“Sounds like you had about as much luck as Houdini had.” I can’t believe one of the hardest-working guys in the music business has nothing better to do than hang out on my porch and talk about one of the worst nights of my life.
“The door was open,” he says after a few minutes. “I left you something inside.”
I hurry into the house and almost stumble on a dozen large boxes. Of RECORDS!
“I had a lot of doubles, a lot of demos. Thought you might like to hear some of them.”
I flip through the first box; I recognize a few of the album covers, but most are new to me. Frank stops when I get to one of his favorites. “The Complete Works of Edgard Varèse, Volume One,” he says. “He blew my mind open when I was your age. I have several copies of this one—it’s a classic. I bet I’ve listened to it five thousand times.” I put the record on the turntable and Zappa leans back on one of the kitchen stools like he’s gearing up for a treat.
The song I put on is called “Ionisation”; it’s an instrumental with lots of percussion and cowbells, chimes, sirens, hammers, and triangles. I’m not sure if it’s technically considered a song because it’s so off-kilter and weird. The music is chaotic and strange and melodic and I immediately love it. (And not just because Frank is sitting right here.)
I wait a few moments before responding. “I can see what an influence this had on you—he uses a lot of the same techniques.”
“Good luck transcribing that one.” He goes through the boxes and pulls several other records for me to check out later. “The music you listen to on the radio—it’s fine. But you need to explore some of the stuff that doesn’t make Billboard.”
I stare at the boxes of records. These albums and 45s are a gold mine, Frank Zappa’s personal collection, and he’s giving them to ME? Would this have happened if I hadn’t gotten rid of my others? Is this the karma nonsense my mother keeps reading about? As Frank pours himself a glass of water, he mumbles something about the importance of a good “musical education.” No matter what prompted this act of generosity, it seems like Frank just wanted to give my music career a little nudge. Like Ryan said, maybe I need to trust in the universe a little more.
“You in a band?” Frank asks.
I tell him I used to be.
“Gotta start another one soon,” he says. “That’s how you learn to be a musician, being in a band.”
And right then and there I know exactly where I’ll be tomorrow—at the Guitar Center, hanging up a new flyer.
He spots my guitar and picks it up. IS FRANK ZAPPA GOING TO PLAY MY GUITAR? Sure enough, he leans back and lets my Gibson WAIL. It’s not a piece I recognize, just something intricate and wonderful he makes up on the spot. This is hands down the best moment of my life—and that includes kissing Caroline for the first time.
I am eternally grateful he doesn’t ask me to play and just returns my guitar to its stand. I thank Frank profusely for the records and the private performance and follow him outside. He tells me to call him when I finish the next batch of transcriptions, then heads to the bottom of the driveway.
“You’re walking?” I ask.
“My friend dropped me off with his truck. I don’t live far.”
I feel stupid offering Zappa a ride on my bike, but that’s exactly what I do. He gives a little smirk when I point to the back of my banana seat.
“Think you can pedal us both up the hill?”
Just like life has a soundtrack, it has a constant stream of images too. I get a flash of the first photograph Caroline took of me that day in my room, the Vietnamese girl running from a napalm attack, then my family sitting at the kitchen table having dinner together, not knowing it was one of the very last times. I take a mental picture as if from high above Laurel Canyon—me pedaling up the dirt road, Frank Zappa holding on as I do. And the music to accompany this image? It’s original and loud and exciting—I just haven’t written it yet.
