Category Archives: Rock ‘n’ Roll

Behind the Music, Documentary, Rock 'n' Roll

All the glitter we can use: We Are Twisted F- – – – ing Sister (***) & a Top 10 List

March 6, 2016 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 5, 2016)

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First off, there ain’t no such thing as an Easter Bunny, OK? And as much as we’d all like to believe in this new millennium of instant, “one-mouse-click-away” validation, there is no such thing as “overnight success” – especially in the music business. You may have heard of writer Malcolm Gladwell’s “10,000 hours of practice” rule, which is equated as the minimum investment of time and effort required to master a field? Well…it’s true.

Consider pseudo-glam shock rockers Twisted Sister (I know…it’s been a while since you have). They may have appeared to come from nowhere with their breakout hit (and MTV staple) “We’re Not Gonna Take It” in 1984, but by that time the band had already labored in the trenches (i.e., the Jersey/Connecticut/L.I./Westchester County circuit) for 12 years.

Those first 10,000 hours of dive bar stage time are chronicled in an entertaining (if slightly overlong at 135 minutes) documentary from Andrew Horn called We Are Twisted Fucking Sister! (just out on DVD and Blu-ray). Horn begins in 1972, which is when longest-running member, NYC-based guitarist Jay-Jay French, joins a glitter band from New Jersey who called themselves Silver Star.

They become Twisted Sister the following year (French’s idea), and then go through a number of personnel changes before the key addition of lead singer Dee Snider in 1976, infusing stylistic changes that kick-start the gradual evolution into the version of T.S. we all know and love (or hate). Horn may be teasing for a sequel; he ducks out just as they are poised for their big break.

While I’ve never been a huge follower, I came away from the film with admiration for their hard work and the stalwart dedication of their rabid fans. It’s especially impressive considering that they built a coterie of self-proclaimed “SMF”s (acronym for Sick Mother Fuckers) the old-fashioned way-one gig at a time…sans radio play or record company support (they didn’t snag a major label deal until 1983).

And as footage from their club days reveals, they were one tight live act, from their Bowie medleys to their meta stage shtick (recalling The Tubes). In the age of America’s Got Talent and YouTube, it’s a reminder that paying your dues (putting in those 10,000 hours) still counts for something.

Don’t scrape the glitter off just yet! Here are my picks for the Top 10 glam rock movies:

The Ballad of Mott the Hoople – Mott the Hoople never consciously set out to be a glam band, yet they remain synonymous with the era due to their brief association with David Bowie, who produced their 1972 album All the Young Dudes (and penned the eponymous hit single). But leading up to that period, the band had flirted with a number of genres, from country rock to proto-metal. And they already had a great in-house songwriter on board in pianist/lead vocalist Ian Hunter, whose influences were more Dylan than Bowie. Chris Hall and Mike Kerry’s documentary is a fairly comprehensive retrospective on the band, with great anecdotes from band members and tons of rare footage. Fans will love it.

Born to Boogie – Ringo Starr directed and produced this “lost” 1973 cult film (restored and reissued direct-to-DVD in 2005), which captures late great T. Rex front man/glam icon Marc Bolan at the peak of his strutting, charismatic, androgynous rock god glory. Don’t expect an insightful portrait of the artist; it’s more of a “lightning in a bottle” capture of the era, highlighted by footage culled from two 1972 concerts.

The original theatrical version released in the U.K. ran just over an hour, but the DVD is lengthened by inclusion of both full performance sets. Film directing is not one of Ringo’s strongest suits; be prepared for some amateurish vignettes between the song sets. Still, it’s a fascinating historical document.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch – It’s your typical love story. A German teen named Hansel (John Cameron Mitchell) falls head over heels for an American G.I., undergoes a (less than perfect) sex change operation so they can marry, and ends up seduced and abandoned in a trailer park. Now completely adrift (geographically as well as sexually) the desperate Hansel opts for the only logical way out of this mess…by creating an alter-ego named Hedwig, putting a band together, and setting out to conquer the world. How many times have we heard that tired old tale?

But seriously, this is an amazing tour de force on the part of Mitchell, who not only acts and sings his way through this wildly entertaining musical like nobody’s business, but directed and co-wrote (with composer Steven Trask, with whom Mitchell also co-created the original stage version).

Jobriath A.D. – There have been a good number of “rags-to-riches-to-rags” show biz tales that played out to their inevitably sad denouement within the walls of New York City’s Chelsea Hotel…this may be the saddest one yet (and that’s saying a lot). That’s where one Bruce Wayne Campbell (aka Jobriath) checked out permanently in 1983, dead from AIDS at 36. As you learn in Kieran Turner’s documentary, it all began promisingly enough.

