from usa 25 january 1981 (SUNDAY) NEWSDAY vol.41 #142
by john morthland
is 24 november 1980 interview

note: text - with slight changes and some extensions - reprinted in usa 1 june 1981 MUSIC AND SOUND OUTPUT vol.1 #4 [may / june 1981 on inner pages] as captain beefheart

THIS is PART 1 - part 2

'hey, man, take a look at these', captain beefheart exclaims, holding some slides up to the bare bulb in his dressing rooms at the beacon theater in manhattan. 'these are some pictures!' taken by a local freelancer, the slides show beefheart standing at the microphone, blowing his soprano sax. 'these were taken in 1969 (should be: late january 1971 - t.t.) at 'ungano's', the first time i came to new york', he exclaims, and it's hard not to do a double-take. in eleven years, beefheart appears to have aged hardly at all.

it figures, because the music of captain beefheart and the magic band is just as timeless. in twelve albums spread out over thirteen years, beefheart has created a body of work that breaks almost every rule in american music and still results in something that couldn't possibly be anything but american music. and with rare exceptions - one album hoked up electronically by the producer ['strictly personal' - t.t.], an unauthorized collection of out-takes [bootleg 'another chapter from the lives and times of captain beefheart'], a collaboration with frank zappa that is mostly zappa ['bongo fury'] - all his music could well have been released yesterday or twenty years ago or twenty years in the future. it sounds like nothing else on the market, stands outside all trends and movements, and has earned beefheart a following that has kept him going all this time despite sales low enough to drive most people out of the music business.

though he will admit to liking the work of igor stravinsky ('when he's conducting it himself'), howling wolf ('because he's a howling wolf, that's why') and muddy waters ('when he's not playing with white people'), beefheart will admit to having no musical influences, and it's easy to see why. still, there are rough analogies. his irregular, stop-and-go rhythms and abrasive, crosscutting guitars would seem to be rooted in blues. the horn work would be compatible with free jazz. the synthesizers add a futuristic touch. then there is his own hair-raising, seven-and-a-half-octave voice - which is so powerful it once shattered a new $1200 recording studio mike - and his stream-of-consciousness lyrics, the distinct flavor of which can be gleaned from a couple of song titles on 'doc at the radar station', his current album: 'a carrot is as close as a rabbit gets to a diamond', for example, or 'making love to a vampire with a monkey on my knee' (his most stunning new song).

after lasting years with virtually no recognition, captain beefheart is now being cited as a major influence by countless groups - most of them british - in the wake of the punk movement. some are themselves cult heroes (pere ubu, essential logic, young marble giants, delta 5), but a few more are by now fairly well entrenched (public image ltd., gang of four) and a couple could even be considered stars (the clash, possibly 'devo').

captain beefheart chuckles when the subject comes up.

you mean i'm the most stolen after.... actually, i've never heard any of those groups. i mean, i hear myself enough, and listening to them would be like playing in my own vomit. i haven't even listened to my new album, and i like that album. so i've heard of all these groups, but i never listened to them because it's not original, i've already heard it.

they're following someone else and it's that same old boom boom boom boom mother's heartbeat beat, too, and we had enough of that a long time ago. if they want to appreciate my art, fine, but why should they destroy themselves and build up harbored guilt? that's not what art is for. surely they're upset if all they do is my music. the wrong way. they could never do it the right way because i already did it.

as beefheart speaks, it is a few days before his 'beacon theater' concert [28 november 1980] and a couple of days after his appearance had salvaged an otherwise dismal installment of saturday night live [22 november 1980]. he is holding forth in his hotel suite, alternately relaxed in an easy chair or pacing amongst the suitcases and bags on the floor, pulling cigarettes from three different packs according to what brand he feels like at the moment.

he is wearing brown corduroy pants, a brown khaki shirt and a red neck scarf that he also wears onstage. as always, there's a clothes pin clipped to his shirt (he is often asked why he wears it, and gives a different answer almost every time). though his comments on the other bands sound harsh, there's a twinkle in his eye as he makes them; he speaks in sorrow as well as in anger. as in his songs, his speech follows its own logic, is full of puns and metaphors that don't convey precise thoughts as much as they convey a mood or image or state of mind.

don van vliet (his real name) was born and raised on southern california's mojave desert. though he has since lived in los angeles and in the northern california coastal town of trinidad, today he and his wife jan live back on the desert, in a house trailer in lancaster. as a boy, he studied sculpture, which he still practices today; he is also an idiosyncratic painter whose art adorns several of his album covers, and he writes both poetry and novels.

but when beefheart first went public with his creative work, he chose music as his vehicle because:

it's more perishable; it's more swirling, like smoke. it's harder to sculpt music, too. but i'm glad i went at it that way, through a sculptor's eyes, because it's more fun. i do it as an irritation, that's why i do music. i do it to irritate myself, because a little paranoia is a good propeller.