by KUBOA
BG: Well, you gotta love his axe, right? Duane Eddy, same thing.
CM: Donovan.
BG: Hippie stuff but great hippie stuff.
CM: Chad and Jeremy.
BG: Peter and Gordon.
CM: Uh, the Farinas.
BG: Oh, what a loss. Sad, sad. Man. Keep moving.
CM: Marianne Faithfull.
BG: Dead, too, right? Didn’t she die?
CM: Um, no, no…
BG: Jagger’s chick. Sweet voice. I thought she was dead.
CM: Wild Man Fisher.
BG: Hey, daddy, how do you know Wild Man? Oh, wait, I mentioned him. Are you diddling me? He’s Zappa’s Frankenstein monster. (laughs) Crazy guy, street corner singer.
CM: Fleetwood Mac.
BG: Peter Green’s group, right? They’re hip. Green’s great.
CM: Buddy Holly.
BG: All rise. Hats off.
CM: Buffalo Springfield.
BG: Oh, man, good stuff. Stills, Young. “Flying on the Ground,” yeah.
CM: Sam the Sham.
BG: He’s my neighbor, man. Was. In Memphis, my neighbor. Great cat, spiritual cat.
CM: Miles Davis.
BG: Way ahead of us, man. Not even in the same business. He’s out there. We’re, what, we’re playing checkers, he’s playing 3D chess.
CM: Howlin’ Wolf.
BG: The Bellwether. Man, the consummate bluesman. Y’know, we played this gig with him, and this would have been, like right after Turntable hit, and we were headlining. Can you dig that? On the posters, we were put above him, man. I was sick about it. So, when time came, we just told him, look, you’re going on last. We warm up for you. This was toward the end for him, but it was right, you know. You do what’s right.
CM: Gary Lewis and the Playboys.
BG: Gimme a break. Hey, Dad, can I have a rock group and go on Ed? Shit.
CM: Neil Diamond.
BG: You’re trying to elicit some kind of crap response, but, I’ll tell you, man. If I had written “Solitary Man,” anything near as good as “Solitary Man,” I’d die happy. “I’m a Believer.” Good stuff. Brill Building, say what you will.
CM: Brenda Lee.
BG: Yeah, nice. I don’t know.
CM: Phil Spector.
BG: Love the Christmas album.
CM: The Doors.
BG: Well, to be honest, I think this thing of Morrison being a poet is a load of rubbish. He’s a poser. The Doors, however, still cook. One wonders if Morrison even knows that. that his guys cook.
CM: Woody Guthrie.
BG: The Grant Wood of music, and I mean that in a nice way.
CM: The Byrds.
BG: Cool group. Where would they be without Dylan? Maybe just another covers band doing “Hey Joe.” But, they’re cool guys, smart guys.
CM: The Animals.
BG: British band stealing American blues. No, wait, don’t print that. Uh, Burdon—he’s got some of the best pipes in the business. A voice made to sing rock and roll. And, hey, they helped Jimi, so…
CM: Dusty Springfield.
BG: Funny, she’s British, isn’t it? She could be from my home town, wants to be. Sings funky like Carla Thomas, not a small feat for a white woman.
CM: Ornette Coleman.
BG: He gave us all permission to break the rules.
CM: Sandy Denny.
BG: Oh, sweet voice, that opaque alto. Yeah, I dig her.
CM: James Brown.
BG: Well, I wouldn’t want to cross him. (laughs) Naw, man, he’s a pal, a Tennessee guy, and enough funk for ten men.
CM: Tiny Tim.
BG: I don’t get it. I like fun as much as the next guy, but I don’t get it. I wrote that song for him, just for a lark, you know, but, really. Zappa thinks he’s hilarious.
CM: Johnny Cash.
BG: Authority.
CM: The Guess Who.
BG: Great hits band.
CM: It’s a Beautiful Day.
BG: You know, I don’t know much about them, but Skip Spence gave me an album. Great chick singer, right? And, uh, violin? Is that right?
CM: The Kinks.
BG: Power chords. Fat guitar. I dig that stuff.
CM: Led Zeppelin.
BG: Great first album. Promising, yeah, they’re good. Lousy lyrics, but who cares, right?
CM: Mississippi Fred McDowell.
BG: Well, he’s a mentor, taught me stuff when I was a pup. Great man.
CM: The Hollies.
BG: They’re alright. Graham came from them, so that’s nice. He’s a quality human being, you know?.
CM: Charlie Christian.
BG: Oh, beautiful stuff. Listen to that guitar, baby. The first lead guitar, you know what I mean? He was, the first lead.
CM: Jethro Tull.
BG: Just catching them, man, but that singer has it all. Great stage show, plays the hell out of that fucking flute. Who’d’ve thought of the flute for rock and roll, you know?
CM: Gene Pitney.
BG: “Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.” I don’t care what else he did.
CM: Lee Michaels.
BG: I don’t—
CM: Had the big hit, “Do You Know What I Mean?’
BG: Yeah, yeah, pumping organ, man. Probably a one hitter, but, still, nice voice.
CM: The Pretty Things.
BG: How many more of these you got, man?
CM: We can pretty much go on all afternoon. Or stop. Your choice.
BG: Gimme a few more. I don’t want to sound like a blowhard. Do I sound like a blowhard? Like I know more than anyone else? Man, the thirteen year old kid buying his LPs at Corondolet, knows as much as me, you know? It’s all subjective. Or is that objective? Subjective. I don’t have any insider knowledge, you know, it’s just what I think, what I see from here.
CM: The Pretty Things.
BG: I’ve listened to their stuff. Heavy into psychedelia, which is fine, fine.
CM: Fever Tree.
BG: Very funny. I told you about Fever Tree.
CM: Memphis Minnie.
BG: Dirty blues, between-the-legs blues. Where I’m from she’s sacred, you know, Church music.
CM: Leslie Gore.
BG: Get over it, sweetheart.
CM: Iron Butterfly.