Frank zappa (lead guitar, vocals)
Warren cucurullo (rhythm guitar, vocals)
Denny walley (slide guitar, vocals)
Ike willis (lead vocals)
Peter wolf (keyboards)
Arthur barrow (bass, vocals)
Ed mann (percussion)
Vinnie colaiuta (drums)
Joe: (to himself as he walks out of prison)
Im out at last
Boy, the world
Sure looks different
Wow...theres hardly
Anything fun to do
Since they made
Music illegal
But Im hooked
I got the habit
Ive got to have it
I need to play
But theres no
Musicians anymore
Theyre all gone
Wait! Ive got it!
Ill be sullen and
Withdrawn
Ill dwindle off into
The twilight realm
Of my own secret
Thoughts
Ill walk through
The parking lot
In a semi-
Catatonic state
And dream of
Guitar notes
To go with the
Loading-zone
Announcements.
Joe wanders through the world which by then has been totally epoxied over, carefully organized, with everyone reporting daily to his or her appointed place in a line somewhere in front of a wind
Mewhere in a building somewhere in order to collect his or her welfare check, which, when cashed, made it possible for the young ones to continue the payments for the obsolete and irreparable ap
Ces their parents had purchased on the instalment plan years ago, providing as security the future incomes of their children. the rest of these checks were used by the young recipients to buy fu
Ngs of their own on credit, most of which broke down or failed within moments of purchase and seemed to be stacking up everywhere.
Central scrutinizer:
This is the central
Scrutinizer
The white zone
Is for loading and
Unloading only.
If you have to load or
Unload, go to the
White zone.
Youll love it.
Its a way of life.
This is the central
Scrutinizer
The white zone
Is for loading and
Unloading only.
If you have to load or
Unload, go to the
White zone.
Youll love it.
Its a way of life.
This is the central
Scrutinizer
The white zone
Is for loading and
Unloading only.
If you have to load or
Unload...
As joe stumbles over mounds of dead consumer goods formed into abstract statues dedicated to the quality of american craftsmanship, dreaming his stupid little guitar notes, he hears, somewhere i
Back of his head, the voice of mrs. borg, taunting him:
Mrs. borgs voice:
Turn it down!
Turn it down!
I have children
Sleeping here!
Dont you boys know
Any nice songs?
Im calling the police!
I did it!
Theyll be here...
Shortly!
Im not joking around
Anymore!
Youll see now!
There they are...
Theyre coming!
Listen to that mess,
Would you!
Every day this goes on
Around here!
He used to
Cut my grass...
He was a
Very nice boy...
He used to
Cut my grass...
He was a
Very nice boy...
He used to
Cut my grass...
He was a
Very nice boy...
He used to
Cut my grass...
He was a
Very nice boy...
Central scrutinizer:
This is the central scrutinizer... yes...he used to be a nice boy...he used to cut the grass...but now his mind is totally destroyed by music. hes so crazy now he even believes that people are
Ng articles and reviews about his imaginary guitar notes, and so, continuing to dwindle in the twilight realm of his own secret thoughts, he not only dreams imaginary guitar notes, but, to make
Rs worse, dreams imaginary vocal parts to a song about the imaginary journalistic profession...
