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Captain Beefheart, around the release of his most famous album, 'Trout Mask Replica.'

Published: December 18, 2010

by Rick Karr

Avant-garde musician Captain Beefheart died this morning in California from complications of multiple sclerosis. He was 69.

An all-time favorite of rock critics -- and known to readers of lists of the best rock albums of all time as the guy with the hat and the fish face -- Beefheart earned a reputation for making challenging music. But his work was, at its roots, well-executed blues-based rock.

His given name was Don Vliet -- he added a Van in between his first and last names later. He was one of those musicians who sold fewer records than his best-known fans: Tom Waits, members of R.E.M. and New Order are just a few of dozens. The late British DJ John Peel called Beefheart a true genius, possibly the only one rock ever produced.

Mark Mothersbaugh, of the band Devo, calls him one of the all-time greats.

"The Beatles and The Rolling Stones would definitely be in that group of what turned me on about music," Mothersbaugh says. "But I have to say that he made me want to be an artist."

Born in a Los Angeles suburb, the only child and art prodigy was featured on a local television show making animal sculptures as a child. When he was 13 years old, his family moved to the Mojave Desert, where he befriended a young Frank Zappa.

In 1966, Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band signed with A&M records and scored a regional hit with a cover of Willie Dixon's "Diddy Wah Diddy." Pretty soon, Van Vliet was writing original material for his band. In a 1980 interview with the BBC, he insisted he was a composer, not a songwriter. And in his band, he was exacting.

"I play the drums. I play the guitar. I play the piano," he said. "I want it exactly the way I want it. Exactly. Don't you think that somebody like Stravinsky, for instance -- don't you think that it would annoy him if somebody bent a note the wrong way?"

A&M didn't like the new direction. They dropped Beefheart, who signed with Buddah Records. That label convinced teenage guitar prodigy Ry Cooder to join, and the band won an invitation to the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, just after it recorded its debut album, Safe As Milk.

But Van Vliet, who was known for his erratic behavior, quickly drove Cooder and another member from the band. The remaining musicians skipped the historic festival, and the album sank without a trace.

Freed from commercial expectations, Beefheart found new members and set out in a more avant-garde direction. Years later, he said he'd never wanted to make regular rock and roll.

"That 'mama heartbeat,' that 'bom-bom-bom' -- it's so boring, it's so banal. I mean so, uh, hypnotic," he said. "I don't wanna hypnotize anybody. I just wanna play. I mean, I want things to change -- like the patterns and shadows that fall from the sun."

Beefheart's vibe may have been mellow, but he drove his new musicians hard. He would sit at the piano and play complex, discordant parts; drummer John French transcribed them note-for-note and then taught them to the others. The band all lived together in a house in Los Angeles, short on cash and food. In a 1999 interview with NPR, guitarist Bill Harkleroad said the atmosphere was oppressive and cult-like.

"He was our hero because of what we thought of him before we got into the band, so we were all very ripe for this very controlled situation," Harkelroad said. "And he was very much aware of sleep deprivation, food deprivation. And we went through a lot of emotional things -- bashing, physical bashing, even, too."

The album that emerged from that period was produced by Van Vliet's old friend Frank Zappa. And though it was born of trying times, Trout Mask Replica remains an acknowledged masterpiece of avant-garde rock. Not that it sold well. Neither did any of Beefheart's followup releases. And again, the band disintegrated.

Late in the 1970s, as Van Vliet rehearsed with yet another lineup, Devo's Mothersbaugh met his hero. He found him intimidating, yet childlike.

"Everyone in the band complained about what a pain in the ass he was, how ridiculous he could be at times," Mothersbaugh says. "But they all took care of him, and they all loved him, and they all respected him. And, uh, they were almost all acting like babysitters that they all loved but that frustrated the heck out of them."

Around that time, doctors diagnosed Van Vliet's illness. By 1982, he'd stopped making music and returned to his first love, visual art. The paintings he made in the 1980s and '90s were stark depictions of human and animal forms, frequently against a white background, influenced by the desert landscape of his youth.

Though the paintings sold well, Van Vliet withdrew from public life. In 1983, fans caught a final glimpse of the artist, who was by then seriously ill. A short film by the photographer and director Anton Corbijn showed the sharp edges in Van Vliet's personality softened by illness.

Against a projected backdrop of Joshua trees in a desert landscape, Van Vliet sits still, his trademark moustache now white, his eyes shaded by reflective lenses. In a voiceover, he speaks haltingly:

"The way I keep in touch with the world … is very gingerly … because the world touches too hard."

Van Vliet's admirers might hear irony in that statement. They'll remember a visionary whose work always pushed back against the world, and what it expects of its artists. [Copyright 2012 National Public Radio]

TRANSCRIPT:

(Soundbite of music)

GUY RAZ, host:

RAZ: That's the music of Don Van Vliet, the avant-garde musician better known as Captain Beefheart. Yesterday morning, after suffering from multiple sclerosis for years, he died. He was 69 years old.

