Desperate nerds in high offices all over the world have been known to enact the most disgusting pieces of legislation in order to win votes (or, in places where they don't get to vote, to control unwanted forms of mass behavior).
Environmental laws were not passed to protect our air and water . . . they were passed to get votes. Seasonal anti-smut campaigns are not conducted to rid our communities of moral rot . . . they are conducted to give an aura of saintliness to the office-seekers who demand them. If a few key phrases are thrown into any speech (as the expert advisors explain to these various heads of state) votes will roll in, bucks will roll in, and, most importantly, power will be maintained by the groovy guy (or gal) who gets the most media coverage for his sleaze. Naturally, his friends in various businesses will do okay too.
All governments perpetuate themselves through the daily commission of acts which a rational person might find to be stupid or dangerous (or both). Naturally, our government is no exception . . . for instance, if the President (any one of them) went on TV and sat there with the flag in the background (or maybe a rustic scene on a little backdrop, plus the flag) and stared sincerely into the camera and told everybody that all energy problems and all inflationary problems had been traced to and could be solved by the abolition of MUSIC, chances are that most people would believe him and think that the illegalization of this obnoxious form of noise pollution would be a small price to pay for the chance to buy gas like the good ol' days. No way? Never happen? Records are made out of oil. All those big rock shows go from town to town in fuel-gobbling 45-foot trucks . . . and when they get there, they use up enormous amounts of electrical energy with their lights, their amplifiers, their PA systems . . . their smoke machines. And all those synthesizers . . . look at all the plastic they got in 'em . . . and the guitar picks . . . you name it . . .
JOE'S GARAGE is a stupid story about how the government is going to try to do away with music (a prime cause of unwanted mass behavior). It's sort of like a really cheap kind of high school play . . . the way it might have been done 20 years ago, with all the sets made out of cardboard boxes and poster paint. It's also like those lectures that local narks used to give (where they show you a display of all the different ways you can get wasted, with the pills leading to the weed leading to the needle, etc., etc.).
If the plot of the story seems just a little bit preposterous, and if the idea of The Central Scrutinizer enforcing laws that haven't been passed yet makes you giggle, just be glad you don't live in one of the cheerful little countries where, at this very moment, music is either severely restricted . . . or, as it is in Iran, totally illegal.
Central Scrutinizer,
Larry,
Father Riley
& Buddy Jones
Frank Zappa
Joe
Ike Willis
Mary
Dale Bozzio
Mrs. Borg
Denny Walley
Officer Butzis
Al Malkin
Sometimes when you're not looking he just sneaks up on you. He looks like a cheap sort of flying saucer about five feet across with a snout-like megaphone apparatus in the front with two big eyes mounted like Appletons with miniature motorized frowning chrome eyebrows over them. Along the side of his disc-like body are several sets of stupid-looking headers and exhaust hoses which apparently propel him and punctuate his dialogue with horrible smelling smoke rings. In the middle of his head we can see an airport wind sock and constantly twirling anenometer. The bottom of him has a landing light and three spoked wheels. In spite of all this, it is obvious that the way he really gets around is by being dangled from place to place by a union guy with a dark green shirt up in the roof who is eating a sandwich (pieces of which drop off every once in a while and lodge themselves near the hole where they put the oil in that makes the cheap smoke).
He hovers into view and speaks to us thusly . . .
Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . it is my responsibility to enforce all the laws that haven't been passed yet. It is also my responsibility to alert each and every one of you to the potential consequences of various ordinary everyday activities you might be performing which could eventually lead to The Death Penalty (or affect your parent's credit rating). Our criminal institutions are full of little creeps like you who do wrong things . . . and many of them were driven to these crimes by a horrible force called MUSIC!
Our studies have shown that this horrible force is so dangerous to society at large that laws are being drawn up at this very moment to stop it forever! Cruel and inhuman punishments are being carefully described in tiny paragraphs so they won't conflict with the Constitution (which, itself, is being modified in order to accomodate THE FUTURE).
I bring you now a special presentation to show what can happen to you if you choose a career in MUSIC . . . The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only . . . if you have to load or unload, go to the WHITE ZONE . . . you'll love it . . . it's a way of life . . . This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only . . . (etc.)
A boring old garage in a residential area with a teen-age band rehearsing in it. JOE (the main character in the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER'S Special Presentation) sings to us of the trials and tribulations of garage-band husbandry.
