“There’s only one book you need and that’s the one that Frank wrote, man!” said the white-maned hippie as he stomped away shaking his head.
It was a balmy summer night in 2025 and I was standing outside Martyrs’, a small club nestled in Chicago’s northside that showcases a wide array of eclectic programming including touring groups, tribute bands, and musical storytelling events. Performing that night was a group made up of alumni who had played in Frank Zappa’s touring band during the 1970s and 1980s, including Scott Thunes, Robert Martin, and Ray White. Their well-curated set featured a blend of more known, or infamous, Zappa songs together with deeper cuts from his discography. This was a night to celebrate the music, legacy, and wisdom of one of rock’s most sardonic satirists and pithy provocateurs.
I chatted with people around me about Frank’s music, including the biographically purist hippie, eventually segueing into the fact that I had written a book that examined the enduring relevancy of Zappa’s political messaging through his music, Frank Zappa’s America. For a fandom united by devotion to the mustachioed maestro’s music, division could certainly be felt within it.
When I was in the process of finishing the book, my mind was also looking ahead toward potential readers. I was hoping to put a blurb on the jacket that would provide some semblance of credibility for this independent author with a vision. For that purpose, I wanted the blessing of someone who had played with Zappa. I had tried reaching out to bandmates and sidemen as I wrote the draft of the book, but I never received a reply. This was understandable given the life and routine of a touring musician, which I imagine can be quite grueling—and demanding, if they were tangentially connected to an artist that had had an impact on their life.
I was no different. I stood at the edge of the room where I watched Ray masterfully navigate Zappa’s discography, with a ranging vocality that matched the breadth and scope of his former boss’s oeuvre. During the set, the band performed “The ‘Torchum’ Never Stops,” a reinterpretation of an earlier Zappa composition, “The Torture Never Stops,” from 1976’s Zoot Allures. The version Ray was singing was rewritten for Zappa’s 1984 album Thing-Fish, a troubling and controversial rock opera about an evil prince who collaborates with the federal government and religious organizations to concoct a secret potion designed to kill non-white and queer people to make culture more homogenized based on white evangelical Christian values. Thing-Fish has come to be seen as a musically abrasive and disturbing allegory for Ronald Reagan’s mishandling of the AIDS crisis, featuring a narrative that flirts with conspiracy theories rooted in Zappa’s understanding of the nation’s shameful history of medical experimentation on Black men during Tuskegee University’s syphilis study.
In the song, the evil prince lays bare the grand scheme of his master(race) plan. As a part-time theater critic, the evil prince is aghast that the last vestiges of traditional white Anglo-Saxon Protestantism have left the stage and been replaced by people who are overtly creative, namely “natives” and “queers.” Yearning to return whiteness to center stage, thus truly turning Broadway back into the Great White Way, the evil prince creates a potion to eliminate everything creative, singing “Only the boring and bland shall survive / Only the lamest of lameness will thrive!” White supremacy dominating the culture in service of forcefully maintaining its own myth, as told through Zappa.
I was mesmerized by Ray’s performance of the song, as well as the implications of him singing it. When Napoleon Murphy Brock originally performed the role of the evil prince for Thing-Fish, having a Black man voice the album’s white supremacist antagonist during a time in which the federal government was turning a blind eye to an epidemic ravaging communities of color became one of the most profound qualities from an otherwise socially and culturally challenging album. Four decades later, with white Christian nationalism surging, Ray’s courage and resolve to sing that song in a modern context convey the ongoing relevancy of its messaging.
After the show, I asked to meet with Ray, and he came out to speak with me. I told him about the book I was writing about Zappa’s crusade against white Christian nationalism, as well as how moved I was by his performance of “The ‘Torchum’ Never Stops.” As we talked about Zappa’s criticisms of evangelicals infiltrating politics, Ray shared with me a story about when he challenged Frank on his views on Christianity. During a recording session, Ray let Frank know just how uncomfortable he was with some of the lyrics, having been raised with his own deeply religious convictions. Frank patiently listened to Ray’s concerns, and after he was finished, said, “I don’t hate religion, Ray. I just don’t like the people who abuse it.” Two men, coming from different backgrounds completely alien to the other’s lived experience, one Black and one white, reaching an understanding about what all this banging around on instruments was really about: music revealing a collective humanity.
