On a GRAY, inhospitable afternoon Frank Zappa sat in a dimly lit hotel in Albany, N.Y., preparing to begin one of the most musically ambitious rock tours ever assembled.

He looked like anything but a rock star.

Zappa cut a sober figure in surroundings more businesslike than the frivolity associated with a rock tour. His room was filled with newspapers, documents and music scoring paper. A pitcher of orange juice and a pot of coffee sat on a low table. An unopened bottle of wine and a cheese plate sent up by the hotel management had been set, untouched, on a side table. (read more)

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