Proclaimed a child prodigy due to his proficiency on piano, he made his show biz entrée in the late 60s, when he landed a plum role in the original west coast production of Hair, which he soon left to begin finding his own way as a singer-songwriter. In 1972, he was “discovered” by Carly Simon’s original manager, Jerry Brandt (either the savior or the villain of the piece, depending on who you believe). Before Bruce knew it, his newly forged persona of “Jobriath” had a two-record deal with Elektra, and was hyped as the “American David Bowie” and “True Fairy of Rock and Roll” before the public heard a note (no pressure). See it to discover how it all played out.

The Mayor of the Sunset Strip – George Hickenlooper’s fascinating portrait of Sunset Strip fixture Rodney Bingenheimer (whose English Disco club served as the west coast HQ for the U.S. glam scene from 1972-1975) doubles as a whirlwind time trip through rock music’s evolution, filtered through a coked-out L.A. haze.

The diminutive, skittish and soft-spoken Bingenheimer comes off like Andy Warhol’s west coast doppelganger. The ongoing photo montages of Rodney posing with an A-Z roster of (seemingly) every seminal figure in rock ’n’ roll recalls Woody Allen’s fictional Alfred Zelig, a nondescript milquetoast who morphs with whomever he is with at the time.

he film is peppered with appearances and comments from the likes of music producer Kim Fowley (whose whacked-out rock ’n’ roll career warrants his own documentary), Pamela des Barres (legendary super-groupie and former member of Frank Zappa protégés The GTO’s) and her husband, actor-musician Michael des Barres (who steals the show with priceless backstage tales). Brilliantly made, and essential viewing!

The Phantom of the Paradise – To describe writer-director Brian DePalma’s 1974 horror schlock-rock musical take-off on The Phantom of the Opera as “over the top” would be understatement.

Paul Williams (who composed the memorable soundtrack) chews all the available scenery as ruthless music mogul “Swan”, a man with a curious predilection for insisting his artists sign their (somewhat long-term) contracts in blood. One who becomes so beholden is Winslow (William Finely) a talented composer hideously disfigured in a freak accident (and that’s only the least of his problems). Jessica Harper plays the object of poor Winslow’s unrequited desire, who is slowly falling under Swan’s evil spell.

Musical highlights include the haunting ballad “Old Souls” (performed by Harper, who has a lovely voice) and “Life at Last”, a glam rock number performed by “The Undead”, led by a scene-stealing, campy Gerrit Graham as the band’s lead singer “Beef”.

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The Rocky Horror Picture Show– 40-odd years have not diminished the cult status of Jim Sharman’s film adaptation of Richard O’Brien’s original stage musical about a hapless young couple (Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon) who stumble into the lair of one Dr. Frank-N-Furter (Tim Curry) one dark and stormy night.

O’Brien co-stars as the mad doctor’s hunchbacked assistant, Riff-Raff. Much singing, dancing, cross-dressing, axe-murdering, cannibalism and hot sex ensues-with broad theatrical nods to everything from Metropolis, King Kong and Frankenstein to cheesy 1950s sci-fi, Bob Fosse musicals, 70s glam-rock and everything in between. Runs out of steam a bit in the third act, but with such spirited performances (and musical numbers) you won’t notice.

Slade in Flame – Akin to Mott the Hoople, it may be arguable among music geeks as to whether Slade was truly “glam” (they were a bit on the “blokey” side- as the Brits would say), but they are nonetheless considered so in some circles, and this 1974 film was released during the heyday of space boots and glitter, so there you go.

The directorial debut for Richard Loncraine (Brimstone and Treacle, The Missionary, Richard III) the film is a gritty, semi-biographical “behind the music” drama about a working-class band called Flame (suspiciously resembling the four members of Slade, wink-wink) who get chewed up and spit out of the star-making machine (this just in: managers and A & R people are back-stabbing weasels). Far from a masterpiece, but better than you’d expect, considering its non-professional cast (with the exception of Tom Conti, in his first film!).

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Velvet Goldmine – You could call this the Citizen Kane of glam rock movies. While Todd Hayne’s 1998 love letter to the 70s glitter scene has its flaws (let’s just say that there are a few glaring anachronisms) he gets credit for being one of the few latter-day filmmakers who has revisited the era with any palpable sense of earnestness.

Set in the mid-1980s, the story concerns a British journalist (Christian Bale) assigned to uncover “whatever happened to” a glam-rock star (Jonathan Rhys Meyers, in flashback) who may not be “dead” after all (long story). Ewan McGregor’s Iggy-ish character might hold the key. Also with Toni Collette.

The story is obviously inspired by (as opposed to “based on”, which is an important distinction to make here) the professional and (and purely speculative) personal relationship between David Bowie and Iggy Pop; also reminiscent of The Hours and Times (a speculation on John Lennon and Brian Epstein’s relationship).

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Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture – It’s fun to speculate if director D.A. Pennebaker (Don’t Look Back, Monterey Pop) had been given a clandestine “heads up” that he was about to capture Ziggy Stardust’s “retirement party” for posterity as he was setting up to film a 1973 David Bowie concert at London’s Hammersmith venue.

