Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band – Trout Mask Replica (1969)
Trout Mask Replica is the definition of sound as art. It combines free jazz, delta blues, african chant rhymes, avant-garde, and Ginsberg like maniacal (raving hobo) beat-poetry that anticipates rap into this experimental thing called genius. I’m not kidding, Trout Mask Replica is the definition of sound as art.
It’s the definition of hard listening, passively listening to all the intentional off-notes, abrupt stops, collisions, screams, and howls won’t do them justice. And when you’ve completed the strenuous process of paying attention to everything (because you have to), listening to any other album feels like getting off the highway. It’s a very self-aware deconstruction and reconstruction of sound as art. (I dare any musician to try and cover/ replicate any part of the album.)
Amazon reviews for this album are polarized, and hilarious; one review titled ‘Can’t listen to it enough’ says it all for me:
Yes yes yes. It’s cacophonous, it’s gritty, it’s unpleasant. Put it on at a party and watch people make a mad dash for the door. Just try and dance to some of the arhythmic beats that fill the album like a car being thrown down a large flight of stairs. It’s not popular music, was never meant to be, and will never apologize for not being so. It is as about an acquired taste as you can get.
Nonetheless, I truly think this will be one of the albums that survives the twentieth century. I think people will still be listening to this in a few hundred years when the concept of music changes and dissonance and staggering rhythms are as harmonious as the choir in the fifth plane of heaven. Rock has produced nothing like this up to this point. Nothing with this sense of exploration and personal vision. Nothing as playful, nothing as fun. Nothing that stretches the boundaries of what people think of as ‘rock music.’
I don’t think 21st century music listeners in America are ready for this. To truly appreciate this album for what it is you need to have a different definition of music and rhythm from the norm. No words will prepare you for how jarring it is. Your friends will hate you, people will think you’re insane or on drugs (Beefheart, by the way, was not a drug user even in the early 1970s). My girlfriend still won’t allow me to play it when she’s home. People plain wonder what’s wrong with me. Why would I listen to such tripe? Such ridiculous trash?
The answer is that if you’re one of those like myself that discover what’s in this music, you simply can’t stop listening. It’s not for arty reasons, or reasons of influence (I could care less who Beefheart influenced, to be honest), or showing off my tolerance. There really is something here for those who can find it. I get more and more from every listen.