The way-out music comes zooming back into my head, the applause, hooting, screaming, and rumbling.
Can you believe it? Some real weirdos come with this territory, sweety. It ain’t all fruitcups and brussels sprouts in this game, if you know what I mean.
THE GIG BY RL CLEMENTS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 141
At the end of Zappa’s Peaches and Regalia some dudes in the crowd start yelling, “Boogie, boogie, boogie.” The Maestro, the one with the thick, bushy, absurd-looking mustache and dark shoulder-length hair, says, “Okay, so, you want to hear some boogie.” He gazes at the dudes. “Fine,” he says.
And with a twitch of his nose he strikes up the band with Son of Mr Green Jeans, which is as far from boogie as far fucking out. The crowd applauds like it’s the best song they’ve ever heard.
“You think you’re so smart!” shouts a shirtless dude. He cannonballs out of the crowd and climbs up onto the stage. I’m thinking, you’re on a bummer trip, man. Don’t let the drugs hijack you.
The Mothers of Invention blank-stare out this loonytoon. Then a giant black man comes from backstage, calmly grabs this guy, picks him up, tucks him under an arm, and takes him off.