This interview took place in a room at The Royal Garden Hotel,
Zappa talks to Ian Pollack – mostly about Zappa's film 200 Motels, a film Pollack describes as "a zany sound/visual barrage which comes at you with the speed of light shows and the fragments of dreams." (read more)
1973 June 23 - July 14
Here, anybody want to do it with this giraffe?
By Aleks Danko, Ron Saunders & Pat Woolley, p 3
We had arrived with Sony half-inch video portapack equipment to do a videotape interview with Frank Zappa. We found that the most suitable lighting conditions were in the kitchen. Zappa said he'd do the interview in the kitchen. At 6.50 pm. Zappa came through the swinging kitchen door, the Grand Wazoo blasting through in the background; and politely told us that videotape or film was out of the question. Stills yes, but not movie film for private purposes. There was 'no way around it. Having had trouble with exploitation of his image on several occasions in the past, Zappa had made it quite clear to his manager that publicity of any sort related to media information had to be controlled, so that misrepresentation of his image wouldn't happen again. (read more)
1973 July 14-28
(1) At the Melbourne press conf. for the Mothers of Invention, a Scotch 'n' Coke crowd swill amongst and to the band in the American Dream of St. Kilda Road's Distillery discotheque ... mafiatic golden mean.
"Hey! A picture of Nixon would look really neat on the wall here, don't you think?" inserts Frank.
A pressured blonde skates through the meet, notebooks and lists bunched dramatically against her boobs, bent on the organisation of interviews with selected people in allotted time spaces.
Frank, wolf-eyed, has slunched his laconic, lanky self (entrenched in greenbubble great coat) into a wicker chair in an adjoining room. He murmurs husky answers to a disc jockey's mike and eyes newcomers. Omnipresent bodyguard, Numbar Nagnew (Sweetness-But-Firmness) and the lost fold look on.
A slow coagulation of reporters organises into an adjoining room. Tossing jibes like a fetid salad, they set up their machines, extract their notebooks, and wait ... fiddlesome. (read more)