Joe:
It wasn't very large
There was just enough room to cram the drums
In the corner over by the Dodge
It was a fifty-four
With a mashed up door
And a cheesy little amp
With a sign on the front said
"Fender Champ"
And a second-hand guitar
It was a Stratocaster with a whammy bar
At this point, LARRY (a guy who will eventually give up music and earn a respectable living as a roadie for a group called Toad-O) joins in the song . . .
Larry:
We could jam in Joe's Garage
His mama was screamin'
His dad was mad
We was playin' the same old song
In the afternoon 'n' sometimes we would
Play it all night long
It was all we knew, 'n' easy too
So we wouldn't get it wrong
All we did was bend the string like . . .
Hey!
Down in Joe's Garage
We didn't have no dope or LSD
But a coupla quartsa beer
Would fix it so the intonation
Would not offend yer ear
And the same old chords goin' over 'n' over
Became a symphony
We could play it again 'n' again 'n' again
Cause it sounded good to me
ONE MORE TIME!
We could jam in Joe's Garage
His mama was screamin',
"TURN IT DOWN!"
We was playin' the same old song
In the afternoon 'n' sometimes we would
Play it all night long
It was all we knew, 'n' easy too
So we wouldn't get it wrong
Even if you played it on a saxophone
We thought we was pretty good
We talked about keepin' the band together
'N' we figured that we should
'Cause about this time we was gettin' the eye
From the girls in the neighborhood
They'd all come over 'n' dance around like . . .
Twenty teen-age girls dash in and go STOMP--CLAP, STOMP--CLAP--CLAP . . .
So we picked out a stupid name
Had some cards printed up for a coupla bucks
'N' we was on our way to fame
Got matching suits
'N' Beatle Boots
'N' a sign on the back of the car
'N' we was ready to work in a GO-GO Bar
ONE TWO THREE FOUR
LET'S SEE IF YOU'VE GOT SOME MORE!
People seemed to like our song
They got up 'n' danced 'n' made a lotta noise
An' it wasn't 'fore very long
A guy from a company we can't name
Said we oughta take his pen
'N' sign on the line for a real good time
But he didn't tell us when
These "good times" would be somethin'
That was really happenin'
So the band broke up
An' it looks like
We will never play again . . .
Joe:
Guess you only get one chance in life
To play a song that goes like . . .
And as the band plays their little song, MRS. BORG (who keeps her son, SY, in the closet with the vacuum cleaner) screams out the window . . .
Mrs. Borg:
Turn it down!
Turn it DOWN!
I have children sleeping here . . .
Don't you boys know any nice songs?
Joe:
(Speculating on the future)
Well the years was rollin' by
Heavy Metal 'n' Glitter Rock
Had caught the public eye
Snotty boys with lipstick on
Was really flyin' high
'N' then they got that Disco thing
'N' New Wave came along
'N' all of a sudden I thought the time
Had come for that old song
We used to play in "Joe's Garage"
And if I am not wrong
You will soon be dancin' to . . .
Central Scrutinizer:
The WHITE ZONE is for loading and unloading only. If you gotta load or unload, go to the WHITE ZONE. You'll love it . . .
Joe:
Well the years was rollin' by (etc.) . . .
Mrs. Borg:
I'm calling THE POLICE!
There! I did it! They'll be here . . . shortly!
Officer Butzis:
This is the Police . . .
We have the garage surrounded
If you come out with your hands up
We guarantee you won't be harmed
Or hurt, neither
(SWAT Team 4, move in!)
Mrs. Borg:
He used to cut my grass . . .
He was a very nice boy . . .
Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . .
That was Joe's first confrontation with The Law.
Naturally, we were easy on him.
One of our friendly counselors gave him
A do-nut . . . and told him to
Stick closer to church-oriented social activities.
A festive CYO party with crepe paper streamers, contestants for the broom dance, the "Hokey Pokey," baked goods, & FATHER RILEY making sure the lights don't go down too low . . .
Father Riley And Various Party Goers:
Catholic Girls
With a tiny little mustache
Catholic Girls
Do you know how they go?
Catholic Girls
In the Rectory Basement
Father Riley's a fairy
But it don't bother Mary
Catholic Girls
At the CYO
Catholic Girls
Do you know how they go?
Catholic Girls
There can be no replacement
How do they go, after the show?
Joe:
All the way
That's the way they go
Every day
And none of their mamas ever seem to know
Hip-Hip-Hooray
For all the class they show
There's nothing like a Catholic Girl
At the CYO
Where they learn to blow . . .
Father Riley:
They're learning to blow
All the Catholic Boys!
Mary:
Warren Cuccurullo . . .
