Krugman SP.Pdf

One Hit Wonders

Using Film to Analyze the Music Industry

First Edition

By Murray Krugman University of New Haven Bassim Hamadeh, CEO and Publisher Michael Simpson, Vice President of Acquisitions Jamie Giganti, Managing Editor Jess Busch, Senior Graphic Designer John Remington, Acquisitions Editor Brian Fahey, Licensing Specialist Sean Adams, Interior Designer

Copyright © 2015 by Murray Krugman. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reprinted, reproduced, transmitted, or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in any information retrieval system without the written permission of Cognella, Inc.

First published in the United States of America in 2015 by Cognella, Inc.

Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-62661-669-1 (pbk) / 978-1-62661-670-7 (br) Foreword v

Introduction ix

SECTION ONE:THE VEHICLE

1. Jailhouse Rock 3

CONTENTS SECTION TWO:GETTING TO THE BIOPIC 2. The Idolmaker 17

3. Cadillac Records 25

4. Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story 35

SECTION THREE:THE MOMENT

5. Still Crazy 43

6. Once 51

SECTION FOUR:THE HEART

7. This Is Spinal Tap 61

8. Phantom of the Paradise 69

SECTION FIVE:THE HEALERS

9. Velvet Goldmine 79 10. Hedwig and The Angry Inch 87

11. Hard Core Logo 93

SECTION SIX:THE ENVIRONMENT

12. Almost Famous 101

SECTION SEVEN:ONE-HIT WONDERS

13. The Commitments 111

14. One-Hit Wonders 117 FOREWORD

once had the opportunity to produce a radio spot with Marv I Albert, one of my favorite broadcasters. He was unassuming as well as easygoing and I burdened him with only one question: “What was the best and worst part of being Marv Albert?” He was remarkably clear with his answer. The best part was the ongoing opportunity to see and participate in some of the greatest moments in the history of professional sports. The worst part was the daily litany of encounters in which every person in his path felt the overwhelming need to offer Marv their imitation of his signature “YESSSSSSS!” Men’s rooms, restaurants, banks, ticket counters, airplanes, cabs, and every other conceivable situation. Performances ranged from miserable to mediocre and while there might be a diamond in there somewhere, the cringe level made it virtually ir- relevant. Worse still was that each performer felt as though they were the first. I felt a slight twinge of guilt asking Marv to use the EXACT same tone of voice to hysterically rant “BLUE OYSTER CULT—BLUE OYSTER CULT—BLUE OYSTER CULT!” Unspoken was our shared sense of how absurdly hilarious this script was in general and in light of his imitators.

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In retrospect I feel fortunate that “More Cowbell” was more of an inside joke. As a result there have been fewer imitators, in part because the cowbell signature had nothing to do with vocal timbre or inflection. In that spirit we leave the imitators to Marv and the numbers to Christopher Walken. But the purpose of this book was never to bump up my fourteen minutes and change. I’m not sure the tone would ever be suggestive of that. Rather, the original intent and the ensuing result couple in somewhat ironic fashion. Originally I felt a college semester to be truncated to the point of not allowing time to teach folkway. As this book channeled that folkway through fourteen fictional rock films’ raisons d’être it seemed increasingly intuitive: So many of these characters, situations, and archetypes were obvi- ously composites by virtue of the fictional process as to cover more ground in less time. The real irony is the resulting purpose. As someone who teaches the lost art of Music Industry, I have read my share of music industry texts. It is not enough that they seize defeat from the jaws of victory in universally making the exciting so boring. The unpardonable sin is that they compartmen- talize, for lack of a more creative approach, an experience noteworthy for its rapid-fire simultaneity. The stuff comes at you all at once, faster than you would hope for and without second chances. The Devil Wears Prada is entry level by comparison. Also in retrospect did I note the very visual nature of this generation of student. It’s hard to argue auditory when the weapon of choice is an MP3, an Apple, or a pair of buds. If skeptical, simply turn up the volume and listen to the sonic deteriorate. So movies become a perfectly inviting portal and fictional rock films become the most efficiently pregnant source of Music Industry folkway.

