The late, great Captain Beefheart

On Saturday morning I heard the news that Captain Beefheart had died. Or rather Don Van Vliet had passed away - for, in a sense, it could be said that Captain Beefheart was killed off nearly 30 years ago, when Van Vliet retired from the stage, retired from making albums, retired the Beefheart name/persona.

I heard about it the way you do these days when a musician or actor dies - it's all over Facebook, all over Twitter. You go to YouTube to look at some clips; it's there in the comments on the clips too. Immediately.

My introduction to Captain Beefheart, the first time I heard about him, and heard him, was when, aged 12, I bought a cassette tape called Rock Festival 1. I was enjoying The Yardbirds and Mungo Jerry and whatever else - and then, halfway through the first side of this compilation tape a hypnotic tribal beat and a form of gibberish stopped me in my tracks. It was Abba Zabba by Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band.

It was something of a revelation - cliché, sure, but also a fact. I was a fairly adventurous listener at the age of 12, given that the sound of the day was anything from Jesus Jones and EMF to MC Hammer and Young MC. I loved the Tour of Duty soundtracks and learned a lot from them. I had a box-set of old blues records too - that pointed me to some of the British Blues Boom practitioners (like The Yardbirds). But nothing prepared me for Beefheart. There were squelchy, African-sounding guitars and nonsense lyrics. I can't say I instantly loved it. I will say I was instantly intrigued, baffled.

I'm not sure when I decided to take more of a peek at Beefheart's oeuvre - I'd have to guess that it came from reading about him. Trout Mask Replica proved too dense, too much for me the first time around. But then, I heard David Byrne opening a show with his own a cappella version of the song Well and then I heard Her Eyes Are a Blue Million Miles from the Clear Spot album and I decided to give Beefheart another go.

The door was open now - and as I moved through Frank Zappa's career and discovered the crossover and collaborations with Beefheart I became hooked on the work of Don Van Vliet: inventive rhythms, absurdist poetry, subverted blues. Beefheart was an original. Sure, you could hear some Howlin' Wolf in the voice - and plenty of blues in the sound - but Beefheart's way of looking at things was what made him an original. He painted colours with sound. His Magic Band would use the drum kit to get as close to playing the melody as possible; the guitar might provide the rhythm with slashes of sound. There were reminders of the blues across most of the albums, but it was no borrowed blues - it was a sound that continued to evolve.

A standard criticism of Beefheart's work is that it's inaccessible. I can agree that Trout Mask Replica is a dense, intense album - it took me a while to grasp it. But that's what I found so brilliant about it. But there are so many accessible entry points with the music of Beefheart. Go back to that brilliant debut, Safe As Milk - you will hear a sound that lit a spark for The Black Keys. You will hear a sound that still, more than 40 years on, sounds fresh and interesting.

In 1974 Beefheart decided he was going to be a pop crooner. He baffled his cult of fans with the albums Unconditionally Guaranteed and Bluejeans & Moonbeams. Some will still tell you that they're not real Beefheart. But then you'll hear a song like Observatory Crest - still one of my favourite Beefheart tunes; in fact it's one of my favourite songs by anyone.

But don't get me wrong - I like the weird stuff; I like the odd lines (both lyrically and rhythmically). I like the bursts of noise that might be a song-intro or might be a standalone sound-collage, not quite a song but somehow, in some way, a whole lot more than just a song. I like the fact that Beefheart was an artist. And as an artist he kept everyone guessing.

Two years before the attempt to make mainstream albums, Beefheart was already pretty accessible (if you wanted him to be) with the wonderful My Head Is My Only House Unless It Rains (from the Clear Spot album, the same record as Her Eyes Are a Blue Million Miles). And after the failed pop-crooner attempts he returned to form across 1978's Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller), 1980's Doc at the Raider Station and 1982's swansong, Ice Cream for Crow.

There are so many great songs - so many moments bursting with ideas. Between 1964 and 1982 he released a handful of stunning albums. And then he ended it. Captain Beefheart was put on the shelf and Don Van Vliet went back to painting with actual paints, with brushes, with canvas, with paper. He sculpted and drew, he continued as an artist. He had finished with music.

I don't think that any fan ever expected a comeback from Beefheart. He gave us more than enough to discover and rediscover; to be instantly intrigued by, to be baffled by, to find accessible instantly - or eventually. He gave us more ideas than so many musicians. And he worked with incredible players, nurturing talent, pushing people, driving them, challenging both the players and the listeners.

It is music as art, art as music. It might not be for everyone. But on Saturday morning, amid the Facebook frenzy of reading the news, choosing a clip from YouTube to post, of reading through the selections that others made, I stopped to think about how lucky I am to have this music to hang on to, to catch up with, and to have spent the time working through the music of Captain Beefheart. One of the greats for me, a pioneer, a visionary, a strange, mad, beautiful master.

May he rest in peace and allow so many of us the chance - finally - to catch up with where he was at.

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