It was news to Bowie’s backup band, The Spiders From Mars who (as the story goes) didn’t have a clue that their boss was about to undergo one in a series of alter-ego ch-ch-ch-changes until he made his mid-set announcement to the audience that this was to be the Spiders’ “last show…ever.” The moment is captured on camera (in Pennebaker’s signature cinema verite style) along with a dynamic set by Bowie, Ronno & co., who are on fire. A must-see for fans.

Does anyone know the way? There’s got to be a way! Here’s a couple of my favorite glam bands to play us out, beginning with The Sweet:

Glam did have its artier side, as demonstrated in this Old Grey Whistle Test performance by the Sensational Alex Harvey Band:

60's Counterculture, Behind the Music, Documentary, Rock 'n' Roll

She just smiled- Janis Joplin: Little Girl Blue ***

December 15, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 12, 2015)

I met a girl who sang the blues And I asked her for some happy news But she just smiled and turned away…

-from “American Pie”, by Don McLean

“I got treated very badly in Texas.”

-Janis Joplin, on her formative years

Let’s face it. We’ve all been bullied at some point in time (ah…school days!). And we know how humiliated and debased it makes you feel. Thankfully, most people are able to take the philosophical road; dust themselves off, get over it, and move on with their lives. Besides, as Michael Stipe posited: “everybody hurts,” right? Welcome to the human race.

But there are some more sensitive souls who never quite recover from such trauma. At best, they trudge through the rest of their lives plagued with doubts, anxieties, and low self-esteem. At worst, they meltdown at some point and go on a tri-county shooting spree.

Happily, there is a middle ground; particularly for those with a creative bent. They tend to gravitate toward the performing arts…becoming comedians, actors, and musicians. That’s because, when you’re on stage (and I speak from personal experience) there’s nothing more redeeming than the sound of applause. And when you’re having a really good night, truly connecting with an audience and “feeling the love”? It’s better than sex.

Of course, the downside is that those moments are ephemeral; you can’t be “on stage” 24/7. As soon as you come down from that high in the spotlight, you’re back to your life…and all those doubts, anxieties and feelings of low self-esteem creep back in. For such souls, that love and adulation acts as a powerful opiate; and when they’re not getting their fix, they scrabble for proxies, and (as Joni Mitchell sings in “Coyote”) “…take their temporary lovers…and their pills and powders, to get them through this passion play.”

“On stage, I make love to twenty-five thousand people; and then I go home alone.”

-Janis Joplin

In Amy Berg’s new documentary Janis: Little Girl Blue, we see a fair amount of “Janis Joplin”, the confident and powerful cosmic blues-rocker; but the primary focus of the film is one Janis Lyn Joplin, the vulnerable and insecure “little girl blue” from Port Arthur, Texas who lived inside her right up until her untimely overdose at age 27 in 1970.

“She” is revealed via excerpts drawn from an apparent treasure trove of private letters, confided in ingratiating fashion by whisky-voiced narrator Chan Marshall (aka “Cat Power”). This is what separates Berg’s film from Howard Alk’s 1974 documentary Janis, which leaned exclusively on archival interviews and performance footage. Berg mines clips from the same vaults, but renders a more intimate portrait, augmented by present-day insights from Joplin’s siblings, close friends, fellow musicians and significant others.

You get a sense of the Janis who never fully healed from the psychic damage incurred from the mean-spirited ridicule she weathered growing up in a small (-minded) Texas burg; shamed for her physicality, unconventional fashion sense, and for harboring aspirations that were atypical from “other chicks”. She once said, “I always wanted to be an ‘artist’, whatever that was, like other chicks want to be stewardesses. I read. I painted. I thought.” We see how she made her breakthrough and found her own “voice” by channeling the soulful essence of her idols Bessie Smith, Leadbelly, Odetta and Aretha.

Despite undercurrents of melancholy and genuine sadness, and considering that we know going in that it is not going to have a Hollywood ending, the film is surprisingly upbeat. Joplin’s intelligence, sense of humor and joie de vivre shine through as well, and Berg celebrates her legacy of empowerment for a generation of female musicians who followed in her wake. On one long dark night of her soul, that “ball and chain” finally got too heavy to manage, but not before she was able to wield it to knock down a few doors.

Behind the Music, Documentary, Rock 'n' Roll

Blu-ray reissue: Bob Dylan: Don’t Look Back ****

December 7, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 5, 2015)

Bob Dylan: Don’t Look Back – The Criterion Collection Blu-ray

This 1965 documentary (arguably the “granddaddy” of what we now routinely refer to as “rockumentaries”) is a textbook example of the right filmmaker (D.A. Pennebaker) hooking up with the right artist (Bob Dylan) at the right place (London) at the right time (1965) to capture a zeitgeist (“The Sixties”) in a bottle. Pennebaker takes a “fly on the wall” cinema verite approach to his subject, as a mercurial Dylan (and entourage) turn the tables on the British Invasion with an ecstatically received series of sold-out London performances.

