and those that were willing were to report to a giant log cabin situated among the tall trees in laurel canyon of the hollywood hills between the hours of 6 and 10PM. to minimize the attendance of people with potential ulterior motives and to maximize genuine interest, the name ‘frank zappa’ was completely left out of the ad.
arriving at the door to greet the auditionees was a skinny girl with clown-like eye makeup and a huge smile on her face. "you're here for mr. z?”, she’d ask, “sure! come on in!" and she’d roll out her wrist for her fluffy-sleeved hand to be taken.
they would be led by the girl through the vast, semi-dilapidated living room of zany-looking humans strung over furniture — a musician here (mick jagger with his lovely company marianne faithfull), a film producer there, a couple of groupies (the girl group girl’s together outrageously), and some people frank definitely didn't know doing something he definitely didn't condone in front of the fireplace. a handful of that crowd clapped their hands in applause for the newcomer's appearance. they would then be led down the stairs to the otherwise off-limits basement-turned recording studio where “the magic” really happened: where the magic usually happened, if it weren’t for frank’s patience running incredibly thin. he had plans for their album to be finished by the end of the year but had little faith in seeing it through to completion by its desired date due to his current line up of musicians’ inability to read music. though the end result was always brilliant, teaching each member of the band ten bars at a time proved to be no easy feat and if he’d have known he’d be spending his entire evening babying, he’d have went upstairs to baby his own damn baby. all he could do was chain smoke, chain chug (coffee) and pray that whoever came by for the part at least knew how to count.
there was a make-shift waiting room set up outside of the basement studio door with two chairs, a small table, and ashtray to soothe your nerves. behind the glass stood the tall, mustached conductor with his black hair tied back and several other musicians sitting or standing around with all kinds of different instruments in their hands. frank had his right hand up in the air, swinging up, down, left and right in tight increments as he conducted his great musical vision, but upon his assistant entering the waiting room he turned his head around, shot daggers her way with his sharp, unforgiving gaze and, while not missing a single beat with his right hand, motioned for her to 'stop' with his left. the girl smiled sheepishly and visibly cowered, turning to her client. “hhh-he’ll be right with you,” she said, patting their shoulder. “good luck in there,” and she scurried up the stairs, leaving them to their own devices.
