In recent years it seems that every aspiring writer capable of
pressing keys on a word processor has felt obliged to publish their attempt at
telling the Captain Beefheart story. Many of these writers have skilfully bypassed
the entire research stage (waste of time, after all) and plunged headlong and
brain-free into the telling of a story that they know precisely zip-all about,
occasionally with hilariously half-baked results.
Those of us who have gained a perverse enjoyment from these humdrum
handbooks should prepare themselves for a severe disappointment - Mike Barnes
can not only write, but he also knows what he's talking about.
Facetiousness aside, this is a marvellous read. Captain Beefheart
tells the story of the magic bandleader from his birth ("I remember every
bit of it. I remember when the jerk slapped me on the fanny….. and I thought what
a hell of a way to wake somebody up") to an overview of his present-day career
as an abstract expressionist painter, closing with a consideration of the unsettlingly
feasible rumours of ill health and self-imposed isolation.
In the four and a half years since Mike Barnes started writing
this book, an awful lot has happened in Beefheartland. As Don has become increasingly
less willing to speak on the record about his musical past (or, indeed, anything
at all), his old colleagues have started to feel that the time is right to present
their side of the story, often refuting Don's claim to sole compositional credits
for their music and highlighting the insufferable lifestyle that was imposed on
them at certain stages of the band's career. Consequently, this is a very different
story from the one which would have appeared had it been published a couple of
years ago.
This is a contentious issue for many Beefheart fans. Having been
won over by the Captain's unbounded humour, charisma and unique personality, it
is very difficult for many to accept or understand accounts of the aphotic side
of his character which have started to emerge. Being the playful sod that he undoubtedly
is, the stories told by Beefheart in interviews (and then related verbatim by
many an uncritical journalist) have often been wrapped in fantasy rather than
fact, a smokescreen designed to inflate his own legend. The Beefheart story holds
so many contradictions on both sides that the whole tangled mess blocking the
path to the unvarnished truth has often seemed impassable.
Fortunately for us, Mike Barnes has taken a conscientiously even-handed
approach to the story, bending to neither one side nor the other in his narrative.
Although the book poses many unanswered questions of its own, in illustrating
these hazy patches of history Barnes has skilfully enabled the reader to avoid
getting bogged down in the bullshit while finding out what the bull ate (if I
may paraphrase one of Van Vliet's oft quoted aphorisms). The book does not shy
away from illustrating the more negative aspects of Van Vliet's ornery disposition,
nor is it making any attempt to dish the dirt on someone no longer willing to
explain or defend his actions. Instead we get a strikingly balanced and palpable
attempt to tell us the truth behind the 'legend', while also covering the legend
in all its glory, with all its gory details.
Music aside, it is the Beefheart 'legend' which is probably the
most fascinating aspect of the whole story. How could anyone in their right
mind possibly accept that Van Vliet stayed awake for a year and a half simply
because he needed to use every spare moment creating his anomalous art? The astonishing
fact is that people did half-believe these impossible stories which we
obviously have to reject in hindsight. Don't we? For every impossible story, it
seems there is an eye-witness somewhere to confirm that actually, it probably
did happen more or less as Beefheart claimed after all. In his attempt to dig
out the truth and ground the whole story in some semblance of reason, Barnes has
not diminished the fantastic, extravagant and other-worldly quality to Beefheart's
life and music one iota. That, for me, is the book's greatest success.
The attention to detail throughout is immensely pleasing, with
Barnes providing a fascinating analysis and supporting anecdotes of even the most
trivial aspects of the band's output. For example, as a registered arachnophobe,
the infamous shot on the back of Trout Mask Replica of the Magic Band a-top a
rustic bridge in their most magic garb has always troubled me. While the picture
is utterly perfect, I know that had I been John French I would sooner steal softly
through seven shades of snow rather than snuggle down with every resident spider
housed beneath the bridge, thus destroying an important part of the album's singular
and arresting packaging. It was a revelation of biblical proportions to discover
that I am not alone in this aversion. There wasn't enough room on the bridge
for the full band, so John French had to tuck himself away underneath as all the
others were too scared of the eight-legged creatures lurking below to consider
venturing down into the alien depths.
Having read far too many interviews and anecdotes about Captain
Beefheart, tid-bits such as these made the book so very rewarding to read and
Barnes consistently avoided merely re-treading old ground without bringing something
new to the familiar stories. This book will undoubtedly appeal to anyone interested
in the music and life of Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band, from the idly curious
to the obsessive devotee; all are unconditionally guaranteed to get a big kick
out of reading this superb account of one of rock and roll's most interesting
adventures.