And I’ll ride home
and I’ll ride home.
The sound of the tyres is soothing
the sound of the tyres is soothing.
And home’s elusive
and home’s elusive.
And home is where I find myself
home is where I become
and home is where I find myself
home is where I become.
And my head is my only house
unless it rains
and my head is my only house
unless it rains.
And I’ll make my way
through wind and rain
and through the dreams that failed me
and I’ll make my way
through wind and ruin
and through the dreams that failed me.
(It never rains
except it pours)
And Beefheart made his home in sound
his sound was soothing
and Beefheart made his home in sound
his sound was soothing.
And my head is my only house
unless it rains
and my head is my only house
unless it rains.
(It never rains
except it pours)
The sound of the tyres is soothing
yet home is where I’ll find myself
home is where I’ll become
the sound of the tyres is soothing
yet home is where I’ll find myself
home is where I’ll become.
My home’s elusive
my home
my only house
my home’s elusive…
Rogan Wolf, March 14th 2020
I came across Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band in the early 70’s. I found their music extraordinary – explosive and liberating, angry and exultant, straining at the leash.
And the Beefheart voice out front was simply wonderful, a mighty foghorn, yet flexible and occasionally tender. And this voice spoke/sang a zany but true poetry, Beefheart’s own – ebulliant, anarchic, full of word-play and wit, yet somehow guarded, as if masking something altogether different and presumably more fragile.
I heard him at Finsbury Park, in what is now called the Rainbow Theatre (It was the Odeon, in those days).
The band came onto the stage one by one, with a longish gap between each. First the drummer, bare-armed and in a Viking helmet (of course). Later the guitarist, tall and skinny, with very long hair.
And last came Beefheart himself, stocky and absolutely not a flower-child. The audience clapped and cheered wildly, but stayed sitting. He wasn’t having that, not for a minute. He strode, or prowled, from side to side of the stage, out front. He didn’t need to raise his voice. Geddup, he growled. Two or three more paces and then again, Geddup. And again, Geddup. By now we had all got up, thousands of us, and we stayed up until the concert was finished. But he was right. His music was not for sitting to.
The guitarist was wonderful, too. His real name was Bill Harkleroad. Playing on stage, he drooped over his guitar as if needing it to to hold him up, his hair falling all round it, like a hot shower. Beefheart called him Mr Zoot Horn Rollo.
And Beefheart’s real name was Don Van Vliet. When I saw him on that Odeon stage he was around thirty. He was an artist and poet as well as a musician, a man of furious creative energy and originality.. He was to “retire from music” in the mid-eighties and, by then reclusive, would make a steadyish income (for the first time) as a painter. He died towards the end of 2010, having lived with multiple sclerosis for some years. I mean absolutely no facetiousness in saying that, in his health as well as in his sickness, he was always inescapably multiple.
The Beefheart record which woke me up to him (or “turned me on” – remember ?) was called “Clear Spot.” I thought it was the last word in defiant but also glorious hard rock and heavy sound, a real exclamation mark, but I was completely wrong. In “Clear Spot,” Beefheart was actually pulling back from his venturing, his risk-taking, and trying to be more commercial. He needed some dosh. “Clear Spot was generally considered a bit tame, as a result, with the exclamation marks tending instead to go the way of “Trout Mask Replica,” a slightly earlier Beefheart record, now viewed as his masterpiece. I understand why, but still find it beyond me to hear its voice, the art and meaning of it. It is straining at every boundary, every rule, every precedent, every impossibility. I find it hard even to try to listen to it.
It is worth reading more about Beefheart. Frank Zappa and he collaborated, cautiously, to some mutual benefit. John Peel admired him and wrote about him. The young Richard Branson tried to sign him up for Virgin Records. And so on. Clearly there was something remarkable here, but difficult to get hold of, difficult to contain. Wikipedia provides a good beginning on him, including links to short sound tracks.
I’ll say a bit more about “Clear Spot” here. It came out in 1972, on vinyl. That’s how music came out to us in those days. Remember ?
And the gentlest track in it, (perhaps the only gentle track) is called “My head is my only house unless it rains.” The track is actually a simple and rather beautiful love song, only a little bit gruff.
This will link you to the Youtube soundtrack.
On my computor screen, that Youtube link shows several more tracks from the same album, down the right hand side. For me they haven’t dated at all and are all worth listening to. My next link here is to the track I always found the most exciting of them, and still do. It’s called “Big-eyed Beans from Venus.” What’s a big-eyed bean from Venus ? His invention ? Quite likely. It carries his signature and is brilliant. Venus the goddess, remember. Big-eyed bean ?
Now here below in text form are the Beefheart words for My Head is My Only House…”
I’ll let a train be my feet
If it’s too far to walk to you
If a train don’t go there I’ll get a jet or a bus
Because I’m going to find you
You’re going to see me shadow soon around you
And my head is my only house unless it rains
I walk the meadow plains
Water deserts are my eyes until I find you
I won’t sleep until I find you
I won’t eat until I find you
My heart won’t beat until
I wrap my arms around you
My arms are just two things in the way
Until I can wrap them around you
You can make my sad song happy
Make a bad world good
I can feel you out there moving
You’re mine, I know I’ll find you
And my head is my only house until I’ve found you
I hate to have other people hear me sing this song
If this reaches you before I do
Follow it to “I love you”
That’s where I’ll find you
And my head is my only house until I find you
Source: Musixmatch/Songwriter: Don Van VlietMy Head Is My Only House Unless It Rains lyrics © Bizarre-music Co, Kama Sutra Music, Inc.
So, Captain Beefheart, so Mr Zoot Horn Rollo, keep hitting that long, looming note. And let it float.
Let it float across the world’s great roads and waterways and public squares and sacred centres, all deserted now.
“Really, Earth needs a break from…humanity ! I think it’s…time for a long rest.” Ahmed Abdelhady.
Let it float.