Father Riley:
Catholic Boys!
Mary:
Kinda young, kinda WOW!
Father Riley:
Catholic Boys!
Mary:
Vinnie Colaiuta . . .
Chorus:
Where are they now?
Did they all take The Vow?
Father Riley:
Catholic Girls!
Warren:
Carmenita Scarfone!
Father Riley:
Catholic Girls!
Officer Butzis:
Hey! She gave me VD!
Father Riley:
Catholic Girls!
Warren:
Toni Carbone!
Chorus:
With a tongue like a cow
She could make you go WOW!
Joe:
VD Vowdy vootie
Right away
That's the way they go
Every day
Whenever their mamas take them to a show
Matinee
Pass the popcorn please
There's nothing like a Catholic Girl
With her hand in the box
When she's on her knees
Larry:
She was on her knees
My little Catholic Girl
Chorus:
In a little white dress
Catholic Girls
They never confess
Catholic Girls
I got one for a cousin
I love how they go
So send me a dozen
Catholic Girls
OOOOOOH!
Catholic Girls
OOOOOOH!
(etc.)
Central Scrutinizer:
The is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . .
Joe had a girl friend named Mary.
She used to go to the church club every week.
They'd meet each other there
Hold hands
And think Pure Thoughts
But one night, at the Social Club meeting
Mary didn't show up . . .
She was sucking cock backstage at The Armory
In order to get a pass
To see some big rock group for free . . .
Backstage at the local Armory, MARY, in her little white dress, is wiping the remnants of her performance off the side of her mouth as LARRY (the guy from the garage who quit the band in order to make an honest living) zips up the front of his stinking boiler suit and sings to the same teen-age girls who were stomping and clapping a little while ago, as they kneel with their little pink mouths open near the crew bus, hoping to save the price of admission by performing acts of Hooverism on the jolly lads who set up the PA system.
Larry:
Hey Hey Hey all you girls in these
Industrial towns
I know you're prob'ly gettin' tired
Of all the local clowns
They never give you no respect
They never treat you nice
So perhaps you oughta try
A little friendly advice
And be a CREW SLUT
Hey, you'll love it
Be a CREW SLUT
It's a way of life
Be a CREW SLUT
See the world
Don't make a fuss, just get on the bus
CREW SLUT
Add water, makes its own sauce
Be a CREW SLUT
So you don't forget, call before midnite tonite
The boys in the crew
Are just waiting for you
You never get to move around
You never go nowhere
I know yer prob'ly gettin' tired
Of all the guys out there
You always wondered what it's like
To go from place to place
So, darlin', take a little ride
On the mixer's face
Be a CREW SLUT
Just follow the magic footprints
Be a CREW SLUT
Hey, you'll love it!
Be a CREW SLUT
It's a way of life
I ain't gonna squash it
And you don't need to wash it!
CREW SLUT
Hey, I'll buy you a pizza
CREW SLUT
Of course I'll introduce you to Warren
The boys in the crew
Are only waiting for you
At this point, the road crew, as all road crews must from time to time, borrow some of the big rock group's equipment and have a blues jam session, indicating to the kneeling maidens that they are endowed with a great deal of raw talent, as well as massive meat. Obviously impressed with LARRY's ability to suck so hard on his harmonica that screeching little noises come out of it, MARY kneels again and reaches upward in gestures of supplication, listening intently as LARRY continues to sing . . .
Larry:
Well you been to Alabama, girl,
'N' Georgia too
'N' all the boys in the crew
Is bein' good to you
I know you're sayin' to yourself
"This is the way to go"
'Cause when you need a little extra
They will give you some mo'
'Cause you're the CREW SLUT
Mary:
I'm into leather . . .
Larry:
That's good! A lot of the boys in the crew
Love leather . . .
Mary:
And rubber . . .
Larry:
Yeh, they like rubber too . . . shrink-tubing
With a hair dryer . . .
Road Crew Chorus:
Trade your spot on the bench
For a guy with a wrench
Mary:
Ha ha ha . . .
Larry:
You like that, huh?
I told you you'd love it . . .
It's a way of life!
Road Crew Chorus:
The guys in the crew
Have got a present for you!
Mary:
A present for me?
Larry:
We got a present for you!
Mary:
Whaddya got?
Whaddya gonna give me?
Larry:
It looks just like a Telefunken U-47
You'll love it . . .
Mary:
With leather?
Central Scrutinizer:
Eh errr, eh eh . . . This is the CENTRAL
SCRUTINIZER again . . .
