>cool dude >terrible content
idk doesn't really work in literature since we know them primarily through content, not interviews
unless you're british and maybe martin amis, will money etc? They're unreadable...
probably no america equivalent of cool vs bad
inb4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHiclrHm-ig
I assumed it was because he played rock and roll, which is supposed to be immature and exaggerated
His own explanation from the mid-70s onwards was that his idiot audience wouldn't listen to the music otherwise, and the money earned putting out songs like "breasts N Beer" could go to paying for his orchestral experiments.
12 months ago
Anonymous
Never bought that explanation. If he wanted a quick buck, he could easily have written songs for other artists, like Prince or the Bee Gees did. Reckon he thought it was hilarious then grew up and found it cringe
12 months ago
Anonymous
He seemed to really go back and forth on it, I'm inclined to agree that it's just an excuse for something he knew he couldn't defend otherwise. I mean, his audience wasn't clamoring for frickin Thing-Fish. Otoh, he really didn't seem to think well of his audience.
12 months ago
Anonymous
Yet somehow every other avant garde musician managed to get away without doing that. Unless I've missed a Terry Riley album about farts
He seemed to really go back and forth on it, I'm inclined to agree that it's just an excuse for something he knew he couldn't defend otherwise. I mean, his audience wasn't clamoring for frickin Thing-Fish. Otoh, he really didn't seem to think well of his audience.
I've never made up my mind about Zappa. Okay, go be an experimental dude. Sun Ra does it. Ornette Coleman, all the minimilaists and so on. But Zappa always seems butthurt that somehow his Varese stuff didn't sell
>overrated artist renown by boomers for transgressiveness and performative progressivism
billy burroughs
hot rats is still good, so is cities of the red night
Norman Mailer -- lots of evident talent and energy put to questionable but interesting use, lots of youthful radicalism that grinds down into a kind of stodgy conservatism, controversial pretty much for the sake of it, ill-planned ventures into film they should've kept out of.
Seems like he would be a dicklit writer alongside Palacuck and Bret. Edgy, “social critique”, popular mostly with men of a certain age, uses sexual topics as bait.
— "Transgressive" in the same way George Carlin was transgressive; i.e. happy to offend all the people he knew full well would never hurt him, and slavishly conformist to every dot and comma of modern liberal dogma
— Wildly overrated by adolescents of all ages
Pynchon is the obvious candidate, as several anons have already pointed out. (Of course, some people might be saying "Pynchon" thinking it's a compliment.) There are lots of other suggestions though. Burroughs, Ginsberg, Palahniuk, HST, American Psycho Man, whatever.
I never really made it with her (I never laid her) and I'm sorry. After Tom and I left the company together, I never went back, and I never saw or spoke to her again. I tried. I'm sorry. I miss her. I love her. I want her back. I remember her clearly now when I try to remember everything important that ever happened to me. I think of her often as I sit at my desk in my office and have no work for the company I want to do. And I think of her often in the evenings, too, when I sit at home with my wife and my children and the maid and the nurse and have nothing better I want to do there, either, biting my nails addictively like a starving hunchback as I slump in a chair in my living room or study and wish for something novel to occur that will keep me awake until bedtime. I liked the fact that she was short and slightly plump (and wherever my hands fell, there was something full to hold and feel). I remember how clear and smooth and bright her skin was; her dimples deepened when she laughed. She laughed and smiled a lot. I miss that gaiety. Now I *would* know what to do with her. I want another chance. Then I remember who I am; I remember she would still be four years older than I am now, short, overweight, and dumpy, probably, and perhaps something of a talkative bore, which is not the person I'm yearning for at all. (That person isn't here anymore.) Then I remember she's dead.
Prob this guy.
the question he is implying is who was as prolific and sophisticated a writer as zappa was a musician and composer
I love 80s short haircut and suit political Zappa
Zappa molested my aunt
I have a similar story about it's George Lopez trying to frick my aunt after Mrs. Lopez gave him her kidney.
>for me it’s Cardiacs
based
One Hundred Years of Solitude or something
dfw
>cool dude
>terrible content
idk doesn't really work in literature since we know them primarily through content, not interviews
unless you're british and maybe martin amis, will money etc? They're unreadable...
probably no america equivalent of cool vs bad
inb4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHiclrHm-ig
>terrible content
as far as lyrics go, yes
the actual music always showed a firm understanding of various genres
I always thought it was a clever contrast, smart musicianship with juvenile, sophomoric lyrics. I think that was Franks intention the entire time.
