Zappa a muse?

By Priscilla Lucy

Scene, 3 November 1977


I attended the Frank Zappa concert, and it motivated me to write this little poem. And I would like to share it with everyone who can relate to a concert.

“There’s Nothing Like A Rock Concert”

I went to a party the other night.
And what I saw was an excilerating sight,
A guy on the stage seemed to have the spotlight
I tried to move closer but the crowd was too tight.

I stood on the chair so I could see his prance,
He looked down at me with his glazed eyes and I caught his glance.
My hands began to clap while my body hypnodically danced,
This proud extravagent preformer had this cluster in a trance.

He strutted around the stage with his head held firm and high,
He sang for hours then the lights began to die,
He stepped off the stage while the crowd let out a cry,
And from behind the curtain he reappeared just to give it one last try.

He paused for a moment then pulled out the band that held his long black hair,
He waited with couriosity, this we could hardly bare.
We've suffered long enough, but he didn’t seem to care,
Then with a turn of his head and quaint little glare.

They hit the first note, the second, the third,
The crowd went crazy before he sang a single word,
Though the music was loud, no words were heard,
Between the yelling and shreeks all his words were slered.

The music had died and the lights got bright.
Everyone smiled as they fell out of sight,
We'll always remember Frank Zappa that night,
From concert to concert, that's what the people are like.

Priscilla Lucy