From the catalogue: “I used to love putting little black dots on music paper”, wrote Frank Zappa in an accompanying text for a new edition of works by composer Edgard Varèse. Falling under the guise of self-deprecating understatements, it only serves to cache the ambition that always drove Frank Zappa. The striving for recognition of his compository qualities, which he initially lived out in his rock music with a high degree of complexity while posing equally high demands on the playing technique of his musicians. Indeed, it all began with the record in question. It bore the number EMS 401 – and the title: “The Complete Works of Edgar Varèse, Vol. I”. And the cornerstone for a passion was thus laid, which accompanied him through to his death in 1993 at the age of only 53. Many people still regard this great ethnographer of American everyday life exclusively as a rock star – presumably because Asteroid 3848 is named after him. Yet as a gesture of genuine estimation it would be wise to forgo categorizations and other thought short-circuits. Blues and the music of experimental composer Edgard Varèse, jazz improvisations and pop platitudes all fused together in his vision of a new rock

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMclF11PSV0   Here is Varese.

Imagine a lonely teenager stuck in a small German village, with the only pop radio station in the 60s that was available playing Abba and the Kinks, or some such. And then you discover Zappa, listening to the same record night and day, exploring musical genius and rebellious politics and parallels to so much classical music you had to rehearse on the piano for a decade or more (unless you are playing the darn cello for the dreaded family concerts….). And no one around you gets it. Proof, if still needed, that you’re weird. I’m still weird and I’m still traveling, but now public assessment of Zappa’s talent has caught up.