Thirteen years after releasing his landmark record "Trout Mask Replica," Captain Beefheart left the music industry to dedicate himself to painting. Here's a track from his last album, 1982's "Ice Cream for Crow."

(Soundbite of music)

CAPTAIN BEEFHEART: (Singing) The pasture is tense. The pasture is tense. No, you got the wrong idea. No, you got the wrong intent.

RAZ: Rick Karr reports that despite a troubled life, Captain Beefheart had an immense musical impact.

RICK KARR: Don Van Vliet was one of those musicians who sold fewer records than his best-known fans - among them Tom Waits and members of R.E.M., New Order, and dozens of other equally influential rock acts. The late British D.J. John Peel said Van Vliet was possibly the only true genius that rock had ever produced.

Film composer Mark Mothersbaugh, a founding member of the band Devo, says he'll remember Captain Beefheart as one of the all-time greats.

Mr. MARK MOTHERSBAUGH (Film Composer; Founding Member, Devo): The Beatles and the Rolling Stones would definitely be in that group of what turned me on about music. But I have to say that he made me want to be an artist and, you know, I have to thank him for that.

KARR: Beefheart was born Don Vliet in a Los Angeles suburb. He added the Van to his name later. He was an only child and an art prodigy. A local television show featured him making animal sculptures as a child. When he was 13, his family moved to the Mojave Desert, where he befriended the young Frank Zappa. A few years later, Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band scored a regional hit with a cover of a Willie Dixon tune.

(Soundbite of song, "Diddy Wah Diddy")

CAPTAIN BEEFHEART AND THE MAGIC BAND: (Singing) I got a gal in diddy wah diddy. Ain't no town and it ain't no city.

KARR: Pretty soon, Van Vliet started writing material for his band. In a 1980 interview with the BBC, he said he was a composer, not a songwriter. He showed each musician the precise part that he wanted to hear.

Mr. DON "CAPTAIN BEEFHEART" VAN VLIET (Musician): I play the drums. I play the guitar. I play the piano. I want it exactly the way I want it. Exactly.

KARR: In 1967, the Magic Band's record label convinced teenage guitar prodigy Ry Cooder to join. The band won an invitation to the Monterey Pop Festival just after it recorded its debut album.

(Soundbite of music)

KARR: But Van Vliet's erratic behavior quickly drove Cooder and another member from the band. The remaining musicians skipped the historic festival, and the album sank without a trace.

But Beefheart was freed from commercial expectations. He found new members and set out in a more avant-garde direction. Years later, he said he'd never wanted to make regular rock and roll.

Mr. VAN VLIET: That mama heartbeat, that bom-bom-bom, it's so boring, it's so banal. I mean, it's so hypnotic. I don't want to hypnotize anybody. I just want to play. I mean, I want things to change like the patterns and shadows that fall from the sun.

(Soundbite of music)

KARR: Van Vliet drove his new musicians hard. He sat at the piano and played complex, discordant parts. Drummer John French transcribed them note-for-note, then taught them to the others. They all lived together in a house in Los Angeles, short on cash and food.

In a 1999 interview with NPR, guitarist Bill Harkleroad said the atmosphere was oppressive and cult-like.

Mr. BILL HARKLEROAD (Guitarist): He was our hero because of what we thought of him before we got into the band. And he was very much aware of sleep deprivation, food deprivation. And we went through a lot of emotional things -bashing - physical bashing, even, too.

KARR: But the album that emerged from that period, "Trout Mask Replica," produced by Van Vliet's old friend Frank Zappa, remains an acknowledged masterpiece of avant-garde rock.

(Soundbite of song, "Ant Man Bee")

CAPTAIN BEEFHEART: (Singing) White ants running. Black ants crawling. Yellow ants dreaming. Brown ants longing. All those people longing to be free. Uhuru ant man bee.

KARR: Neither "Trout Mask" nor Beefheart's follow-up releases sold well. Again, the band disintegrated. Late in the 1970s, as Van Vliet rehearsed with yet another lineup of the Magic Band, Devo's Mark Mothersbaugh met his hero.

Mr. MOTHERSBAUGH: Everybody in the band complained about what a pain in the ass he was, but they all took care of him, and they all respected him. And they were all - kind of like babysitters of this child that they all loved but that frustrated the heck out of them.

KARR: Around that time, doctors diagnosed Van Vliet's illness. By 1982, he'd stopped making music and returned to his first love: visual art. His paintings were stark depictions of human and animal forms, frequently against a white background, influenced by the desert landscape. The paintings sold well, but Van Vliet withdrew from public life.

In 1993, fans caught a final glimpse of the artist, who was by then seriously ill. A short film by photographer and video maker Anton Corbijn showed the sharp edges in Van Vliet's personality softened by illness.

(Soundbite of film, "Don Van Vliet: Some Yoyo Stuff")

Mr. VAN VLIET: The way I keep in touch with the world is very gingerly because the world touches too hard.

KARR: Don Van Vliet's admirers might hear irony in that statement. They'll remember a visionary whose work always pushed back against the world and what it expects of its artists.

For NPR News, I'm Rick Karr. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright National Public Radio.