I am especially grateful to my family for suffering through this periodically gruesome experience. My children, Lindsay and Sarita, whose rolled eyes gave more inspiration than they could ever know. My wife, Bobi Jentis, the light of my life, who took this book from Murrayspeak to English, regardless of my often catatonic posture. Lastly, all at Cognella for a collaborative process, and to Sharon Hermann in particular for removing me as a potential contestant on “Do You Know More Grammar Than a Fifth Grader?”

If this book serves as the fulcrum in helping one person stay the course, it will have been more than worth it.

What is this that stands before me?

Black Sabbath Black Sabbath INTRODUCTION

he process of elimination is as close as we get to defining rock T ‘n roll. Like the Supreme Court’s definition of pornography, we cannot really define it, but we know it when we see it. We are left to ad hoc our way through it, for better or worse. Murray The K as the fifth Beatle is rock ‘n roll? Maybe yes. Milli Vanilli as vocalists extraordinaire? Maybe no. Is the ability to define the form, or not, a good thing? On the plus side, one common thread is the suggested element of magic. The Lovin’ Spoonful suggested belief in that magic as a prerequisite. But does that get us any closer? We attempt to objec- tify the subjective (Angus rocks, Diddy sucks or vice versa) but our comfort level is in the numbers. This represents the theory of social proof (as in follow-the-leader). As perception, pop stardom is our lowest common denominator of legitimacy. The barnacle quotient (groupies, autograph seekers, critics, dealers, label suits) is undoubt- edly more extreme ascending the food chain, but it is not zero sum. Our use of shortcut odds in hiding behind the numbers does not really get us where we are going. “It’s big, it’s happening, it’s made it, it’s ‘The Next Big Thing’” really skirts the issue. Jerry Lee Lewis’ marriage as rock ‘n roll? Maybe yes. The endless stream of faceless work-for-hire dance or techno

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“artists” with no live act, put together for the sake of making the record as rock ‘n roll? Maybe no. Both big but we are no closer to delineating. And while we may not get any closer than your treasure and my trash (or vice versa), some think it worth pursuing. If a definition could be found, it would in fact residually clarify the boundaries of the community. While this is community seen through attire, grooming, language, belief system, and the like, we are still left with VW vans defining de rigueur Deadhead transport. Maybe yes. Games enabling six-year-olds to jam with their parents? Maybe no. Do we spare ourselves the agony of having to ask whether or not a record like Jimmy Gilmour’s “Sugar Shack” makes the four corners of the canvas? Or in the affirmative, we confront the pain of accepting trailblazing DJ Alan Freed as the co-writer of Chuck Berry’s “Maybelline.” But how to bottle magic? It is not an institution with objective criteria. A crime, speed limit, or completing sixth grade do not seem too hard to define. Or the difference between peanut butter and jelly. But a criterion like magic complicates the equation. So we do not waste time endlessly trying to define the magic; we are too consumed with the pursuit of it. Performer, audience, support system, media, as well as elements of commercial tie-ins all seek the “je ne sais quoi.” And perhaps this is where we want to be. Magic is a hummingbird’s wings in motion or the number of angels on the head of a pin. Still, we can face our palate to determine the scope of our canvas. Oftentimes, the body of work enabling us to do this is large. This body can range from any rock ‘n roll encyclopedia, to volumes on music in cinema, to studies of the lives of performers, managers, DJ’s, labels, etc. An intriguing Jamie Foxx performance as Ray Charles may well fill in a few more blanks than a goofy Dennis Quaid performance as Jerry Lee Lewis. But again we are left to decide what our own rock ‘n roll canvas looks like. The myriad of attempts, of data, may not bring us closer, especially as everything from the databanks to the biopics simply glut the waters without unifying our canvas. And a more unified canvas, while not desiring definition so as to quell magic, might not want an infinite set of choices to address as yea or nay. So we look to our overly generous supply of databanks and biopics and seek to know where we’d rather be, what reveals more. Where do we find clues? In seeking to put together a rock cinema course, I inadvertently stumbled onto something. Historically, I began by discarding those films seeking biopic niche: Ray, Ike & Tina, Richie, Buddy, Jerry Lee, Notorious, Chachira, and many more. They carry the same anchor as the databank books—the obligation of accuracy. To chronicle what actually transpired has less magic (almost by definition) than we beheld and therefore, is smaller than life. If we were studying the Civil War, we would as likely as not read biographies of Lincoln, Douglas, Grant, Lee, Davis, maybe Sherman. And while revealing, how much less so than Gable and Leigh in Gone with the Wind? While the chronicles of the transpired have something to impart, the possibili- ties logarithmically expand once we make the choice to resort to fiction. And why is that? Again, in short, we are freed from the obligating shackles of accuracy. We can create characters possessing vastly broader dynamics on all levels, characters with far more clues to establish the boundaries of what, exactly, is rock ‘n roll. Introduction | xi