That collective humanity was what was on my mind throughout the whole experience of writing Frank Zappa’s America, and I was excited to share that. When I returned to Martyrs’ a year later as Ray and company came through town again to tour, I had a physical copy of my book to show to other fans, a young independent author doing his book hustle. That night I met a curious blend of fans, some eager to read the book because they too felt Zappa was underappreciated for his political messaging as well as others who remained steadfastly committed to a version of the man locked in an amber designed by their own nostalgia. Along with the fan who believed no book on Frank matters other than his own autobiography, there were others who voiced a problem with my “putting words in Frank’s mouth,” which was something I consciously avoided throughout the process of writing the book.
This kind of criticism and reticence toward my book was nothing new. Earlier in the spring, as I was gearing up to promote the book ahead of its publication, I was banned from the largest Zappa fan group on Facebook, operated by his former masseuse. I had posted about the book before in the group—how it was coming together and the status of its publishing journey. However, on the occasion of World Book Day, with its cover revealed and pre-order links activated, I shared an image of the book with a brief message about Frank’s relevancy in these first few months after Donald Trump’s victory in the 2024 election. I was banned for inciting political unrest, told that no one was interested in my agenda, and then was shared the link from the famous Crossfire clip where Frank denounces Reagan’s shifting of America toward a fascist theocracy and calling himself a “conservative.” No one other than my publisher and me had read the book by this point, so I was taken aback by such a strong reaction. The irony of being banned from a site dedicated to a man who fought censorship at every turn in his life and career was not lost on me.
Two men, coming from different backgrounds completely alien to the other’s lived experience, one Black and one white, reaching an understanding about what all this banging around on instruments was really about: music revealing a collective humanity.
A few months later, meeting people at the Martyrs’ show, I realized that I shouldn’t be too surprised by the reaction of some fans and their unwillingness to engage with their own bias. Our culture simply was heading away from that, and I had to remember why I wrote Frank Zappa’s America in the first place. For more than a decade, since the arrival of Trump in national politics and the legitimization of personal grievance that has proliferated since then, and spurred by the advent of social media algorithms that have had immeasurable consequences in dismantling institutions and communities, a sort of malaise has blanketed the culture. It has increasingly become individualized, malleable to one’s own needs and demands on how life should be lived.
When I wrote Frank Zappa’s America, in trying to document the first real study of Frank Zappa’s politics in relation to his music, this was precisely the trap I wanted to avoid: the miasma of social media confirmation bias. Over the years in social media and discussion groups, I kept seeing the same tired discussions of what Zappa would say if he were alive today. I explain in the book’s epilogue why I avoided this topic—basically, that it becomes a way for people to project their own biases and prejudices. Based on what I had observed, people sure did have their biases when it came to Zappa’s hypothetical stances over thirty years after his death. Depending on who you asked, Zappa would have either become an anti-woke Joe Roganesque talking head taking to podcasts to put down transgender people, a Republican disillusioned by the ineffectiveness of the Democratic party, or someone leading the charge against MAGA to stop Donald Trump. Whatever they felt about the legitimacy of Frank’s music and satire was reflected in their view of him within a modern context, thirty years of personal and professional growth be damned had he actually lived.
The problem with all of this is that it reduces a challenging and complex cultural figure into a meme, with people sharing the same quotes and clips time and time again to reinforce some obfuscated point they are trying to make. Case in point—that Crossfire clip that was shared with me to dispute my book no one had actually even read yet. I didn’t want Frank Zappa’s America to fall within that same echo chamber, regurgitating the same tired talking points that only appeal to those riding the same algorithmic wavelength.
Depending on who you asked, Zappa would have either become an anti-woke Joe Roganesque talking head taking to podcasts to put down transgender people, a Republican disillusioned by the ineffectiveness of the Democratic party, or someone leading the charge against MAGA to stop Donald Trump.