And so MARY was enticed away from JOE
By an evil barbarian with a wrench in his pocket
Lured into a life of SLEAZERY
With the entire road crew of some
Famous Rock Group
(I don't know whether it was Toad-O . . . I don't know . . . I'll check it out)
Again we see
MUSIC
Causing
BIG TROUBLE!
After a few weeks on the bus, being porked by Toad-O's road crew, and being too exhausted to do their laundry on a regular basis, MARY is dumped in Miami. With no money (and no other famous rock groups due into the area for at least three weeks), she tries to pick up a few bucks by entering the Wet T-Shirt contest at The Brasserie . . .
Ike:
Looks to me like something funny
Is going on around here
People laughin"n' dancin"n' payin'
Entirely too much for their beer
And they all think they are
Clean outa-site
And they're ready to party
'Cause the sign outside says it's
WET T-SHIRT NITE
'N' they all crave some
Hot delight
Well the girls are excited
Because in a minute
They're gonna get wet
'N' the boys are delighted
Because all the titties
Will get 'em upset
'N' they all think they're
Reety-awright
'N' they're ready to boogie
'Cause the sign outside says it's
WET T-SHIRT NITE
'N' they all crave some
Pink delight
When the water gets on 'em
Their ninnies get rigid
'N' look pretty bold
It's a common reaction
That makes an attraction
Whenever it's cold
'N' all of the fellas
They wish they could bite
On the cute little nuggets
The local girls are showin' off tonite
You know I think it serves 'em right
You know I think it serves 'em right
You know I think it serves 'em right
You know I think it serves 'em right
And it's
WET T-SHIRT TIME AGAIN
I know you want someone to show you some tit!
BIG ONES!
WET ONES!
BIG WET ONES!
At this point, FATHER RILEY (who had been recently de-frocked for not meeting his quota, and has grown his hair out and bought a groovy sport coat and moved to Miami and changed his name to BUDDY JONES) steps onto the crowded bandstand in his exciting new role as a WET T-SHIRT CONTEST EMCEE . . .
Buddy Jones:
Ah, thanks, IKE . . .
Yes, it's WET T-SHIRT TIME AGAIN
Here at The Brasserie . . .
Home of THE TITS . . . huh huh . . .
And it's the charming Mary from Canoga Park
Up next in her bid for the semi-finals . . .
Hi, Mary . . . howya doin'?
Having been fucked senseless by the boys in the crew, MARY does not recognize the former religious personage from her nights in the rectory basement during which she acquired her basic manual skills . . . confounded by his sport coat, she replies . . .
Mary:
Hi!
Realizing that she no longer recognizes him . . . or even appreciates the patient religious training he had given her in the past, BUDDY JONES, like a true WET T-SHIRT EMCEE type person, proceeds to say various stupid things to waste time, making the contest itself take longer, thereby giving the mongoloids squatting on the dance floor an opportunity to buy more exciting beverages . . . liquid products that will expand their consciousnesses to the point whereby they might more fully enjoy the ambiance of Miami By Night . . .
Buddy Jones:
Where ya from?
Mary:
Ah, the bus . . .
Buddy Jones:
Which one?
Mary:
You know . . . the last tour . . .
You know . . . Leather
Buddy Jones:
Oh . . . you were the girl that was stuck to seat 38 on Phydeaux III . . . why don't you get in position now and take a deep breath, because this water is very, very cold, but it's goin' to be so stimulating. And Mary's the kind of Red-Blooded American Girl who'll do anything . . .
Mary:
Anything . . .
Buddy Jones:
I said anything . . . for fifty bucks
That's right!
Mary:
I really need the fifty bucks you know
I gotta get home!
Buddy Jones:
Yeh, I know, your father is waiting for you in the tool shed . . . that's right, you heard right . . . our big prize tonite is fifty American Dollars to the girl with the most exciting mammalian protruberances . . .
Mary:
Here I am!
Buddy Jones:
. . . as viewed through a thoroughly soaked, stupid looking white sort of male person's conservative kind of middle-of-the-road COTTON UNDERGARMENT! Whoopee! And here comes THE WATER!
Mary:
EEEK!
Buddy Jones:
No, you'd squeak more if the water got on you . . . sounds like you just got an ice pick in the forehead . . . AND HERE COMES THE ICE PICK IN THE FOREHEAD . . . a million laughs, Mary! Anyway; good golly, what a mess . . . she's totally soaked . . . Totally committed to the fifty bucks . . . That's it just step into the spotlight . . . let the guys get a good look at ya, honey!
Mary:
Here I am!
