The Tiger in His Tank
Frank was disappointed and angry at the debut performance of his compositional music over at Chaffey, he was almost defeated as he sank back into on the brown modern couch in our living room a few days later. He would fold into himself sometimes and try to pretend nothing was wrong. And I would try to be encouraging, and tell him how hard it is to get young and inexperienced string sessions in motion, I could recognize that. (Major mood swing about to erupt, and he'd sit up straighter and square his shoulders) And as it was transmitted over the radio and on tape, was WORSE if possible, as the strings were painfully shrill as they wavered into their proper notes. (His voice would be soft, but sounded LOUD when he talked about this, as we'd all shut up and listen carefully) (He'd almost snort in derision) But in rehearsal alone, he knew it was going to be bad and wouldn't even tell us when it was going to be on the air, just so we wouldn't hear what he knew would be a lousy performance. (He seemed disgusted with the whole massive effort such an assemblage had required) (Pollyanna with the bright yellow daisy is about to speak) "Just wait, just wait til you have enough money to get a really good string session for recording", I tried always to encourage him so that such things would happen eventually, because they were a real possibility, especially with Frank. (so he hired one cello player for Freak Out!, you see, who I'd had access to).