You Asked for It, You Got It: Quinn’s List of the Most Important Albums of All Time—in no particular order
Revolver—The Beatles
The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan—Bob Dylan
Who’s Next—The Who
Pet Sounds—The Beach Boys
The Velvet Underground & Nico—The Velvet Underground & Nico
Sticky Fingers—The Rolling Stones
Abraxas—Santana
Music from Big Pink—The Band
Are You Experienced—Jimi Hendrix
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band—The Beatles
Led Zeppelin IV—Led Zeppelin
Blue—Joni Mitchell
Tommy—The Who
Live at the Apollo—James Brown
Liege and Lief—Fairport Convention
Disraeli Gears—Cream
Highway 61 Revisited—Bob Dylan
The Doors—The Doors
Tumblewead Connection—Elton John
Abbey Road—The Beatles
Elvis Presley—Elvis Presley
The Beatles (aka The White Album)—The Beatles
Freak Out!—Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention
Crosby, Stills & Nash—Crosby, Stills & Nash
The Notorious Byrd Brothers—The Byrds
Surrealistic Pillow—Jefferson Airplane
Cheap Thrills—Janis Joplin with Big Brother & the Holding Company
Led Zeppelin II—Led Zeppelin
What’s Going On—Marvin Gaye
Something/Anything?—Todd Rundgren
Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison—Johnny Cash
Paranoid—Black Sabbath
Sweetheart of the Rodeo—The Byrds
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars—David Bowie
Moondance—Van Morrison
I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You—Aretha Franklin
Tapestry—Carole King
L.A. Woman—The Doors
After the Gold Rush—Neil Young
The Gilded Palace of Sin—The Flying Burrito Brothers
Tea for the Tillerman—Cat Stevens
Exile on Main Street—The Rolling Stones
American Beauty—The Grateful Dead
For those of you who say this is too many albums to be stranded with on a desert island, I say that having these records would be more important than anything else, including food, water, and a boat. Just don’t forget the turntable.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The songs, albums, photographs, and events in this Novel were tirelessly researched—although I have to admit, Googling what month Deep Purple’s Machine Head was released straddles the line between work and procrastination. I knowingly bent only one fact for the purpose of my fiction: during the time Frank Zappa was hanging out with Quinn in Laurel Canyon, in real life he spent a chunk of that time in a wheelchair, recuperating from falling fifteen feet off a London stage when a crazed fan took a run at him. I hated to put poor Frank through that again and wanted to keep the 1971–72 time line to work Nick Ut’s photo into the story. As Quinn says, if you haven’t seen that picture, please try to find it. Forty years later, it’s just as devastating. General William Westmoreland—head of military operations during most of the Vietnam War—gave a speech years afterward saying it looked like the girl in the photo had been involved in “a hibachi accident” (Washington Post, January 19, 1986). Really, General Westmoreland? Is that what’s going on in that picture? And since the Afghan war is now the longest running war in U.S. history, I thought looking at the draft was important subject matter, too. But of course, writing this book was also a great excuse to crank up some classic rock and roll. So sit back, turn it up to eleven, and enjoy.
Joni Mitchell and Graham Nash
Carole King
Brian Jones
Jim Morrison
Charles Manson
Janis Joplin
Jerry Garcia
Cass Elliot
Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane
O
uija board
Jimmy Page
Frank Zappa
Steve Winwood
Bob Dylan
The Troubadour
David Bowie
Neil Young
Ray and Dave Davies
Pete Townshend
Carlos Santana
Bernie Leadon, Glenn Frey, Don Henley, and Randy Meisner of the Eagles
Harry Nilsson
Todd Rundgren
Other Books by Janet Tashjian
The Larry Series:
The Gospel According to Larry
Vote for Larry
Larry and the Meaning of Life
The My Life Series:
My Life as a Book
My Life as a Stuntboy
Fault Line
Multiple Choice
Tru Confessions
About the Author
JANET TASHJIAN is a longtime music buff, who can recognize almost any song within the first two notes. She still has her old albums (that she bought with the money she earned babysitting) in addition to cassettes and CDs, as well as thousands of digital downloads. She can’t imagine living in a world without music.
The author of many acclaimed novels, including The Gospel According to Larry, Vote for Larry, Larry and the Meaning of Life, and Fault Line, Janet Tashjian also collaborated on My Life as a Book and My Life as a Stuntboy with her son, Jake. She lives with her family in Los Angeles, California, not far from Laurel Canyon.
janettashjian.com
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Text copyright © 2012 by Janet Tashjian
Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Adam Gustavson
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Tashjian, Janet.
For what it’s worth / Janet Tashjian. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
“Christy Ottaviano Books.”
Summary: Living in Los Angeles’ Laurel Canyon neighborhood, fourteen-year-old Quinn’s life has been consumed by music and the famous musicians who live nearby, but in 1971, his first girlfriend, a substitute teacher, and a draft dodger help open his eyes about the Vietnam War.
ISBN 978-0-8050-9365-0 (hc)
[1. Rock music—Fiction. 2. Musicians—Fiction. 3. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 4. Family life—California—Los Angeles—Fiction. 5. Teachers—Fiction. 6. Draft resisters—Fiction. 7. Vietnam War, 1961–1975—Fiction. 8. Los Angeles (Calif.)—History—20th century—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: For what it is worth.
PZ7.T211135For 2012
[Fic]—dc23
2011032001
eISBN 978-0-8050-9633-0
First Edition—2012