Frank Zappa — "Ich Bin Das Wasser"

by Bart Bull
published in Sounds (excerpt)

He was scratching the stubble under his chin again. “I figure that ninety per cent of the people that came to the concert tonight came for one reason and that was to hear ‘Dinah Moe Hum.’ I think—”

“I loved the way you played that!” It was pudgy Nancy’s friend, the cute one. She wanted an autograph. “Who’s got paper?” she hollered. Finally, she pulled out her checkbook, tore a check loose, and handed it to Frank. “There,” she said. “And over there.”

He scribbled, then handed it back. Nancy came over and wanted to see too. “What’d he write for you?”

“I don’t know, I can’t read that.” She pulled out another piece of paper and held it in front of him. “Write something . . . really sentimental . . . No!! Something really Zappa-ish, you know?”

“Yeah!,” said Nancy. “Something really Zappa-esque.”

Frank took the pen and paper again, looked at it a moment, then wrote “Ich bin das Wasser.” Nancy’s friend loved that. “Write that on my leg, will you? Please?”

Nancy had a piece of paper now too. “Write something for me now too.” He looked up at her slowly; his eyes were dead again.

“I’m sorry to hassle you.” she said.

“You are hassling me,” Frank snarled.

She went sweet. “I’m sorry...”

“You’re as bad as your uncle.” [Back story: Her uncle was Clive Davis.]

“I’m sor-ry.” Her voice was warm limp syrup. “If I smile nice for you, will you–”

“Nobody smiles as nice as he does.”

Nothing slowed Nancy down. “We’re going up to Las Vegas and see you.”

“Who?”

“Us -- your fans. Can we have backstage passes?”