Liveblogging Mother’s Night

A yearly event at KBOO’s Outside World: Mother’s Night, coinciding with the weekend of Mother’s Day. Six hours of nothing but Frank Zappa’s Mothers of Invention. This year was also the 40th anniversary of the release of the Mother’s classic album We’re Only In It For the Money. We’re playing it in it’s entirety right now. The CD was suspect, so capt. Daniel played both the vinyl and CD simultaneously. We’re mixing white port and lemon juice (“ooh what you do to me…”) and Peter is outside burning Hebrew Nationals outside the station with a blowtorch to supply wieners for the burnt weeny sandwiches, on Wonder Bread with mustard (dee-licious!).

Peter on the Alto Blowtorch Peter as Papa Negro Blowtorch

People are driving by and paying scant notice, as the neighborhood is used to having a weirdo, hippie radio station on the block.

Studio monitor view Studio monitor view 2

People are coming and going. Brooke with an E is here, documenting all this on her camera device for posterity. Bill Dodge is here. Shoehorn came and went and Peter’s still outside burning weenies, apparently content to listen to the show on the street on the radio in Daniel’s van (The Mothership).

Sudden panic that we have lost a channel. Air-room monitors buggy. Radio in preview room in library confirms that we are indeed broadcasting in stereo, both channels strong.

Bill with his Dirty harry Shades Daniel watches some burning weenies of closed circuit tv. Note rabbit-ear receptors

CDs everywhere. Nice calls from enthusiastic listeners.

Me editing what you are looking at, Very meta and very mondo. Burnt weenie sandwich, in color where available...

It’s a lovely holiday, where we show our appreciation for Zappa’s most manic phase, with the equally talented original Mothers. This is Daniel’s 28th year doing Mother’s Night. I have probably been listening nearly as long – indeed this was the show that sucked me into the KBOO vortex some 20-something years ago. This is my first Mother’s Night on this side of a mic. Frank Zappa was my first ever rock concert. I saw him in either 1981 or 1982 at the Paramount (now the Schnitz).

Right now Bill is manning the board, playing some of the amazing bootlegs he’s brought. Daniel’s playing the cabbie, jockeying some guests home. Peter’s gone, as well. The burnt weenies taste fine by themselves, if washed down either with black coffee or white port and lemon juice. I have heartburn that’d fall a rhino, though.

3AM, halfway there.

Crowd dying down.

Brooke with an E has gone home to bed. Playing clips from 200 Motels. More of Bill’s amazing bootlegs.

4:55 – Willie the Pimp from Hot Rats, played really loud. Nice call from Michelle from Salem. Playing weird recording of Zappa on the Dick Cavett show. Getting really tired. Am either considering crashing on the urine-y sofa or booking a hotel room around the corner.

5:38 – The morning crew is coming in. Massive stack of CDs on a handtruck for longtime morning Folk and Bluegrass DJ Uncle Sam. Asleep on my feet. Final songs and farewells.

6:02 – Out to my car. Tired as hell. Up for 25 hours. Slowly drive home with what feels like sand in my eyes. Contemplate staying at Hazel Dell’s notorious $21/23 Motel. I once had to ditch there due to weather and inquired about the rooms. The cheapest option sounded so unappealing that upgraded to the $49 option, which gave the renter their own bathroom and a tiny tv and shower. They had WIFI, though. No. I will make it.

6:56am – Home and to bed. Shades drawn. Out like a light.

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