While there is a generous helping of concert footage, the most fascinating events occur between shows; at press conferences, in dressing rooms and hotel suites. I’ll confess I’ve never been a huge Dylan fan, but there’s something special, palpably electric about his (for wont of a better term) “aura” in this film that is compelling beyond description. Criterion’s Blu-ray is choked with extras, including additional short films by Pennebaker and an illuminating Patti Smith interview.

On Music, Rock 'n' Roll

Blu-ray reissue: The Beatles 1+ ****

December 7, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 5, 2015)

The Beatles 1+ (1 CD + 2 Blu-ray edition) – Capitol

Your degree of enthusiasm for this 3-disc CD/Blu-ray combo set from Capitol depends on what kind of Beatle fan you are. If you are a casual fan, it might be a bit too extravagant; but for completists, it’s a treasure trove. Admittedly, the CD holds no surprises, as it is a straight up reissue of the eponymous 2000 27-track collection of the Beatles’ #1 hits. While the CD tracks are “newly” remixed, I can discern little difference from the belated catalog-wide remix/remasters that were done a few years ago. It’s the Blu-rays that make it worthwhile. One disc contains the official music videos of the CD cuts, and the 2^nd disc features alternate versions of 7 of the #1 hits, plus B-sides and deeper album cuts. This disc is a combination of live performance clips, original promotional films and a few more “official” post Beatle era video workups. Audio and image quality are outstanding on both Blu-rays. Totally gear!

60's Counterculture, Behind the Music, Documentary, Rock 'n' Roll

There once was a note: Lambert & Stamp ***

October 19, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 17, 2015)

The Kinks came up with one of my favorite album titles, Everybody’s in Show Biz. True dat. Everyone wants to be a star; movie star, rock star, top dog, grand vizier, whatever. Of course the reality is that everyone can’t be. And those that do make it to the toppermost of the poppermost rarely get there on raw talent alone. One of the secrets? Good management; particularly evident when one considers the pantheon of rock ‘n’ roll.

While The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin were certainly destined to make great music, it’s fun to speculate how differently their careers might have played out had they never hooked up with Brian Epstein, Andrew Loog Oldham and Peter Grant (respectively) at the right place and the right time (Tonite: Puppet show and Spinal Tap!).

Which brings us to another iconic rock act, The Who, four gifted but somewhat (initially) rudderless blokes who arguably had the most to gain from bumping into the right handlers at the right time. Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp may not be household names like Pete Townshend, Roger Daltrey, Keith Moon and John Entwistle, but for all intents and purposes, they were (for a crucial formative period) the 5th and 6th members of the Who.

In his cheeky and absorbing documentary, Lambert and Stamp, which slipped in and out of theaters this past summer and is now available on home video, director James Cooper draws from a trove of archival footage, adding latter-day interviews to recount this unique creative partnership which on paper, should not have worked out as well as it did.

The two men could not have been any different in social background and personality makeup. Lambert was gay, cultured, privileged; the son of a famous composer-conductor, he spoke with what the British refer to as a “posh” accent. Stamp, on the other hand, was straight, working class, the son of a tugboat operator, an East Ender replete with Cockney h-dropping.

Together, they created a formidable entity; like the Who themselves, the whole was greater than the sum of the parts. Cooper gets much mileage from that disparate personality quotient; drawing parallels between Lambert and Stamp’s dynamic with that famously volatile “push me-pull you” tension that made The Who…The Who.

A lot of the story is one happy accident after the other, so I won’t spoil it here. It wasn’t all sunshine and lollipops; Cooper gives us the ups and the downs. Stamp was still alive when Cooper began working on his film (he died in 2012), so we get the benefit of his latter-day perspective. Stamp’s famous acting sibling Terrence (“Kneel before Zod!”) is also on hand to add a few observations.

Unfortunately, Lambert died in 1981, so he is relegated to archival snippets. This obviously robs him of the luxury to share benefit of hindsight, and entrusts his legacy to the comments of associates like Townshend and Daltrey, who help fill in some of those cracks. While not the best place to start for neophytes, hardcore Who fans will appreciate Cooper’s fresh angle on familiar material.

So Lambert & Stamp may not be for everyone; here are 3 Who flicks no one should miss:

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The Kids Are Alright– Director (and super fan) Jeff Stein’s 1979 labor of love is not only the ultimate Who film, but one of the best rockumentaries I have ever seen. It’s a truly amazing compendium, curating every worthwhile archival performance clip extant, from the band’s earliest TV appearances in the U.K, to The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus, and feature films like Woodstock and Monterey Pop. Stein also folds in a generous helping of archival interview snippets.

