Posted on 10/07/2015 9:56:09 PM PDT by dayglored
Gail Zappa, wife of Frank Zappa and executrix of the Zappa Family Trust, has died. She was 70. A cause of death has not been revealed, though TMZ reported she had had a long battle with lung cancer. Zappa, "departed this earth peacefully at her home ... surrounded by her children," according to a statement from the Zappa Family Trust.
"Gail will forever be identified as a key figure in the creative renaissance that is Laurel Canyon," the statement says. "But more than any singular accomplishment, she defined herself in her personal relationships, happiest when surrounded by loved ones and artists, often one in the same. The memories she leaves behind are indeed her own art form. Her searing intelligence, unforgettable smile, wild thicket of hair and trailing black velvets leave a blur in her wake."
After her prolific husband died of prostate cancer in 1993, Gail kept Frank's recordings in the public, putting out dozens of posthumous albums and judiciously licensing his image where appropriate. Earlier this year, the Zappa family announced that the couple's son Ahmet would be in charge of the Trust.
Gail, whose full maiden name was Adelaide Gail Sloatman, was born on January 1st, 1945, the daughter of a nuclear weapons research physicist with the U.S. Navy, according to Zappa biographer Barry Miles. She lived with her family in London as a teenager and got a job as a secretary for the Office of Naval Research and Development rather than attend college....
(Excerpt) Read more at rollingstone.com ...
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Great pic!
I was at that show!
Flakes! Flakes!
Flakes! Flakes!
They don’t do no good
They never be workin’
When they oughta should
They waste your time
They’re wastin’ mine
California’s got the most of them
Boy, they got a host of them
Swear t’God they got the most
At every business on the coast
Swear t’God they got the most
At every business on the coast
They got the Flakes
Flakes! Flakes!
They can’t fix yer brakes
You ask ‘em, “Where’s my motor?”
“Well it was eaten by snakes . . .”
You can stab ‘n’ shoot ‘n’ spit
But they won’t be fixin’ it
They’re lyin’ an’ lazy
They can be drivin’ you crazy
Swear t’God they got the most
At every business on the coast
Swear t’God they got the most
At every business on the coast
(Take it away, Bob. . .)
I asked as nice as I could
If my job would
Somehow be finished by Friday
Well, the whole damn weekend
Came ‘n’ went, Frankie
(Wanna buy some mandies, Bob?)
‘N’they didn’t do nothin’
But they charged me double for Sunday
You know, no matter what you do
They gonna cheat ‘n’ rob you
Then they’ll send you a bill
That’ll get your senses reelin’
And if you do not pay
They got computer collectors
That’ll get you so crazy
Til your head’ll go through th’ ceilin’
Yes it will!
I’m a moron ‘n’ this is my wife
She’s frosting a cake
With a paper knife
All what we got here’s
American made
It’s a little bit cheesey,
But it’s nicely displayed
Well we don’t get excited when it
Crumbles ‘n’ breaks
We just get on the phone
And call up some Flakes
They rush on over
‘N’ wreck it some more
‘N’ we are so dumb
They’re linin’ up at our door
Well, the toilet went crazy
Yesterday afternoon
The plumber he says
“Never flush a tampoon!”
This great information
Cost me half a week’s pay
And the toilet blew up
Later on the next day ay-eee-ay
Blew up the next day WOO-OOO
We are millions ‘n’ millions
We’re coming to get you
We’re protected by unions
So don’t let it upset you
Can’t escape the conclusion
It’s probably God’s Will
That civilization
Will grind to a standstill
And we are the people
Who will make it all happen
While yer children is sleepin’,
Yer puppy is crappin’
You might call us Flakes
Or something else you might coin us
But we know you’re so greedy
That you’ll probably join us
We’re comin’ to get you, we’re comin’ to get you
We’re comin’ to get you, we’re comin’ to get you
We’re comin’ to get you, we’re comin’ to get you
We’re comin’ to get you, we’re comin’ to get you
RIP Mrs. Zappa.
L
I saw Zappa times. I never missed a show in Chicago.
L
Lowell should have listened.
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