The landscape drawing on the right was still hanging on FZ's wall in 1970:
Both of these pieces exist in the Vault as is and are labeled as herein contained.
One of the other great jobs was as a rhythm guitarist in a pickup band at a Christmas dance in a Mormon recreation hall. The room was decorated with wads of cotton hanging on black thread (snowballs, get it?). The band consisted of sax, drums and guitar. I borrowed a fake-book so I could follow the chord changes, since I didn't know any of the tunes. The sax player was, in civilian life, a Spanish teacher from the local high school. He had no sense of rhythm and couldn't even count the tunes off, but he was the leader of the band.
I didn't know anything about Mormons at the time, so, during a break when I lit up a cigarette, it was as if The Devil Himself had just made a rare personal appearance. A bunch of guys who looked like they weren't quite ready to shave yet started flailing over to me and, in a brotherly sort of way, escorted my ass out the door. I knew I was going to love show business if I ever got into it.
Both of these pieces exist in the Vault as is and are labeled as herein contained. And you are there—along with FZ, Ray Collins, Al Surratt and at least one other cohort.
The next delight, Mr Clean, is an alternate mono mix of the original single, originally released on Original Sound, August, 1963. We don't know when this mix was done and we don't know the name of the singer FZ credited as Mr. Clean—but we do know Paul Buff was the engineer and FZ played all the instruments and Joe [...] says it's gotta be the little Pal Recording Studio that came to be Studio Z.
Now before we get on the bus from Studio Z, we wish to thrill you with an unreleased, other recording of Why Don'tcha Do Me Right? Featuring Floyd, yes, on vocals and FZ on guitar and vocals—in nonthreatening mono.
I won't be sittin' next to the radiator
And those . . . those curtains with the big roses on 'em
[...]
Sittin' there next to the little forty-five dollar record player ya bought me
Next stop, we present The Muthers/Power Trio, per Joe, as referenced by FZ in interviews [...]. FZ (guitar), Les Papp (drums), Paul Woods (bass). You can revisit them on the Mystery Disc (Power Trio Segment from The Saints 'n Sinners) from whence came this also.
Gene: I'd like to play "Caravan." [...] I brought my guitar.
FZ: Well, come on. We're gonna get Gene up here now to play "Caravan." Come on, give him a big hand. Well, come on!
The Purse (aka Al Surratt Examines The Purse—and this is the incomplete version).
I have a French poodle.
The school spirit is something wonderful this year.
I am sweetheart for the DeMolay chapter of Barstow. That's a boys' organization of Masons.
These pieces are as is and exist on an ancient demo reel. In order to publish a piece it must have a title. This first track is named for obvious reasons, including that it is true—the Moon of Now is a different one than graced our heavens Then.
GTR Trio (as labeled by FZ) is the last tape and the prelude to the demise of Studio Z. [...] This is "....the tape that we made the night before the cops came in and raided the studio in Cucamonga" and is the Mother of Bossa Nova Pervertamento (Mystery Disc). FZ (guitar), Les Papp (drums), Bobby Saldana (bass).
Suckit Rockit is the name on the box. FZ & Ray Collins discuss hope for all teenagers.
This really is Mousie's First Xmas—it being the debut of these two tracks. The music reminded me of my first outing with Selma [Blair]. It was me, Diva, Selma & Ahmet getting pedicures. [...] Selma had a hand puppet (and who doesn't in her family) named Mousie who made a sudden appearance in the shop.
Finally, The Uncle Frankie Show, part of a series recorded for air on KSPC, at Pomona College, Claremont, California—as is.
A little animated thing, you know, showing teen life in Pollard Slough.
This may be an allusion to Night Monster, a 1942 horror movie.
buy him a carton of cigarettes and a jar of Tackle
After shave lotion.
Additional informant: Javier Marcote
Research, compilation and maintenance by Román García Albertos