There’s no traditional narration; Stein cleverly edits the footage in a manner that essentially enables the Who to tell their own story. His only acquiescence to the tradition of adding “present day” perspective was (in hindsight) a prescient move; a concert staged exclusively for the film in 1977, beautifully shot in 35mm (the band tears it up with rousing renditions of “Baba O’Reilly” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again”). Sadly, this turned out to be the final filmed performance of the original lineup; Keith Moon died in 1978 (footage of the band’s entire set was restored and released on Blu-ray as The Who at the Kilburn 1977).

Quadrophenia– The Who’s eponymous 1973 double-LP rock opera, Pete Townshend’s musical love letter to the band’s first g-g-generation of most rabid British fans (aka the “Mods”) inspired this memorable 1979 film from director Franc Roddam. With the 1964 “youth riots” that took place at the seaside resort town of Brighton as his catalyst, Roddam fires up a visceral character study in the tradition of the British “kitchen sink” dramas that flourished in the early 1960s.

Phil Daniels gives a James Dean-worthy performance as teenage “Mod” Jimmy. Bedecked in their trademark designer suits and Parka jackets, Jimmy and his Who-loving compatriots cruise around London on their Vespa and Lambretta scooters, looking for pills to pop, parties to crash and “Rockers” to rumble with.

The Rockers are identifiable by their greased-back hair, leathers, motorbikes, and their musical preference for likes of Elvis and Gene Vincent. Look for a very young Ray Winstone (as a Rocker) and Sting (as a Mod bell-boy, no less). Wonderfully acted by a spirited cast, it’s a heady mix of youthful angst and raging hormones, super-charged by the power chord-infused grandeur of the Who’s music.

Tommy– There was a time (a long, long, time ago) when some of my friends insisted that the best way to appreciate The Who’s legendary rock opera was to turn off the lamps, light a candle, drop a tab of acid and listen to all four sides with a good pair of cans. I never got around to making those precise arrangements, but it’s a pretty good bet that watching director Ken Russell’s insane screen adaptation is a close approximation. If you’re not familiar with his work, hang on to your hat (I’ll put it this way-Russell is not known for being subtle).

Luckily, the Who’s music is powerful enough to cut through all the visual clutter, and carries the day. Two band members have roles-Roger Daltrey is charismatic as the deaf dumb and blind Tommy, and Keith Moon has a cameo as wicked Uncle Ernie (Pete Townshend and John Entwistle only appear in music performance).

The cast is an interesting cross section of film veterans (Oliver Reed, Ann-Margret, Jack Nicholson) and well-known musicians (Elton John, Eric Clapton, Tina Turner). Musical highlights include “Pinball Wizard”, “Eyesight to the Blind” “The Acid Queen” and “I’m Free”. And you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Ann-Margret, covered in baked beans and writhing in ecstasy! Raucous, garish and gross…but never boring.

And we just have enough time left for a quick one…

Behind the Music, Documentary, On Politics, Rock 'n' Roll

That’s entertainment: The Jam: About the Young Idea ***1/2

October 6, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 3, 2015)

When former British PM Margaret Thatcher died in 2013, Digby did a great post about how the populist backlash against Thatcherism provided fertile ground for the Agit Punk movement in the UK (I wrote a companion piece on Thatcherism’s likewise effect on film makers). One of the best bands of that era was The Jam.

Formed in 1976, the three lads from Woking (guitarist/lead vocalist Paul Weller, bassist/vocalist Bruce Foxton, and drummer Rick Buckler) exploded onto the scene with their seminal album, In the City. The eponymous single became their signature tune and remains a punk pop anthem. While initially lumped in with contemporaries like The Sex Pistols and The Clash, the band was operating in a different sphere; specifically regarding their musical influences.

What set Weller and his band mates apart was their open adulation of The Beatles, The Who, The Kinks, The Small Faces and the Motown sound. At the time, this was heresy; as astutely pointed out in The Jam: About the Young Idea (a rockumentary that premiered on Showtime this week), you had to dismiss any music released prior to 1976, if you wished to retain your punk cred.

In the film, Weller recalls having a conversation with Joe Strummer of The Clash, who told him (in effect) that all of Chuck Berry’s music was crap. “Oh Joe…you don’t really mean that,” Weller replies rhetorically into the camera.

Also on hand are Foxton and Buckler, who still register palpable sadness while recalling their reaction to Weller’s unexpected announcement to them in 1982 (at the height of their greatest chart success) that he was quitting the band to pursue new musical avenues.

Weller is philosophical; he argues it’s always best to go out on top (as Neil Young said, it’s better to burn out than fade away). Director Bob Smeaton (The Beatles Anthology) does a marvelous job telling the band’s story, sustaining a positive energy throughout by mixing in a generous helping of vintage performance clips. This is a must-see for fans.

