The	click here for the home page of the new bryanbellerdotcom

How y'all do!!! I'm a bit under the weather, so I've been inside a lot and have been feeling, well, reflective. I know you're all really concerned, don't worry, I won't get emotional with you or anything (sob), but this week in December, as we all know, is two years since the patriarch of the Zappa clan passed away. Now, I have a confession to make--I am not, nor was I ever, a Frank Zappa freak. I love a lot of his music, I have about 20 of his CD's, I'm familiar with many more, but I never really wished I was the guy at that theater in NYC having vegetable juice squirted on as I lay prone on the stage, if you know what I mean. Obviously Mike and Z drummer Joe Travers are freaks in every sense of the word (knowledge of every member in every different band, owners of all 60+ CD's and even more vinyl, bootlegs, and masters of every reference of "conceptual continuity" known in existence, etc.). So the perspective I'll try to lend you on that time period is much of that of an outsider looking in.

I had only been in LA for two weeks, and there was going to be a birthday party for Diva. Going to "the house", as we still call it, was for me a terrifying prospect. There is a close-knit culture up there, and I was new guy extraordinaire. The Frank I knew existed only in pictures and posters, which would explain my shock as what I perceived to be a poster on a wall suddenly moved forward to shake my hand and murmur in that unmistakable baritone of his, "It's nice to meet you, Bryan". But this wasn't the FZ I'd seen on Capitol Hill, or in "Baby Snakes", or anywhere--he was thin, frail, with a pirate's long, gray beard. It was shocking. You have to understand (and I'm bashing the nearest piece of wood with my knuckles as I type this) that I've never been to a funeral, or even been friends with someone who died, and here I am meeting Frank Zappa for the first time with the knowledge that he'd soon be gone. Very strange and unsettling.

One of the other times I met him was a bit more relaxed, if you call sitting in a room with Frank, Gail, Dweezil, Vinnie Coliauta, Terry Bozzio, Mike, Joe and a few other friends of FZ relaxing. It was very quiet when Frank spoke, eerie almost. Thankfully, the mood lightened when Frank started ripping the shit out of the 1993 MTV Music Awards, which had aired a few days back. I was pretty excited about the fact that John Paul Jones, one of my idols, had played bass with Lenny Kravitz for "Are You Gonna Go My Way", and I had the audacity to ask Frank what he thought. I got exactly what I deserved- -something like, "Oh yeah, you take a little Jimi Hendrix, a little Sly Stone, throw some bellbottoms and some dreadlocks on, and... presto, marketing genius." Then he turned his attention to Vinnie; FZ proceeded to chastise who he called "the best drummer on the planet" for going boom-boom-bap, boom-boom-bap during Sting's tune on the show. At this point he looks at me, chuckling, and says, "And Sting--how about that bass playing?!" Now, I happened to think Sting was a pretty good bass player for what he does, but fearful of another scolding, I played it very safe; I simply shrugged my shoulders, put my hands out in front of me and made a confused noise that went something like this: "hmmmfrfrfmfm". He understood, I guess.

The point being, Frank had this very powerful aura about him, and at times like that, near the end, it was even more powerful because everyone around him would hang on every word he said, savoring the sound of his voice, and the truth of his words. It made someone who wasn't even a diehard fan say things like "hmmmfrfrfmfm", or worse. "The house" is obviously different now, but I can't help but think about those first couple of months up there, when we weren't really working, and mostly waiting.

My most recent visit to the house was to hear the near final sequence of the U.S. version of "Music For Pets", and, let me tell you, it sure is different than the French version. I'm not going to give it away for those who do have the French version, but if you really want a complete picture of the torturous journey of the making of "Music For Pets", then hearing that sequence compared to what will hit U.S. stores in late 2/96 (you all know better than to hold me to that, right?) is the way to go. I know freaks who've mail-ordered it from the Virgin Megastore in Paris. Parlez vous Francais? Z updates are precarious at best, and to you trusty souls out there who've been subjected to endless delays waiting for any sort of product from Z and are still around, I can only apologize, sympathize (I am fucking DYING to go back on the road) and give you this piece of advice: it ain't easy to be an independent label in the days of the Buzz Clip. It's hard to be objective about it at this point, but I can promise you this--it's an interesting record.

OK, this reflectiveness bullshit has gone on long enough. I'm gonna sign off for now, and leave you with this teaser---anyone who misses Keneally's 12/8 show at Bourbon Square in Van Nuys will miss the world premiere of the song that's gonna put us right on top of the charts. We haven't played it live yet; we've been waiting for this special show. It's on "Dust Speck", it's hot, it's very now-- somebody tell me what it is, please!!! I'll be happier after we play it, I can tell you that. Until then, give someone you know a hug..... ..........B.B.