When I was young(er), Frank Zappa could do no wrong. I pored over every note of every album, went to each local show, and generally idolized the man. Here was a guy whose creativity seemed boundless. He was a rock musician, to be sure, but he borrowed liberally from other genres, especially jazz. His compositions’ loose organization—with just enough in the way of melody and structure to create a cohesive whole while allowing space for individual musicians to explore a theme—was straight out of Mingus.
Nor was Zappa constrained by other strictures of standard rock. Melodies, for instance, were lengthy and complex; far from the accessible, hook-laden material that made it onto the radio. Lyrics were rarely about love. Sex, yes—often in starkly frank terms. But not love. That was another radio no-no, but it hardly mattered; his songs were mostly too long to get airplay anyway. But Zappa didn’t give a whit whether his music was commercial or not. Rather, he boldly did whatever he felt like, which was immensely refreshing in the 70s and 80s.
Furthermore, Zappa was a guitarist nonpareil. His technical prowess was right up there with Page and Clapton, and he could cram a staggering amount of virtuosity into a short guitar break. (Just listen to what he does with a mere ten seconds in the live version of “Peaches en Regalia” from Fillmore East—June 1971.) Or he could riff without letup over a single chord and countless minutes. In short, for an ardent music lover with a thirst for exploration, Zappa offered something like a magic elixir.
These days, though, my assessment of Zappa is more measured. To be sure, all of the above remains true. But so are a few inconvenient and countervailing truths. For instance, there’s no denying that Zappa’s lyrics are embarrassingly juvenile. That didn’t bother me back in the day; after all, I was a juvenile. To old(er) ears, however, lyrics that used to ring clever, like the “Montana” saga of a man moving to that state in order to start a dental floss farm, now just seem silly. And lines that used to be shocking or scandalous—such as this couplet from Chunga’s Revenge: “Would you go all the way for the USO?/Lift up your dress if the answer is no”—no longer have that effect. There’s nothing wrong with these lyrics, I’ve simply outgrown them.
Meanwhile, over the years I’ve developed some issues with Zappa’s free-wheeling guitar solos. They’re dazzling, to be sure. But they’re also static. The solos don’t have a beginning or an ending; instead, they seem to start and stop at random points. In between, Zappa’s riffs never go anywhere. That is, they don’t take one theme and play with its possibilities, or arc to a climax then find their way back home. Although there are exceptions, the playing style rarely changes.
Zappa tries to compensate for this musical stagnation by varying the tempos and accompaniment, and by encouraging his supporting musicians to stretch out, as such musicians do in jazz. The difference is that in good jazz, it’s the front man who stretches the most. With Zappa, he’s the only one doing the same thing over and over. In the end, a lot of the time, all you’re left with is dexterous noodling. Nowadays, I’m looking for more in my guitar solos.
Those caveats notwithstanding, Zappa’s music remains filled with moments of brilliance and delight. That’s why he retains legions of fans. It’s also why, after a too-long wait, it’s both significant and appropriate that a major chunk of his enormous catalog is finally available for both download and streaming at 24/96 and 24/192 resolution.
The difference between those two resolutions varies from album to album, and even from track to track. In some cases, the two versions sound the same. But there are enough instances in which the higher resolution edges out the 24/96 in terms of air, timbral definition, and soundstage depth that I’d lean in the 24/192 direction.
On the other hand, the difference between either of the hi-res versions and the CD-quality editions out there is vast. Zappa paid attention to fidelity, so it’s not surprising that many of the CDs sound surprisingly good. Even so, the hi-res versions bring this music to life in a way that makes every CD sound flat by comparison.
To take just one of countless examples, listen to the all-percussion piece “The Clap” from Chunga’s Revenge. The sheer variety of drums and handheld instruments creates an exciting sonic tapestry, even on the CD. But the new hi-res issue has far more air around instruments, punchier dynamics, and greater timbral differentiation. On other tracks, you’ll hear more bite on Zappa’s guitar, and it’s easier to pick out each accompanying musician’s contribution.
If you’re a die-hard Zappa fan, you’ll definitely want to acquire some (if not all) of these hi-res albums. Even if, like me, you’re more on the fence these days, you might still want to nab a couple of favorites, just to see what you’ve been missing
By Alan Taffel
I can thank my parents for introducing me to both good music and good sound at an early age. Their extensive classical music collection, played through an enviable system, continually filled our house. When I was two, my parents gave me one of those all-in-one changers, which I played to death.
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