Why Does Charm City Get The 15-Foot Statue Of Edgewood’s Own Rock Star Frank Zappa?

It was in Edgewood that Frank Zappa first inserted radioactive pellets into his nostrils. Now he’s being honored, sort of, with a 15-foot statue that was donated by his Lithuanian fans to the City of Baltimore. But why Baltimore? True, Zappa - the guitar-playing, anti-drug musician - was born in Charm City, but, as I’ve already mentioned, it was in Edgewood where he might have gotten off to his mind-bending start.

Let me get one thing off my chest from the get-go here, I’m much more a fan of Zappa’s story than I am his music. Blasphemy you say? Well, try to find a song of his that can compete with stories of his early life in Harford County. Zappa’s dad worked at what was then known as Edgewood Arsenal, but today is known as the Edgewood Area of Aberdeen Proving Ground. Zappa’s got some pretty good recollections from those days, including tasting DDT and wearing space helmets that left you to drown in your own vomit. Good stuff. Continue reading Why Does Charm City Get The 15-Foot Statue Of Edgewood’s Own Rock Star Frank Zappa?

The Good, The Bad, The Elvis

Anyone who’s ever set foot on stage knows there comes a moment in each performance when an entertainer can lose himself.

In a tide of emotion, the performance ceases to be about entertainment and evolves into the creation of something uniquely beautiful. The lucky stumble into this and the true artists learn to channel it.

For Tommy El that moment came Friday night in Baltimore as he knelt, trembling and sweating beneath a Lithuanian flag, clutching a red, white and blue scarf to his quivering lips, eyes closed and ears open. Open to hear the roar of the crowd. Continue reading The Good, The Bad, The Elvis

Smashing Pumpkins, Blowing Chunks

Early nineties. Late teens. The time in life where you’re just starting to figure out that you can go places and do things; that you have limitless options. The idea both terrified and exhilarated you. And, you’re a punk.

One of your bands was playing in DC. The Red Hot Chili Peppers. You got tickets for you and your 15-year-old girlfriend. Her parents wouldn’t let her drive to DC with you, so they drove her and her friends and you met there. You went with your friends. You’d never driven all the way into DC before.

First person. We got to the show and had to wait outside. This was before I realized that rock shows never start on time, so the only people in line were the other punk kids who had also not realized this. And my beautiful, dyed hair army jacket girlfriend.

And it was cold. REAL cold. Mid-winter cold. DC outside a club cold. An hour went by, and I’d do anything to stay warm. One of my friends was smoking, which I didn’t then. Maybe a cigarette would keep me warm.

Continue reading Smashing Pumpkins, Blowing Chunks