No other musician did more than Frank to challenge white Christian nationalism, despite the personal and professional consequences. Yet, when it comes to how that aspect of his legacy is viewed within the public consciousness, it has generally been underserved and reduced to that of a constitutional rights advocate who championed free speech and battled the Parents Music Resource Center—a simplified characterization that can be molded into whatever purpose with its overt broadness. And this has fueled both proponents of Zappa’s advocacy as prescient in the face of modern politics and those who criticize his music and satire as puerile and outdated. Zappa often proved to be his own worst enemy when it came to concern for his legacy, but I’m also not oblivious to ways an artist’s intent can be misshapen and misunderstood.
I didn’t want Frank Zappa’s America to fall within that same echo chamber, regurgitating the same tired talking points that only appeal to those riding the same algorithmic wavelength.
Being the first author to truly focus on the political messaging of Zappa’s music, I felt a tremendous responsibility while writing my book. I had a particular image of Zappa I wanted to convey, one based on his own words in the press and through his music. My goal was to elevate Frank by getting to the heart of his music’s message and to find a way to bring that awareness to the broader public, doing so in a way that strengthened his legacy beyond fans and music critics. Of course, this required reconciling with the prickly parts of his being and unpacking all the cultural baggage that his name evoked.
I was a few days shy of turning six years old when Frank passed, so I never got to experience his creative evolution as it happened. And only being able to rely on this hindsight sometimes made me feel like an imposter, this doubtful feeling separating me from those who had the privilege of seeing him play. With that in mind, could I really say that my thoughts on Frank were any more valid than anyone else’s who show up to Zappa tribute shows decades after his death? I don’t know. But what I do know is that my intent with Frank Zappa’s America was to be as honest as I could be about an artist who helped me frame the democratic nightmare unfolding all around us. With Frank’s music, I came to understand that missing out on him due to being young had become my greatest strength; that I could observe the full arc of his creative self and find the meaning within that speaks to a broader humanity, a drive toward total freedom of expression for all.
With Frank Zappa’s America, I eschewed biography for a truthful examination of why Frank Zappa still matters. Talking with other people about Frank has both reinforced who he is to me and revealed the limitations of my own understanding of him. Music and politics can come with a lot of baggage, and those are very personal things for people. However, at the end of the day, I’m still just another white guy with an opinion on Frank Zappa, so you are what you is.
I may not be able to change anyone’s opinion on Frank, but I’m proud of my work and what it has to say. When I finally gave Ray his copy of the book, the one he agreed to review and endorse a year before, it was an affirmation that I had tapped into a shared vision of Frank. For all the differences, we can agree on one thing; in the words of Frank Zappa, “music is the best.”
Thanks for reading this blog post by Bradley Morgan. Interested in reading more? Here’s a link to Frank Zappa’s America.
This Thursday (March 12), we will be live with Kate Gaskin to discuss her sophomore collection, A Red Knock-Knocking like a Heart: Poems. As a reminder, our Live Author Series takes place on Wednesdays and Thursdays at 2:00 p.m. CST via Facebook and Substack.
Here are some other author events to look out for:
March 12 @ 6:00 p.m. CST: Historians Frank Perez and Jeffrey Palmquist will present on their new book, Café Lafitte in Exile: Queer New Orleans and the Story of America’s Oldest Gay Bar, for the Friends of the Cabildo Second Thursday Lecture Series — Zoom
March 19 @ 6:00 p.m. CST: Scholar Bill Hardwig will give a talk inspired by his book, How Cormac Works: McCarthy, Language, and Style, for the Denbo Center for Humanities & the Arts Conversations & Cocktails Series — Zoom
March 19 @ 6:00 p.m. EST: Writer Christopher Gonzales will be in conversation about his memoir, Return of the Lost Son: Memories of My Wayward Father, with poet Jay Rogaff at Northshire Bookstore — Saratoga Springs, NY
We will be back in a couple of weeks with our March newsletter.
Until then,
— The team at LSU Press