I assumed it was because he played rock and roll, which is supposed to be immature and exaggerated
His own explanation from the mid-70s onwards was that his idiot audience wouldn't listen to the music otherwise, and the money earned putting out songs like "breasts N Beer" could go to paying for his orchestral experiments.
Never bought that explanation. If he wanted a quick buck, he could easily have written songs for other artists, like Prince or the Bee Gees did. Reckon he thought it was hilarious then grew up and found it cringe
He seemed to really go back and forth on it, I'm inclined to agree that it's just an excuse for something he knew he couldn't defend otherwise. I mean, his audience wasn't clamoring for frickin Thing-Fish. Otoh, he really didn't seem to think well of his audience.
Yet somehow every other avant garde musician managed to get away without doing that. Unless I've missed a Terry Riley album about farts
I've never made up my mind about Zappa. Okay, go be an experimental dude. Sun Ra does it. Ornette Coleman, all the minimilaists and so on. But Zappa always seems butthurt that somehow his Varese stuff didn't sell
Joe's Garage is unironically predicted the modern coomer zoomer
>overrated artist renown by boomers for transgressiveness and performative progressivism
billy burroughs
hot rats is still good, so is cities of the red night
Standing on the corner of the lieder hotel, floozies in the lobby love the way I smell HOT BEEF! HOT RATS!
I'll ignore your cheap aroma
And your Little-Bo-Peep diploma
I'll just put you in a coma with some dirty love
Pynchon duh
Add Richard Brautigan
hitler
A pile of hog faeces.
Norman Mailer -- lots of evident talent and energy put to questionable but interesting use, lots of youthful radicalism that grinds down into a kind of stodgy conservatism, controversial pretty much for the sake of it, ill-planned ventures into film they should've kept out of.
You missed off
>cannot into quality control
Kek, I think I implied that with "talent put to questionable use", but yes, that's certainly true.
Nietchze unironically
>xylophone solo
>Zippy dot doo, God is dead
>toilet sounds
>zippy wee wee, the hippies/humanists were lying to you
>guitar solo
Ken Kesey
Pynchon or suicidal tennis man. Maybe Palahniuk
Unironically ironically Mark Leyner
Seems like he would be a dicklit writer alongside Palacuck and Bret. Edgy, “social critique”, popular mostly with men of a certain age, uses sexual topics as bait.
Jan Potocki
burroughs
Hmm, let's think:
— Talented but infantile
— "Transgressive" in the same way George Carlin was transgressive; i.e. happy to offend all the people he knew full well would never hurt him, and slavishly conformist to every dot and comma of modern liberal dogma
— Wildly overrated by adolescents of all ages
Pynchon is the obvious candidate, as several anons have already pointed out. (Of course, some people might be saying "Pynchon" thinking it's a compliment.) There are lots of other suggestions though. Burroughs, Ginsberg, Palahniuk, HST, American Psycho Man, whatever.
Lets narrow it down, what is the Watermelons in Easter Hay guitar solo of literature? Something both melancholic and also somewhat abrasive.
>melancholic and also somewhat abrasive
I never really made it with her (I never laid her) and I'm sorry. After Tom and I left the company together, I never went back, and I never saw or spoke to her again. I tried. I'm sorry. I miss her. I love her. I want her back. I remember her clearly now when I try to remember everything important that ever happened to me. I think of her often as I sit at my desk in my office and have no work for the company I want to do. And I think of her often in the evenings, too, when I sit at home with my wife and my children and the maid and the nurse and have nothing better I want to do there, either, biting my nails addictively like a starving hunchback as I slump in a chair in my living room or study and wish for something novel to occur that will keep me awake until bedtime. I liked the fact that she was short and slightly plump (and wherever my hands fell, there was something full to hold and feel). I remember how clear and smooth and bright her skin was; her dimples deepened when she laughed. She laughed and smiled a lot. I miss that gaiety. Now I *would* know what to do with her. I want another chance. Then I remember who I am; I remember she would still be four years older than I am now, short, overweight, and dumpy, probably, and perhaps something of a talkative bore, which is not the person I'm yearning for at all. (That person isn't here anymore.) Then I remember she's dead.
I'd say John Barth if not for the fact that Barth is actually funny
Sam Elliot?