Documentary, On Music, Rock 'n' Roll

I saw Fear in the People’s Temple: The Decline Trilogy arrives on Blu-ray

October 1, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on August 8, 2015)

I saw Fear in the People’s Temple. Sounds poetic, but I’m being quite literal. In 1980, I saw Fear (the L.A. punk band) perform in the People’s Temple (1839 Geary Boulevard, San Francisco). And yes, this was the People’s Temple, as in the former home ministry for Jim Jones and his congregation. For a brief period from 1979 to 1980, the church was leased as a performance space for punk bands (unsettling in retrospect, but par for the course in the heady days of California’s early 80s punk scene). I don’t remember much about the 4 or 5 acts who preceded them, but Fear certainly left an impression, opening with their signature “hello” song, “I Don’t Care About You”.

I’ve seen an old man Have a heart attack in Manhattan Well, he died while we just stood there lookin’ at him Ain’t he cute?

I don’t care about you Fuck you! I don’t care about you

So much for all that “We hope that you’ll enjoy the show” Sgt. Pepper peace’ n’ love shit!

It was also a brief set, as I recall. As if the opening tune wasn’t alienating enough, lead singer Lee Ving continued baiting the punters with a barrage of insults (witnessing the crowd’s reaction, I soon grokked why the beer was served up in plastic cups). After 4 or 5 2-minute songs, Ving haughtily announced that the show was over, citing the audience’s hostility. It was obviously ironic shtick; half the audience got it (like me, they were laughing their asses off) the other half truly did look like they were ready to murder the band. I suspect Fear’s influences were more Andy Kaufman than Ramones.

Things seem so much different now, the scene has died away I haven’t got a steady job, and I’ve got no place to stay Well it’s a futuristic modern world, but things aren’t what they seem Someday you’d better wake up, from this stupid fantasy

-from “Bloodstains”, by Agent Orange (1980)

As we entered the 1980s, music was in a weird space. The first surge of punk had died away, and was already being homogenized by the marketing boys into a more commercially palatable genre tagged “New Wave”. The remnants of disco and funk had loosened a tenacious grip on the pop charts, yet had not yet acquiesced to the burgeoning hip hop/rap scene as the club music du jour.

What would soon become known as Hair Metal was still in its infancy; and the inevitable merger of “headphone” prog and bloated stadium rock sealed the deal with Pink Floyd’s cynical yet mega-successful 2-LP “fuck you” to the music business, The Wall (the hit single, “Another Brick in the Wall”, was the #2 song on Billboard’s chart for 1980, sandwiched between Blondie’s “Call Me” and Olivia Newton-John’s “Magic”). Clearly, the conditions were ripe for a new paradigm.

Hot funk, cool punk, even if it’s old junk It’s still rock ‘n’ roll to me.

-from “It’s Still Rock ‘n’ Roll to Me”, by Billy Joel (1980)

In 1981 (the year MTV signed on), The Decline of Western Civilization was released. Filmed in 1979, Penelope Spheeris’ documentary was a “lightning in a bottle” capture of the L.A. punk scene, (to quote Hunter S. Thompson) right at that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back. That “new paradigm” may in fact have already arrived on the cusp of the decade, as a scenester named Eugene explains in the film’s opening: “Well, I like that (punk) is something new, and it’s just reviving, like the old rock ’n’ roll. It’s raw again, it’s for real, and it’s fun. It’s not bullshit…there’s no rock stars, man.”

Spheeris mixes fan and musician interviews with well-shot performance footage of some of the seminal L.A. punk bands of that era, like Black Flag, X, The Germs, The Circle Jerks and Fear. While every bit as arch and unconventional as its subject, you’ll notice touches (like providing subtitles for the song lyrics) that subtly position the film as more anthropological study than rockumentary. And indeed, this once “shocking” film has since gained much cachet as a serious historical document; it is now shown in museums.

The film has been tough to track down for a number of years, as the only previous home video version was a long-out-of-print VHS release. Spheeris (who reached a commercial pinnacle with Wayne’s World) has been promising a restored print on DVD to her clamoring (and frustrated) fans for some time; apparently she kept getting sidetracked (or something). The wait ended June 30 with Shout! Factory’s DVD/Blu-ray releases of the film and its two sequels, packaged as The Decline of Western Civilization Collection set.

For her 1988 sequel, The Decline of Western Civilization II: The Metal Years Spheeris once again parsed her subject through a socio-cultural lens; fans are given equal face time with the musicians to paint a full picture of L.A.’s late 80s metal scene. What a difference a decade makes; while the concept of a “rock star” was anathema in the first film, it’s catnip for this crowd. It seems that everybody in II (whether musician, fan, or passer-by) wants to be (to quote Dirk Diggler) a big, bright, shining star. Well, almost everybody.

The film’s most famous (and disturbing) scene, wherein W.A.S.P. guitarist Chris Holmes is interviewed floating in a pool (clothed) and downing what looks to be a lethal amount of vodka while Mom looks on in bemusement, is like a lost reel from Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (he must have got treatment…I just Googled him and he’s still alive).

