The Mothers

I’ve only ever had one “proper job.” That was when I worked as a trainee draughtsman at Rolls Royce aircraft engineering works in Filton, a suburb of Bristol. Due to appalling time-keeping and numerous run-ins with the bosses, I’d already used up any goodwill I had the time I’d been there 6months. I was more or less given an ultimatum - one more day-off this month and you’re fired!

Weekends I’d been playing in a soul band, Strangefruit, and we used to gig mostly around the Birmingham area. We’d play a gig on a Sunday night and after we’d made the trip down the A38 (this was pre-motorway days), I would alight from the van at about 4.30 am outside the drawing office. Then, making a bed on the pavement, I would grab whatever sleep I could get before the office opened at 8 o’clock.

This was not ideal preparation for a day’s work at the cutting edge of aircraft design. I was a useless draughtsman ‘cos I was asleep by lunchtime. I was being paid £4.19s.4d for a 40 hour week by Rolls Royce yet I frequently came back from a weekend playing with Strangefruit with 20 quid in my pocket. A dilemma – I could earn 4 times as much as a musician as I’m getting paid in my “proper job.”

A few months later I moved into in a flat in Clifton, Bristol with my friends Ed and Terry. My problems only got worse. Ed, Terry and Al ran the best club in Bristol at the time (and probably anytime since). The Granary booked the best bands available in the late 60’s. When we weren’t at The Granary we were at the Dugout on Park Row, a cramped, sweaty club that was an absolutely brilliant place to drink, listen to music, meet women or whatever.

So, my dilemma was, do I work at being a draughtsman or a musician?

I made a decision – I’m going to knuckle down and turn up to work on time and try and ignore the fact that my flatmates are going out and getting wasted every night. I can’t do both.

This all came to a head when, on Tues 3rd June 1969, my flatmates and friends went off to the Colson Hall in Bristol to see the Mothers Of Invention, who were in town to promote their new album. Meanwhile, stone cold sober, I retired to bed at 10.30 to dream of ram-jets and turbines. I was determined to give this day-job a go.

The Mothers played their gig at the Colston Hall and Ed got them all to autograph his copy of “Uncle Meat.” An amount of drink was taken on board. “Come back to our place,” they said. “Let’s have a party!” and they rounded up a few more hedonists and a couple of crates of wine.

So it was that, round about midnight I was woken from a deep slumber by a bunch of hysterical drunk people standing round my bed shouting, “The Mothers are here! The Mothers are here!”

“Eh? My mother’s here?” I said. “What the hell is she doing here?”

“No, no, no,, no, no, shuddup and lishen, hic, you shee THE MOTHERS ARE HERE! In the flat!” “Geddup!”

And they hauled me out of bed.I threw on some clothes and lumbered, still half asleep, into the living room. Could this be a strange dream?

There they all were; Jimmy Carl Black, Motorhead Newman, Bunk Gardener, Arthur Tripp, Don Preston and Ian Underwood.

“Where’s Frank?” I said.

Zappa, as is well documented, disapproved strongly of narcotics, alcohol and over indulgence, so he was safely tucked up in bed at his hotel.

If he had any inkling of what his band were up to I think he would have sacked the lot of them.

Jimmy Carl Black alone must have had a year’s supply of laughing tobacco or “loco weed,” as he called it. A full-on party ensued during which Jimmy told numerous stories about Frank and demonstrated how to open a bottle of wine without a corkscrew by banging it violently against a wall – a limited success, and fine if you don’t want any wine left in the bottle and if you’re wearing a sou’wester. Sometime around dawn everybody got the munchies and cheese and bacon sandwiches miraculously appeared from the kitchen. The Mothers were too out of it to find their hotel so we said, “Have our beds – we’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No man – we’ll sleep on the floor.” Bless ‘em - they did. We found some blankets and sleeping bags and everybody crashed.

I woke about 4 pm. I was 7 hours late for work. I was fired 3 weeks later - fucking Mothers Of Invention.

I could have been head of section by now. I could have been somebody - I could have been a contender!

I like to think that Frank would have approved of my valiant effort to hold down a day job under these circumstances.

I couldn’t share this with anybody at work. “I’m sorry I’m late but I was up all night with the Mothers Of Invention,” wouldn’t have gone down well.