Do I have to write any words at all?

Surely John Peel’s love for Don Van Vliet says it all. Surely the sunken hearts of every teenager who bought Trout Mask Replica in the belief it was the best album ever, only to realise it was a collection of sixth form poetry and farm noises says it all. Surely the fact that John Harris recently decided it was alright said it was alright for the rest of the universe to pull back and reveal it was all just ONE BIG JOKE ON PUDDING BOWL HAIRCUTTED WORZEL GUMMIDGE.

There really isn’t anything I need to say to persuade anyone, surely, that Beefy is a pile of old toss. OK if you want to get a selection of poor third hand blues numbers mixed with sea shanties which would get your arsed kicked from here to Portsmouth Docks if you actually sung them to a sailor. Actually they would probably make Beefheart walk the plank too, the sound of which would probably be track thirteen off of one of his other interminable albums. It may not be his fault that he knew Zappa as a kid, but that is certainly no reason to let him produce your album. Did the Monkees let Charles Manson produce THEIR albums*? Did the Beatles let an absolutely loony and potential murderer produce one of their albums? Well, yes, but it was Let It Be, which stinks up their already stinky back catalogue. POINT IS, if you are shit to begin with, being produced by the Frank Zappa is certainly not going to help. Though in Beefheart’s case, only surgery and being locked in a padded, soundproof room would really help.

In a lot of ways I like Beefheart. Not the music. Heaven forfend. But there is a certainly glazed look you get from music fans, the morning after they have bought Trout Mask Replica. It is the glance of befuddlement, the disillusionment with this wondrous thing they thought the history of music was. They walked in to buy something that would give weight to their collection of Sum 41 albums, to suggest that they were now to be counted amongst the tasteful, respectful musicphiles. Instead they were left with a record they never wanted to play again. And the sense of being sold a pup. Or in this case a pup with diarrhea. Proof? Just look up the album on Ebay. See a copy ever go for more than a quid and you might also see Scooch have another hit single. Its that rare, because its that rubbish.

*Actually, perhaps they should have. Then their theme tune could have been

“Here they come, shambling down the street
There appear to be no legs attached to their feet”