propellerkuh at 16:06, 4 February 2007

2007-02-04T16:06:39Z

New page

The Balloon Farm became much more than a discotheque last weekend, and the resident combo became much more than a pop-music ensemble.

The occasion was the first New York appearance of [[The Mothers|The Mothers Of Invention]], from deepest, freakiest, L. A. They are the perfect embodiment of all that is super-hyped and stunningly creative about West Coast rock.

Forget that one Mother wears a sweat shirt which advertises "Folk you" in bright buttonese. These eight musicians made the Balloon Farm a concert hall. They seized the stage and belted the world's first rock 'n' roll oratorio to an audience that was either too engrossed or too confused to do anything but sit and listen.

The show was a single extended number, broken into movements by patter, and fused by repeated melody-themes. Especially notable was the use, as Leitmotif, of music from "Boris Gudonov," sewn into the fabric of the song so that it became an integral part of the melody and not a sequin pasted on for class. On another evening – I have it by word-of-ear – the group lit into [[Igor Stravinsky|Stravinsky]], with a rocking beat.

The Mothers use the secondary technique of pop-parody with devastating effect. They goof brilliantly on the bass-falsetto hang-up of '50s teen music, and on the cocktail-clinking orchestration of the '40s. Their lyrics leave the Fugs gnawing seraps.

The whole show – call it a theatre piece and tell Beck and Malina to tail it back from Europe to catch this one – is surrounded by a pulsating lightscape. Oily color globs merge and counterpoint. It all flows freely, and for once, in sync with the music.

The Mothers Of Invention haven't arrived yet, but they strive with outstretched fingers toward something perceptively unique. Their first album, "[[Freak Out!]]", is the most poorly produce package since the Hindenburg Zeppelin, but don't let this baby-dribble fool you. The Mothers Of Invention are to be watched, and leader [[Frank Zappa]] deserves your attention, and your three bucks.
[[Category:Articles about Zappa]]

← Older revision		Revision as of 12:27, 25 April 2026
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	The Mothers Of Invention haven't arrived yet, but they strive with outstretched fingers toward something perceptively unique. Their first album, "[[Freak Out!]]", is the most poorly produce package since the Hindenburg Zeppelin, but don't let this baby-dribble fool you. The Mothers Of Invention are to be watched, and leader [[Biography\|Frank Zappa]] deserves your attention, and your three bucks.		The Mothers Of Invention haven't arrived yet, but they strive with outstretched fingers toward something perceptively unique. Their first album, "[[Freak Out!]]", is the most poorly produce package since the Hindenburg Zeppelin, but don't let this baby-dribble fool you. The Mothers Of Invention are to be watched, and leader [[Biography\|Frank Zappa]] deserves your attention, and your three bucks.
	[[Category:Articles about Zappa\|Pop Bag]]		[[Category:Articles about Zappa\|Pop Bag]]
		+	[[Category:1966\|Pop Bag]]

← Older revision		Revision as of 02:30, 8 August 2021
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	The Mothers Of Invention haven't arrived yet, but they strive with outstretched fingers toward something perceptively unique. Their first album, "[[Freak Out!]]", is the most poorly produce package since the Hindenburg Zeppelin, but don't let this baby-dribble fool you. The Mothers Of Invention are to be watched, and leader [[Biography\|Frank Zappa]] deserves your attention, and your three bucks.		The Mothers Of Invention haven't arrived yet, but they strive with outstretched fingers toward something perceptively unique. Their first album, "[[Freak Out!]]", is the most poorly produce package since the Hindenburg Zeppelin, but don't let this baby-dribble fool you. The Mothers Of Invention are to be watched, and leader [[Biography\|Frank Zappa]] deserves your attention, and your three bucks.
−	[[Category:Articles about Zappa]]	+	[[Category:Articles about Zappa\|Pop Bag]]

@@ Line 11: / Line 11: @@
 The whole show – call it a theatre piece and tell Beck and Malina to tail it back from Europe to catch this one – is surrounded by a pulsating lightscape. Oily color globs merge and counterpoint. It all flows freely, and for once, in sync with the music.
-The Mothers Of Invention haven't arrived yet, but they strive with outstretched fingers toward something perceptively unique. Their first album, "[[Freak Out!]]", is the most poorly produce package since the Hindenburg Zeppelin, but don't let this baby-dribble fool you. The Mothers Of Invention are to be watched, and leader [[Frank Zappa]] deserves your attention, and your three bucks.
+The Mothers Of Invention haven't arrived yet, but they strive with outstretched fingers toward something perceptively unique. Their first album, "[[Freak Out!]]", is the most poorly produce package since the Hindenburg Zeppelin, but don't let this baby-dribble fool you. The Mothers Of Invention are to be watched, and leader [[Biography|Frank Zappa]] deserves your attention, and your three bucks.
 [[Category:Articles about Zappa]]

@@ Line 7: / Line 7: @@
 The show was a single extended number, broken into movements by patter, and fused by repeated melody-themes. Especially notable was the use, as Leitmotif, of music from "Boris Gudonov," sewn into the fabric of the song so that it became an integral part of the melody and not a sequin pasted on for class. On another evening – I have it by word-of-ear – the group lit into [[Igor Stravinsky|Stravinsky]], with a rocking beat.
-The Mothers use the secondary technique of pop-parody with devastating effect. They goof brilliantly on the bass-falsetto hang-up of '50s teen music, and on the cocktail-clinking orchestration of the '40s. Their lyrics leave the Fugs gnawing seraps.
+The Mothers use the secondary technique of pop-parody with devastating effect. They goof brilliantly on the bass-falsetto hang-up of '50s teen music, and on the cocktail-clinking orchestration of the '40s. Their lyrics leave [[the Fugs]] gnawing seraps.
 The whole show – call it a theatre piece and tell Beck and Malina to tail it back from Europe to catch this one – is surrounded by a pulsating lightscape. Oily color globs merge and counterpoint. It all flows freely, and for once, in sync with the music.