Learning to Love Frank Zappa

by editor Michele Catalano

My brother-in-law, Matt, joined my family 14 years ago and made quick work of endearing himself to us. He is more than a brother-in-law. He is the brother I never had and always wanted. And he’s more than happy to fill that role. He’s there for me. He’s a confidante. He makes me laugh. He makes sure I’m being good to myself. And mostly, he treats my sister like a queen. He is also the biggest Frank Zappa fan I know.

One of the things that joined us together is music. We both have a passion for it; we both tend to dive into our favorites a lot and talk about them to whoever will listen. Thankfully for Matt and me, we have each other for that. 

I discovered Zappa in high school, but I knew mostly the mainstream-adjacent songs; “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” and “Joe’s Garage” were staples of the local rock station. I made an effort to dive in a little deeper, as I had cousins who were into Frank’s music, but ultimately decided it wasn’t for me. I stuck to the popular stuff.

Of course, Zappa became a larger than life figure in the ‘80s with the PMRC hearings. A lot of people were surprised at how intelligent and eloquent he was. He became a household name. I still listened to him here and there.

Matt and I have great music conversations because we have something in common—we love to share. For as many bands and artists he will throw out there at me, hoping to trip me up with some obscure local band, I throw as many back at him. This is how we discovered we were both fans of Long Island stalwarts Zebra. But that’s another story. 

When my sister and I lived together, back when I was first getting to know Matt, we would sit in the backyard and have a few beers and start talking about music. Matt and I did most of the talking, eagerly spouting off trivia and little known tidbits about bands and songs. We quizzed each other good-naturedly. We made up games about music. That love of listening to music, and the love of sharing what we were listening to, is what bonded us together as if we were siblings. 

Matt was the most animated in our conversations about all things Zappa. He is a Zappa scholar, a walking Wikipedia of Frank Zappa facts. He didn’t just put on some music for me and say, here, listen. He schooled me. He educated me. Zappa’s career and life were so interesting to me, and I was always grateful for these discussions. I learned a lot, which made me want to dig deeper and deeper into his catalog. Some of it was not for me, but the ones that I did enjoy, I fell in love with.

A few months ago, Matt gifted me his entire Rykodisk Zappa CD set. I accepted this gift as a treasure, as something he was  entrusting to me. I found a place for the collection right on my vinyl cubes and protected it from my cats with bookends. And then I proceeded to listen to one disc a day, making mental notes and texting Matt about them. I didn’t listen in any specific order; I went strictly on vibes.

As I went through them, I discovered new things about Zappa to love. I finally heard what a brilliant musician he is and how, despite some real goofy lyrics, he could be profound and powerful with his words. 

My trip through the catalog stalled when I got to Joe’s Garage. Not because I didn’t want to move forward, but  because I got stuck on one song—a song that, months later, I still find myself stuck on.

“Watermelon in Easter Hay” is, with the exception of the intro, an instrumental. It’s slow, it’s meandering, and it’s brilliant. It is the kind of song that is part lullaby and part inspiration. When I listen to it, I am relaxed, I am at peace. My brain waves move with the cadence of the song, gentle drumming keeping time, and I zone out, close my eyes, enter my own world. 

I always feel like the song is speaking to me, like Frank is conversing to the world with his guitar, but I am the only one hearing it. It’s best when wearing headphones, when the music surrounds you in tight quarters and bounces around your ears. It invites you to become one with it, to surrender yourself to the tones and rhythm that wrap themselves around you.

I listened to “Watermelon in Easter Hay” a dozen times that first day I played it. Since then, I’ve listened to it hundreds of times. It’s become my go-to when I am stressed from the ever-increasing fascism in this country. It’s what I lean on when I can’t sleep. It’s what I play as I write. 

I thank Matt not just for re-introducing me to Zappa, but for guiding me in my Zappa studies, for providing answers to questions and links to interviews, for gifting me the Rykodisk collection. I thank him for always being willing to share what he listens to, and for listening to me when I talk with passion about the music I love. I thank him for putting the song “Assman” on all my Apple Music playlists, so I am constantly surprised and horrified. I thank him for being my brother, and for being the kind of guy who talks about music without projecting a superiority complex. 

I’m going to go listen to “Watermelon in Easter Hay” again. Something about listening as the sun is coming up sets a great tone for the day.