Buddy Jones:
Whaddya say, fellas?
Nice setta jugs?
Now Mary, how's about shakin' it around a little . . .
Buddy Jones:
Oh my goodness, look at her go!
Mary:
Oooh! I'm dancing! I'm dancing!
Buddy Jones:
Ain't this what living is really all about! Here's your fifty bucks, Mary . . .
Mary:
Oh great! Now I can go home!
Buddy Jones:
Home is where the heart is.
Mary:
On the bus.
Whereupon the house combo at the Brasserie drifts into a modified version of one of Toad-O's big hit numbers
BUDDY JONES stares longingly at the little nozzles pooching out of MARY'S moistened upper clothing, but it's too late . . . WARREN, one of the other guys from Joe's Garage Band has already recognized her (he's now one of the foremost disco-fusion rhythm guitar players on the Wet T-Shirt Circuit, currently providing exciting strummery here in Miami), and is in the process of getting the details of her life on the bus with LARRY and the other jolly road crew lads. He evetually sends JOE a letter with this information in it . . .
Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Meanwhile, Joe hears about Mary's naughty exploits. He falls in with a fast crowd and gets seduced by a girl who works at the Jack-In-The-Box, named Lucille, who gives him an unpronounceable disease . . .
Shortly after his liaison with the taco stand lady, JOE makes a horrible discovery . . .
Joe:
Why does it hurt when I pee?
Why does it hurt when I pee?
I don't want no doctor
To stick no needle in me
Why does it hurt when I pee?
I got it from the toilet seat
I got it from the toilet seat
It jumped right up
'N' grabbed my meat
Got it from the toilet seat
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
Oh God I probably got the
Gon-o-ka-ka-khackus!
My balls feel like a pair of maracas
Ai-ee-ai-ee-ahhhh!
Why does it
Why does it
Why does it
Why does it hurt . . . when . . . I
Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?
JOE is so disoriented by his disease, he goes in the other room and plays the title cut from an old Jeff Simmons album, and sings along with it.
Joe:
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still love her
Oh I still love her
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still love her
Oh I still love her
Lucille
Has messed my mind up
But I still need her
you know I need her
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
Whatcha tryna doota me
Lucille?
You got me goin' outa my mind
Lucille
Has tore my heart up
But I still love her
I really love her
Lucille
Has tore my heart up
But I still need her
You know I need her
She treats me like my hard
Is made of stone
She runs around
And leaves me home
All alone
She doesn't answer
When I call her on the hpone
She messed up my mind
I'm cryin' alla the time
Lucille
Has messed my mind up etc., etc., etc.
Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . again. Hi! . . . It's me again, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Joe says Lucille has messed his mind up, but, was it the girl or was it the music? As you can see . . . girls, music, disease, heartbreak . . . they all go together . . . Joe found out the hard way, but his troubles were just beginning . . . his mind was so messed up . . . he could hardly do nothin' . . . He was in a quandary . . . being devoured by the swirling cesspool of his own steaming desires . . . the guy was a wreck . . . so . . . what does he do? For once, he does something SMART . . . he goes out . . . and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover . . . at the First Church of Appliantology!
The Central Scrutinizer 3:27
Joe's Garage 6:10
Catholic Girls 4:26
Crew Slut 5:51
Wet T-Shirt Nite 5:26
Toad-O Line 4:18
Why Does It Hurt When I Pee? 2:35
Lucille Has Messed My Mind Up 7:17
Frank Zappa lead guitar, vocals
Warren Cucurullo rhythm guitar, vocals
Denny Walley slide guitar, vocals
Ike Willis lead vocals
Peter Wolf keyboards
Tommy Mars keyboards
Arthur Barrow bass, vocals
Ed Mann percussion
Vinnie Colaiuta drums, combustible vapors
Jeff tenor sax
Marginal Chagrin baritone sax
Stumuk bass sax
Dale Bozzio vocals
Al Malkin vocals
Craig Steward harmonica
special thanks to Joe Chicarelli for the word "Appliantology"
special thanks to Ike Willis for the word "plook"
special thanks to Phil Kaufman for asking the eternal question: "Why does it hurt when I pee?"
spacial thanks to Ann Knowlins for the word "ninnies"
studios Village Recorders "B" & Ken-Dun "D"
recording engineer Joe Chicarelli
re-mix engineers Mick Glossop & Steve Nye
cover photo Norm Seeff
art director/illustrator John Williams
all selections composed, arranged & conducted by Frank Zappa
and published by Munchkin Music ASCAP
© 1979