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Sunday, November 11, 2007

Frank Zappa, Soldiers' Porn and Vilnius

My friends at Wizbang recent posted a piece about the effort of one censorious individual to deny American soldiers their Penthouses. The post's author, Jay Tea, mischievously entitled the post "Insert Frank Zappa Song Title Here," and being a dedicated fan of the man that Andres Segovia called "the greatest composer of the 20th century," I immediately deduced that the correct answer to Jay's clever riddle was "Titties 'N' Beer," (from Baby Snakes, 1983). But I got carried away in my comment when I could not resist the temptation to comb the Zappa discography for other Zappa songs that aptly applied to contemporary matters.

My comment was followed by yet another riddle from one "epador," asking the location of the only city park dedicated to the man.

"Must be Palmdale," I reflexively thought. Palmdale, of course, is the Los Angeles exurb on the edge of the Mojave Desert where Zappa spent his teen years, during which the Doo-Wop music of the day infused his early musical genius. His affection for the community inspired the 1974 number Village of the Sun (Roxy & Elsewhere, 1974), a song that suggests his fondest memories of the city are the ubiquity of turkey farmers and the blistering sandstorms that "take the paint off your car and wreck your windshield too."

But I was wrong! Frank Zappa's hometown, in fact, pay no homage whasoever to the man. Feh.

Being the Zappophile that I am, my curiosity led me to the correct answer to epador's quiz.
There is, in fact, a bronze statue of Frank Zappa located in a private park in Vilnius, Lithuania. And its origin is a story demonstrably worthy of the man.

In 2002, Rolling Stone Magazine told the story:

It goes like this: In the early Nineties, a determined group of Zappa-admiring friends gathered regularly in a local cafe to swap records. Communist rule, which suppressed American culture, had recently collapsed, opening the doors for Lithuanian music lovers to get their hands on previously inaccessible Western albums.

Paukstys, thirty-seven, and his friends sought to spread their love of Zappa, who was all but unknown to Lithuania's 3 million citizens. But with no personal connection to the American legend, the club resorted to bluffing its way into the limelight by creating two bogus Zappa exhibits at a local art gallery. The first featured letters supposedly written by Zappa to his Lithuanian admirers. Widespread reaction in Vilnius inspired a second exhibit titled "Memorial Objects of Frank Zappa," featuring clocks, knives, pens and clothes claimed to have been owned by Zappa. But none of the items had traveled further than Paukstys' apartment.

The made-up exhibitions were a massive hit with the Lithuanian public, most of whom -- due to the political situation -- readily embraced anything American. When local journalists inquired about the exhibitions, Paukstys promptly fabricated his widely published story about his brush with Zappa.

"We just needed a story," says dry-humored, mild-mannered Paukstys. "We never saw Zappa, but nobody ever saw God, and they still go to church," says partner-in-crime Vytautas Kernagis, a respected Lithuania musician. "Lithuania is a nation of mythology, legends and fairy tales. Everything is mystified. People believe really quickly, and one of the myths is that independence is good for everyone, with no exceptions. That's why, in such an environment, the Zappa seeds were so successfully planted."

Paukstys tested the phenomenon's limits by proposing a Vilnius-based Zappa statue to the city council. He accumulated more than 300 signatures from bandwagon Zappa fans and offered to privately finance the project. The cash-strapped state deemed it absurd, but nonetheless approved the measure.

To many, the Zappa project symbolized a chance for Lithuania to distance itself from Russia while boasting its Western aspirations. Thanks to concerts and donated art works sold for cash, the Club raised nearly $3,000. Konstantinas Bogdanas, the most renowned Lithuanian sculptor who made his living casting portraits of Vladimir Lenin, donated his skills. The owner of a big business construction company installed the 4.2-meter high bronze bust in exchange for a bottle of liquor.

The only detour came when the original plan to plant the monument near a city art school incited outrage from school administrators, who feared a statue of Zappa, known for his anti-establishment lyrics, would corrupt its students. So Paukstys proposed a new site, and today a somber, pony-tailed Zappa rests in a peaceful park, just a thirty-second walk from one of the city's main drags. Thanks to a French art club, a Zappa portrait looks on the statue from an the adjacent wall.

Zappa surely would have appreciated the irony of the statue's opening ceremony, when a military orchestra played his tunes. The company that owns the rights to Zappa's songs in the country donated the entire oeuvre and heaps of books on the skilled guitarist to the fan club. All of this authentic paraphernalia was housed in an art gallery, but since some collectibles soon disappeared, Paukstys now stores the materials at home.

Today, the statue is mainly a tourist attraction and a site for radio stations to do remote broadcasts. "It was a bluff and it turned into an art," says Kernagis.

Thank you, epador, for providing me with this most edifying Sunday morning divergence.
Posted by: Wave Maker / 9:39 AM/ |


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