The next step was to consider more compelling documentaries, as Don’t Look Back, Gimme Shelter, or Let It Be. Each brought great insight—Dylan’s rope-a-dope relationship with the outside world as insulated ascending icon pushing the boundaries of his audience; Mick and Keith’s new limits for the artist as living that art; The Beatles’ fascinatingly human revelations into their individual and collective thoughts through inadvertent “tells” or body language. And yet is that so much? Even with subplots—Dylan’s confidants (Baez, Price, Neuwirth) and handlers (Albert, Izzy); the Stones’ lawyers (Melvin Bell) and security (Hell’s Angels); or the Beatles’ ability to, at least, momentarily transcend through their music—it all seemed small. While not a vehicle in the classic sense, the weight of the artist as the film’s focus further limits creative freedom, not even possessing biopic flexibility. Next considered was the semi-fictional, specifically, Richard Lester’s look at life as a Beatle, in Hard Day’s Night and their own Help. And while Paul’s grandfather in the Lester film (“but he’s such a clean old man”) or Ringo’s cryptic Sultan in the latter (“Say no more, I can say no more”) are enlightening, they are each engulfed by an attempted accuracy at portraying life as a Beatle. So it was on to fiction as the last medium, constrained only by its own degree of perceived cultural credibility. Can we catch a glimpse of the savvy of Brian Epstein as Beatles’ Svengali in Hard Day’s Night? The character loosely based on the persona of Bob Marcucci (creator of Frankie Avalon and Fabian) in The Idolmaker has creative license through the filmmaker to channel his inner Colonel Tom (Elvis’ manager). Short of perceived cultural tone-deafness, the medium allows the character, by definition, to offer more clues. Surprisingly, the vastness of rock and pop books dwarf this small sub-genre. The fictional rock films with a large informational platform (scratch Beach Blanket Bingo) are few and far between. Further, the dozen or so that seem obvious as difference makers, each seem to embark on such a separate and distinct path. That Thing You Do serves as a definitive statement of the inevitable loss of innocence facing the hordes of one-hit wonders littering the history of rock, much less pop. While The Beatles, Who, Stones, or Zeppelin personas were so individualistic in creating such a broad dynamic, most lack that broad scope of character, leaving us free to invent a soldier, a thinker, a dork, and a narcissist. Most are inevitably going to be two dimensional compared to the characters with 360 degrees of possibility. Gimme Shelter offers a small glimpse of the often discussed, debilitating rock ‘n roll curse that is one hour (at most three, usually cathartic) being on and twenty-three hours, or so, of waiting. Again, it is eclipsed by the freedom to create an image, like the one in Still Crazy, whereby even that one hour on can be hierarchically experienced and as such, an entire career (including elaborate reformation) can be based on an inevitable, predestined moment that transcends all. While Lawrence Fishburne in What’s Love Got to Do with It accurately portrays Ike Turner as a visionary shaper of talent, the abuse, by virtue of its historical accuracy, is what it is. Phantom of the Paradise allows itself to be so much larger. Crammed into this epic are Faust, Robert Johnson at the crossroads, an HIV/Aids allegory, vampires as an alternative source of allegory, Beauty and the Beast à trois, and even the subconscious predictabilities of us as the spectator, dating back in history. Phil Spector, step aside. Truth may be stranger than fiction but it is smaller and may have less to teach us.