While it’s certainly a thrill to finally have pristine prints of I and II on the home shelf, the real revelation is the inclusion of The Decline of Western Civilization III, which I had never had a chance to see until now (it played at several film festivals in 1998, but never got picked up for wide distribution). The film departs from its two predecessors, in that it feels more like an act of real social compassion, rather than mere historical preservation.

The setting remains Los Angeles. It is actually a more direct “sequel” to the first film, because “punk” is invoked once again. This time, it’s not so much “punk” in the sense of a music genre, or scene, but as the ethos of a specific lifestyle; in this case a subculture of street kids dubbed as “gutter punks”. Music is still an element, and several bands are profiled, but it’s the gutter punks who tell the real story here.

Sadly, it’s an ongoing story, which is the story of America’s homeless. It’s all the more heartbreaking when you realize that these really are only kids, who due to fate and/or deeply dysfunctional upbringings, feel compelled to reject “normal” society and take their chances tenuously living by their wits. The film reminded me of the 1984 documentary Streetwise (strongly recommended, if you have never seen it), which profiled a group of Seattle street kids.

The box set includes a bonus disc, chockablock with extras. Taken as a triptych, this collection rates as essential viewing, and gets my vote for best reissue of 2015 (so far).

Behind the Music, Biopic, Drug Culture, Rock 'n' Roll

I’m a cork on the ocean: Love and Mercy ****

October 1, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on June 13, 2015)

What is it with talented musical families and evil, abusive fathers?

When you read about how Joe Jackson mistreated his children as they were growing up, it’s no wonder that Michael (and a couple siblings) ended up as freak shows. Then there’s Murray Wilson, father of Beach Boys Brian, Carl and Dennis. Like Joe, Murray intuited his children’s gifts early on. Undoubtedly, both sensed the potential gold mine . Giving both dads the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they initially guided their children’s careers in the spirit of parental mentoring, but as we know, money is the root of all evil.

It’s possible that genius envy played a role as well. There’s a very revealing scene in Bill Pohlad’s Brian Wilson biopic, Love & Mercy.

The year is 1966, and Brian (Paul Dano) is in the process of working out a song cycle that will soon coalesce into the now-legendary Pet Sounds album. He sits at a piano in front of his father (Bill Camp) and bangs out a rudimentary version of a new song that he’s jazzed about. Even at this early stage, it’s beautiful, inspired, and (with the gift of hindsight) we of course recognize it right away. Murray pisses all over it. No hit potential, dumb lyrics. The title? “God Only Knows”.

History did eventually prove Murray to be an ass, but Brian’s famously complex “issues” actually stemmed from a combination of factors, aside from the open derision from Dear Old Dad. The pressures of touring, coupled with his experimentation with LSD and his increasing difficulty reconciling the heavenly voices in his head eventually led to a full scale nervous breakdown (first in a series). Still, he managed to hold the creeping madness at bay long enough to produce the most amazing, innovative work of his career.

This particular period (1966-1967) is recreated by Pohlad with uncanny verisimilitude, especially in the “fly on the wall” depictions of the Pet Sounds sessions (these scenes reveal the core essence of the musical creative process like no other film I’ve seen since Godard’s Sympathy for the Devil). Dano’s Oscar-worthy performance is a revelation, capturing the duality of Brian the troubled genius and Brian the sweet man-child to a tee.

If this were a conventional biopic, this would be “good enough” as is. But Pohlad (and screenwriters Oren Moverman and Michael A. Lerner) make this one go to “11”, by interpolating Brian’s peak period with Brian’s bleak period…the Dr. Eugene Landy years (early 80s through the early 90s).

Landy (played here with full-throttled “don’t you love to hate me?” aplomb by Paul Giamatti) was the therapist/life coach who “treated” Brian for his mental problems by essentially putting him under house arrest (and heavy medication) for the better part of a decade (and charging his star patient a cool half mil a year for the privilege of his services). This “version” of Brian is played by John Cusack.

It may require some viewers a little time and patience before accepting Cusack as Brian; especially since he does not bear the same (almost eerie) physical resemblance, but once you do, it won’t cause the distraction that you may initially fear. There is a good reason for that…Cusack has rarely been better; this is a real comeback performance .

If you have seen Brian Wilson in interviews, you will appreciate Cusack’s turn all the more; he has done his observational homework. Like all the best actors, Cusack has picked up on the essential nuances, more than making up for his relative lack of physical resemblance. His “Brian” is sweet, touching and heartbreaking.

Elizabeth Banks is wonderful as Melinda, who meets (latter-day) Brian when he strolls into the Cadillac dealership where she works, then eventually becomes his significant other (she was the first “outsider” to glean that Dr. Landy’s Svengali-like control of Brian’s life was doing him more harm than good).

There are no bad performances in this film, down to the bit parts. I always try to avoid hyperbole, but I’ll say it: This is one of the best rock ’n’ roll biopics I’ve seen in years. The matinee I attended had an audience of approximately five (opening weekend), so I would recommend you rush out to see it before it gets eaten by a dinosaur.

Behind the Music, Family Issues, Road Movie, Rock 'n' Roll

Alter cocker rocker: Danny Collins ***

October 1, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 4, 2015)

Al Pacino may be one of the finest actors of his generation, but he cannot carry a tune in a bucket. Now, if you can live with that, his new vehicle Danny Collins is likely to leave you with a smile on your face, and a song in your…well, erm…with a smile on your face.

Now picture Pacino as geriatric rock star Danny Collins. Danny, whose heyday was in the 1970s, still indulges in the sex, drugs and rock’n’roll lifestyle (though he’s beginning to look a bit peaked). He makes his grand entrance in a manner akin to the protagonist of the 2013 Italian film The Great Beauty (my review), feted by well-wishers and hangers-on at a wild and decadent birthday bash thrown in his honor. There is ample evidence that Danny has done well; judging by his opulent mansion, and his hot young trophy fiancée (currently shitfaced and passed out on the edge of the pool).

Yet, there is Something Missing. These nifty trappings came at a steep price…his Integrity (oh, the humanity). When Danny burst onto the scene back in the day, he was a gifted young singer-songwriter. But “gifted” doesn’t pay the bills. Eventually, he had a breakthrough hit, but it was a Neil Diamond-ish singalong he didn’t compose. So he went the way of Elvis; becoming more of a “showman” than an “artist”. He’s about to get the icing on this bittersweet cake. His longtime manager (Christopher Plummer) gifts him with a handwritten letter from John Lennon, praising Danny’s work and offering to mentor him. Here’s the rub: the 40 year-old note, sent c/o Danny’s first management, was never passed on to him; it was sold to a collector.

And so Danny’s game of “what if?” is afoot, and he hits the road sans the usual entourage (to the chagrin of his manager, who is anxious about Danny’s upcoming string of tour dates), in search of his long-lost Muse (ah, the luxuries of the creative class) What ensues is like Searching for Sugarman…in reverse. In that 2013 documentary, a film maker tracks down a talented American singer-songwriter who released two obscure LPs in the 70s, then dropped out of the biz. Unbeknownst to the artist, he had become a superstar in South America over the decades, based solely on the two LPs (with ignorance being bliss, he kept his integrity). Danny, on the other hand, knows he is a superstar, yet yearns to “find” and restore his integrity.

This is the directorial debut for Dan Fogelman, who also scripted. Despite some jarring tonal shifts, affable supporting performances from Annette Bening, Jennifer Garner and Bobby Cannavale, coupled with one of Pacino’s better turns of recent years, wins the day. It doesn’t hurt to have a bevy of great Lennon tunes on the soundtrack. And as long as Al doesn’t quit his day job, our ears remain safe.

Dramedy, Musical, Rock 'n' Roll

The twee of life: God Help the Girl ***

September 28, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on September 13, 2014)

I love Scottish pop: God Help the Girl

As far as plot-less yet pleasingly pastoral Scottish musicals centering on mentally unstable young female protagonists yearning to become pop stars go, you could do worse than God Help the Girl. An oddball cross between Alan Moyle’s manic-depressive 1980 music biz drama Times Square and Gillian Armstrong’s kooky, sunny-side-up 1982 new wave musical, Starstruck, the film (written, directed and scored by Belle & Sebastian’s Stuart Murdoch) stars Emily Browning as Eve, a clinically depressed young Glaswegian with musical inclinations…and the soul of a poet. Oh, and a cool beret.

When we first meet her, Eve is in hospital for psychiatric counseling and treatment for an eating disorder. She has a habit of sneaking out to hit the live music clubs when no one is looking. During one of these excursions, Eve Meets Cute with a bespectacled, nebbish-y singer-guitarist named James (Olly Alexander), but not before witnessing the onstage dissolution of his band (an argument over volume levels results in show-stopping fisticuffs with his drummer during their opening number). James quickly intuits that Eve has a decent voice, a unique charisma and a natural gift for songwriting. He introduces Eve to his friend Cassie (Hannah Murray), an aspiring singer. Guess what happens next…

There’s not much of a “story” to speak of, but Murdoch does sustain a certain mood throughout; an impressionistic rendering of a bittersweet, youthful summer idyll informed by Browning and Murray’s dreamy, airy, vocal performances and Murdoch’s lovely chamber pop-influenced melodies (and he’s not afraid to wear his influences on his sleeve…in one of the music sequences, he has Browning hold up a 45 RPM copy of “Pretty Ballerina” by the Left Banke).

While the jury is still out on whether this is a rock ’n’ roll fable aspiring to be a musical, or a musical aspiring to be a rock ’n’ roll fable, if you accept it as a construct of endearing music videos, linked by a loose narrative, you just might get away with calling it entertaining.

No, seriously. I really do love Scottish pop: