DVD Reviews: Two of the America’s Music Legacy Series: Gospel; Rock and Roll

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2010
Images from the Internet

Part 2: This is just two of a series of DVDs that have been released to promote a collection of television specials from the 1980s that highlight specific genres of music, with each disc focusing on a one at a time.


America’s Music Legacy: Gospel
Directed by Kip Walton
Cube International / Century Home Video, 1983 / 2010
105 minutes, USD $16.95
Cubeinternational.com
Qleap.co.uk
MVDvisual.com
I did not really grow up with gospel; after all, it’s not something we sang around lighting the menorah. Gospel did not really come into my consciousness at least until the mid-1980s, through Sweet Honey in the Rock, who help me appreciate the form.

Hosting this show is a post-Kunta/pre-Geordi LeVar Burton, obviously reading the text off cue cards, but clearly into the topic as well. Most of his comments and introductions appear to be independent of the actual program and inserted in, but that’s just observation rather than a criticism.

Gospel truly is a joyful noise, full of spirituality, uplifting messages, and especially focused on two particulars: Jesus and repetition. There are a lot of both in a truly great gospel genre tune. A line in the chorus may get repeated numerous times, each one more excited than the one before. At least that is true in classic form (e.g., “Oh when the saints go marching in / Oh when those saints go marching in / Lord I want to be in that number/ When the saints go marching in”). While less true in ballads, with any kind of raver the message is going to be pounded, and again, I mean that in a positive way.

First up is the legendary Andraé Crouch, who sings a joyous “Can’t Nobody Do Me Like Jesus.” And as happens occasionally throughout the show, there are short interview clips of some artists, including Andraé.

Some of my favorite gospel performances are ones that use harmony, such as the Winans, who use four-part vocal inter-weavings on “I Love You.” This leads to some very moving moments. However, the group is followed by the Archers (three siblings: Tim, Steve, and Nancye), who seem grossly out of place on this collection. One of the only two white groups here, they’re more along the line of televangelist fodder than real gospel. Their sound compared to the rest of the performers represented here is like a Lawrence Welk act at a rock concert. It’s just lame.

Luckily, the slate is cleaned off with some black-and-white clips of Mahalia Jackson from an old television show of her performing a couple of songs (separated by an interview), including “When the Saints Go Marching In” (which is revived later in the show).

Back on track, we see Marion Williams (d. 1994), including an interview about her vocal range, followed by the deep-voiced Doug Miller, who has a couple of song. Repetitions are a key structure with Miller and mightily he praises the Lord.

The Edwin Hawkins Singers evolved into the Walter Hawkins Family, and they do some fine songs that have a bit of a Caribbean feel. They get to do a trio of tunes, including their biggest hit, and one of the first gospel / Top 10 crossovers, “Oh Happy Day.” This was actually one of the bigger disappointments for me, as the song is cut short. It’s a great song, and I was sorry not to be able to hear the whole megillah.

Sandra Crouch and Friends present more iconic gospel, with the choir behind her on “Power in the Blood,” on which she shares the spotlight with one of the choir. But on the second tune, “He’s Worthy,” the singing is split between two members, the first of which is spectacular (no credits are given by name).

With a deep, basso timbre, Walter Phipps (d. 1987) is obviously enjoying sharing his “Choose You Again and Again.” His style is mixing some R+B into the sound, as does the next group, the Chambers Family, including parents and (adult) children. Their tune, the appropriate “In My Father’s House” is Motown influenced and sounds really strong. This is hardly surprising since a core of the family is the Chambers Brothers, who did the infamous “Time Has Come Today,” which was even covered by the Ramones. I’m also fond of a cut by the Brothers of a gospel raver called “I Got It,” from a comp album called Greatest Folk Singers of the ‘Sixties.

The legendary Linda Hopkins is up next. She was in quite a few Broadway shows, and has a powerful voice that lay somewhere between Billie Holiday and Aretha Franklin. She does a bluesy gospel with “The Lord Will Make a Way.” She follows this with the classic “Thank You Jesus,” which has a bottom rhythm that is reminiscent of Little Richard during his gospel phase.

Again breaking with true gospel form, though this time a bit more successfully, is Reba Rambo and Donny McGuire. Their music is almost rock-lite with some funk flourishes. During an interview segment, McGuire says that they are occasionally called “Christian rock” or “Contemporary Christian,” though he sees it as “Top 40.” Well, they’re mild enough to be on Oral Roberts, but they are also among the first successful Christian MOR groups.

Up next to last in the live show is Mel Carter, who was also known for the ‘60s pop hit “Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me,” but whose roots are in the gospel sector. His style is a bit jazzy, but there is a smattering of a reggae rhythm that creeps in on “Lift Up Jesus.”

LeVar takes the lead next in a clip that tells a very brief history of gospel as an art form, putting it into a historical context. Just long enough to be interesting, and just short enough not to be distracting.

To end the DVD is a classic-style choir raver by Sandra Crouch and Friends, “Oh Lord, I’m Glad I Found You.” One could be standing in a Baptist Church on a Sunday and hear a handclapper (and yes, happily repetitious) like this one. It is also a strong way to end the show.

No, Sweet Honey in the Rock was not represented here, but many of the top performers in the field make their presence felt. While I’m never going to go the way of Jesus, I can appreciate the music for what it is, and the spirit behind it.


America’s Music Legacy: Rock ‘n Roll
Director: Arthur Forrest
Cube International / Century Home Video, 1985 / 2010
110 minutes, USD $16.95
Cubeinternational.com
Qleap.co.uk
MVDvisual.com

I actually remember when this show was on, titled Fabian’s Good Time Rock n’ Roll. Hosted by its producer, Fabian Forte, he starts off singing Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll,” clearly showing why his career fizzled out before the Beatles even showed up. He makes Pat Boone look like, well, Bob Seger, despite actually having charted with 11 songs. However, as a producer, he’s done a splendid job here.

If you’ve watched any of those PBS specials (usually replayed ad nauseam during pledge periods where they trot out artists from a long ago era and have them perform their songs, well you have the idea here, though this form was not a common a thing to do back then.

Taped in Baton Rouge, the stage is set for a rockin’ revival, which starts off with the Coasters doing a bunch of their classics, such as “Poison Ivy,” “Yakety Yak,” and of course “Charlie Brown” (“Why’s everybody always pickin’ on me?”). While I’m not sure how many of the original band is still present here, they sound true to the hits.

Next up is Lou Christie (nee Lugee Alfredo Giovanni Sacco), who had some really big hits, as shown here, namely “I’m Gonna Make You Mine,” “Two Faces Have I” / “The Gypsy Cried” (a smart medley, since they are actually quite similar),” and that great (and yet misogynistic) “Lightenin’ Strikes (Again).” His falsetto is still strong (his range is 3 octaves), as is the color of his shiny shirt (not to mention the mullet). Woof! I will add that he is actually quite the dynamic stage performer.

He is followed by the diminutive-yet-still-powerfully-voiced Lesley Gore. Yeah, she does the overplayed (and I think overrated) “It’s My Party,” and my least favorite song of hers, “Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows,” but she follows it up with an amazing “You Don’t Own Me” (I would have liked to have also heard so many of her other great songs, like “Maybe I Know” and “California Nights”; be sure to check out her relatively recent album, Ever Since). She has great eyes, by the way.

She’s then joined by Christie, and they do a medley of “Since I Don’t Have You” and “It’s Only Make Believe” (which was released as a single; I bought it after seeing this when it was originally on). They make it into a strapping power ballad that would make a Glee! fan squeal.

Ernest Evans is next, in his nom de music of Chubby Checker. He starts off with “Pony Time” and ends with “The Twist” (duh!), and inbetween is a rambling medley of eight different songs, by the likes of Fats Domino, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the Beatles. He’s quite a bit older than when he started, but he could still twist the night away at that point.

Bringing it down a bit is the producer pulling his power, and Fabian sings some of his hits, such as, “Turn Me Loose,” “Tiger,” and once again for some reason, “Old Time Rock and Roll.” I sat through it all the way, but next time it’ll be at 8x.

I know I’m whining a bit and nitpicking, but I need to say that the Crystals are the next act, in which only Dee Dee Kenniebrew is one the originals. And they are bad. No one here can touch Darlene Love (well, few can anyway), whose band the Blossoms released a bunch of songs as the Crystals. The three on this show take a stab at “He’s A Rebel,” “He’s Sure the Boy I Love,” “Then He Kissed Me” and “Da Doo Ron Ron,” (all actually Blossoms tunes), and I could not help but wince. Perhaps it would be better if they covered the Crystals’ own hits, like “There’s No Other (Like My Baby)” or “Uptown.”

Getting back to the earlier times, the next performers are doo-wopers, the Diamonds, a mix of originals and new guys (as is true with most groups from that time period). They do their biggies, “Silhouettes,” “The Stroll,” and my favorite of theirs, “Little Darlin’” (\which is overstated here as “the national anthem of rock and roll”).

Little Anthony Gourdine comes by with a run of some of his charters, including “Tears On My Pillow,” “Hurt So Bad” (my fave of his hits), and “Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop” (my least fave of his hits, and apparently his: before the song starts, he’s sure to make the point by stating that he was told he had to do the song “to get the gig”). Better he should have been allowed to do “Going Out of My Head,” a much better song. Gourdine is definitely one of the more chatty artists, commenting that he’s 44 years old and has 8 kids, and that he played on an Alan Freed show in 1958. I will add that he also is in fine vocal form.

The mood completely changes when Bo Diddley takes the stage and makes it his own. He drives through some of his boastful tunes: “Hey Bo Diddley,” “I’m a Man” and “Bo Diddley Put the Rock into Rock and Roll“ (he was one of the first artists in rock and roll to consistently praise his own prowess). He has that rumpa-rumpa-rumpa sound that he created, and is rightfully proud of, right up front. His influence on music was early (e.g., Buddy Holly), and still continues. Ellas McDaniel Bates (d. 2008) was a powerhouse.

What is needed is some Chuck Berry (the true king of rock and roll), and while the man is not present (perhaps they wouldn’t meet his fee), everyone gets back on stage to sing “Johnny B. Goode.” It’s a train wreck, honestly, but one that put a smile on my face.

In all its incarnations over the years, many of which are presented here, it’s true that rock’n’roll is meant to be; it will never die.

A 1970s New York Punk Rock Primer

Text © copyright Robert Barry Francos
Images from the Internet

Recently, I was asked by some friends (who are about my age) to teach them a little about the New York City punk scene in the ‘70s. The following is the list of records (both LPs and 45s) and CDs II played for them that are part of my collection. There is more I could have played, and there may even be some that were extraneous, but I chose from my heart, and from what I own. Certainly, I could have played stuff all night, but I tried to keep it somewhat realistic. Note that with the exception of No 1 and No. 31, I have seen all these bands play live in that time period, usually more than once, so stories went with the airings. I have supplied videos for them here, as many of the originals as I could find, with some exceptions (which will be noted).

This was the second “class” I taught, the first being the influences (including the Shangri-Las, Velvet Underground, Iggy & the Stooges, and the New York Dolls, among many, which is why they are not listed here). I will make some notes here and there, to explain my reasoning.

My attempt was to show the diversity of the scene, before the codification of second wave of British punk came to the US and turned this rebellion into the third wave of hardcore. I am going to assume that most of the audience viewing this will understand, though I am happy to answer questions about relevance, etc., at rbf55@msn.com. Also feel free to leave comments at this blog about my choices, or alternatives, or additions.

1. Radio Dinner: Deteriorata
I started off with “Deteriorata” to emphasize the malaise that was growing in youth culture and society in general after Altamont, when things started to go “wrong” in the paradigm belief systems.

2. Television: Little Johnny Jewel


3. Richard Hell and Voidoids: Blank Generation


4. Richard Hell and Voidoids: Love Comes in Spurts
I played the Voidoids album version, put this will certainly do.

5. Heartbreakers: One Track Mind
I tried to show that this and “Love Comes in Spurts” is musically the same song, just that Walter Lure re-wrote the lyrics after Richard Hell left the band (as Walter wrote the music).

6. Heartbreakers: Let Go


7. Heartbreakers: Chinese Rocks
Not the album version I played, but a good representative live one.

8. Patti Smith: Piss Factory


9. Patti Smith: Gloria


10. Dictators: Next Big Thing


11. Dictators: Master Race Rock


12. Ramones: Blitzkrieg Bop
The song and band that changed everything for me.

13. Ramones: Rockaway Beach
Still my favorite Ramones song.

14. Ramones: I Wanna Be Sedated


15. Talking Heads: Love -> Building on Fire
I still consider this the best TH song, when they were still a trio; an non-LP single.

16. Talking Heads: Psycho Killer


17. Wayne County: Max’s Kansas City
Could not find the version I played, and the live one with the Fast is just too different to make my point.

18. Blondie: X Offender
From Blondie’s best album, their first.

19. Blondie: Heart of Glass
The start of New Wave (mixing punk with mainstream); I’m happy to say the group was not into it.

20. Fast: It’s Like Love


21. Fast: Kids Just Wanna Dance
Couldn’t find the powerpop version I love, before they went metalish.

22. Marbles: Red Lights
It’s a live version, but it’s accurate (and enjoyable) enough to add here:

23. Milk and Cookies: I’m Just a Kid
Decent live version, but not the record I played them.

24. Tina Peel: Fifi Goes Pop


25. Cramps: Human Fly


26. Cramps: The Way I Walk


27. Cramps: Garbageman


28. Cherry Vanilla: The Punk
While this live version is not what I played, it uses the same backtrack as the single, so it’s similar and passes along the message. (Oh, and remember that the Ramones and Johnny Thunders are all from Queens…)

29. Flame: Beg Me
The video sucks (not condoned by the band), but it is the right song. Don’t bother looking at the screen, just turn up the volume.

30. Tuff Darts: Slash
Could only find the studio album version, not the Live at CBGBs one I played (i.e., Robert Gordon).

31. Dead Boys: Sonic Reducer
The first American hardcore band?

32. Dead Boys: What Love Is


33. Suicide: Cheree
For some reason, this song touched the group most positively.

34. Suicide: Frankie Teardrop
I know someone who played this loud around when it came out, and a neighbor called the cops because of all the screaming.

35. Theoretical Girls: US Millie
It’s nice this video includes the lyric sheet (still have mine, too).

36. Sic F*cks: Rock or Die
37. Sic F*cks: Chop Up Your Mother
Both are on the video. Always end with a joke, I say, and I certainly mean that complementary.

Leo Francos, 1921-2006

Text (c) Robert Barry Francos

Growing up, I had a somewhat tempestuous relationship with my father, Leo Francos, but as he got older, we became closer, and in the last few years of his life, I would travel the 40 miles to his house nearly every weekend, and we would go out for lunch at the Mineola Diner (which no longer exists), and then go grocery shopping.

My dad passed away on Dec 11, 2006, shortly after a fall. I wrote this eulogy for him the day after he died, and the eve of his funeral, on my brother Richard and sister-in-law Bernadette's computer.

My dad was a fighter from the start. Born Isadore Leopold Francos on January 12, 1921, from early on he so strongly did not like his first name he refused to be called by it, choosing his middle name as his first, enough so that every document of legal age he was simply Leopold Francos. That was so typical of dad, stubborn to the end.

As a youth growing up in the Bronx, dad lost two people to whom he was very close: his half-brother Max, whom dad looked up to, was taken as a teenager by cancer when dad was just a small boy. His mom, Sadie Grossman, died of a stroke. Dad found her in the kitchen of their apartment. Both of these events were both very traumatic and influencial in his life.

During World War II, dad served as a private first class in the Army, but did not leave the east coast, instead working in hospitals and psychiatric facilities in the Bronx and Long Island. He even learned some basic sign language.

After the war, dad bought his first piece of what he felt was true independence: a car. For most of his life, owning a car was a symbol of importance and status.

One day on the subway after the war, dad ran into an old elementary school pal he hadn’t seen in years, Ralph Schwartzman, and they remained close friends from then on.

Dad went on a blind date with an army buddy, and he was paired with a brunette, while his chum with a blonde. When they walked into the room, my dad turned to his friend and said, “I’m taking the blonde.” That is how he met Helen Rosen, my mom.

They were married in 1948, and moved into the Rosen family apartment in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. The rest of the Rosens promptly moved out.

My brother Richard was born in 1951, and I followed in 1955.

In their early married days, my parents knew how to party, and would host wild evenings of drink and laughter, and we have many photos to back it up. This came to an end, and they cut their partying ways sharply when my toddler-aged brother was found literally under the table with a bottle of booze in his hand. Still, they loved to gather with friends like Ralph and Audrey Schwartzman, and Phyllis and Carmine Sodano, and I remember nights laying in bed as they all convened in the living room, and I could hear them laughing.

When we were children and our parents wanted to talk without us understanding, they would speak in Yiddish, especially around the dinner table, but they almost never argued around us.

One language of dad’s that we all knew loud and clear was that he was a snorer to the nth degree. He could literally be heard from beyond the confines of any wall. One time at a motel while on a vacation with Ralph and Audrey, Ralph pounded on the door in the middle of the night complaining that dad was keeping him awake from two rooms down. Of course, dad’s response to this, as it always was, was simply, “What are you talking about, it didn’t wake me up so I don’t snore.”

Dad’s father, Benjamin, spent his last few years confined to a bed at a hospital in the Bronx. In today’s world a pacemaker probably would have cured this, but meanwhile we trekked up there nearly every weekend until Benjamin’s passing in 1963. This also had a major impact on dad’s life in that he knew he did not want to end up confined in any kind of hospital or nursing home. This became a core belief for the rest of his life.

While we were growing up, dad worked as an Auditor for the Defense Department at Sperry, at Lake Success on Long Island. Every day he would drive back and forth, sometimes with a car pool. One time when I was in fourth grade, I was hanging out with a friend of mine whose father was a cab driver. He said to me, “So, is your dad still driving a cab?” Basically I said, what are you talking about, my dad is an auditor, not a cabbie. I asked my mom about it, and sure enough, Dad drove a cab on weekends to make ends meet. We kids didn’t know it. The irony was, whenever we were all in the car, my dad used to curse at cab drivers, much like he would complain about “old man” drivers, even as he himself aged, and they were eventually younger than him.

Whenever the family would go to visit anyone, be it a relative or a friend, shortly after the meal he would stretch and say, “Okay, it’s time to go.” The Rosen family knew him affectionately as “Uncle Eat and Leave.” Sometimes my mom and dad’s older sister Lillian used to conspire ways to keep dad occupied so they could have one more cup of coffee and talk before heading out.

While highly opinionated and vocal about those thoughts, Dad also had a way of zoning out, smoking his pipe in the living room in front of the television. The two of us were watching a murder mystery one time and the phone rang five minutes before the end. I ran to the kitchen and told the other person that I would call them back, and then ran back to the show in time to see the credits roll. “Dad! Who did it?!” I asked. My dad’s answer was, “Ahh, I wasn’t paying attention.”

My parent’s plan for their senior years was that Ralph would retire, then my dad, then my mom, and then with Audrey they would travel together, as they often did on short vacations as a group. Shortly after Ralph retired, he passed on, and then too quickly after my dad retired, my mom passed away, on June 25, 1981. The story we all agreed on was that Helen and Ralph were sitting at the bar at some resort in heaven, just waiting for the rest and passing the time and laughing.

After a lively retirement party from Sperry and then my mother’s passing, dad mellowed significantly, and he became more of a cuddly bear. He endeared himself to all he met, including his new daughters-in-law, Bernadette and Marie , whom he took into his heart like they were his own.

In the mid-1990s, Dad moved out of his apartment in Brooklyn, and into his new home in Mineola, where he made himself comfortable, within walking distance of King Kullen where he could pick up small grocery items and the paper, and from the Entenmanns’s Bakery Outlet, so he could indulge himself in his chocolate fetish.

As he became older and slowed down, as one must, he eventually had to give up his car, which at first pained him for what it symbolized, but he also knew it was the right thing to do, as he learned to make use of Able Ride, and would always point to them on the street and say, “There’s my bus.”

My brother and I would go see him often, to help him with shopping needs, or the occasional family dinner to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. He enjoyed these very much, as did we, sometimes getting together with Bernadette’s mother and father, Dottie and Hank.

One time we were set to go out, and Richie and Bernadette got to dad’s apartment first, when he fell ill. In fact, he died three times that day, but each time was brought back, fighting to accept the invitation modern medicine offered. After a stay in rehab, he was back on his own. In fact, when he suffered a mild stroke last year, after another a short stint in rehab, he was literally back on his feet within weeks, walking to King Kullen for his paper and rolls. He was determined through sheer force of will that he would not be in a home, and would stay independent.

On this past Saturday, while visiting a friend, dad fell and hit his head. When I arrived at the hospital, he was still coherent, but soon after fell unconscious due to what the neurosurgeon called a catastrophic brain hemorrhage. He passed away two days later, with family by his side.

Even at the end, he was stubborn, coming back for one more breath before he finally let go.

Somewhere at that cabana, Leo, Helen, Ralph, and Bernadette’s mom, Dottie – who would have fit into that group so well – are sitting and laughing, waiting for whomever is next, to join their happy group, celebrating the lives they have lived, as we celebrate yours today, dad.

Post-script: Dad's official passing was after 5:00 PM, but I saw him let go at 4:44 PM. Since then, Bernadette's dad, Hank, has passed away just a few short months ago, and I'm sure he's there, at that cabana, as well.

Happy Birthday to my Brother, Richard Francos

Text (c) Robert Barry Francos, 2010
Photos from RBF family archive; credit given where known
Photos can be enlarged by clicking on them

My brother Richard Francos was born on December 8, 1951. This is to celebrate his birthday and his life.

His briss was a big party. Here is our dad, Leo Francos, holding week-old Ricky (as he was known then), with mom Helen looking over his shoulder. The moyl who did the service was a comedian, and gave them a mock card, offering the services of a "Dr. Kutcherpekerov."
An official studio picture.
In 1955, Richard keeps his new little brother, a dazed Robert, company. [pic: Helen Francos]
Richard and Helen all dressed up. [pic: Leo Francos]
At a young age, Richard was into dressing up as his heroes. Here he is ready to go out west with the Brooklyn Dodgers. [pic: Helen Francos]
Richard was really into westerns back then. One of my earliest memories is of sitting with him and watching Billy Bang Bang and his Brother Butch on the television on early weekend mornings. [pic: Helen Francos]
A big fan of the Davy Crockett show, the walls of our room reflected this. As for the gun with the scope, not a clue! [pic: probably Helen Francos]
Taking his big brotherness seriously, Richard puts a protecting arm around Robert, who still seems dazed. This was on our living room couch. [pic: probably Helen Francos]
At a local Bensonhurst playpark, Richard enjoys the first decent day of spring. [pic: Helen Francos]
During visiting day at sleepaway camp, Robert poses at the bottom of the hill where the bunks were located, with a capped Richard. [pic: Helen Francos]
Helen joins in on the photo fun. [pic: Robert Francos, standing on a rock]
Soon after, Robert started attending the camp on Lake Stahahe, as well. Richard kept a close watch over him the first couple of years. Richard sits next to Leo by the dock, with Robert's arms around them. [pic: Helen Francos]
At the World's Fair in Flushing, Queens, in 1964. Richard and Robert would travel the 2-1/2 hours by subway by themselves the following year quite a few times, something unimaginable now. In this photo, Richard is 13 and Robert is 9. [pic: Leo Francos].
Third Grade, or thereabouts.
Richard was a cub scout, and Helen was the head Den Mother. [pic: probably Helen Francos]
At our aunt Lillian Weiner's living room (Leo's sister) for Richard's Bar Mitzvah [photo by Shirley Kramer, Helen's great-cousin]
About 5th grade.
On a family vacation, we stopped at a ol' tyme western village (and petting zoo). Here we are pretending we're in a movie. [pic: Helen Francos]
Getting ready for a wedding.
At someone else's bar mitzvah party, with some of Richard's classmates neighbors. I only remember three of them. Richard is
Richard loved to go fishing, and here he is out off Sheepshead Bay with friend of the family, Neil Rosen (no relation).
Sixth Grade.
The day of Robert's Bar Mitzvah in 1968, the family gathered. Back then, my brother was just a bit of of a dashing dresser. [pic: Audrey Schwartzman]
High school graduation, in Lafayette HS maroon. [pic: Helen Francos]
Richard in the Canadian Rockies on one of his travels. At another time, he bicycled (with a group) from New York up to Nova Scotia.
Now married and living on Long Island, Richard prepares a barbecue for family and friends [pic: RBF]
In 2009, Bernadette and Richard pose for the camera. [pic: RBF]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG BRUDDAH!

DVD Review: The Electric Chair

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2010
Images from the Internet

The Electric Chair
Written, produced and directed by Mark Eisenstein
Wild Eye, 1985 / (rereleased) 2010
105 minutes, USD $16.95
Wildeyereleasing.com
MVDvisual.com

Whether Mark (Marcus) Eisenstein’s work could be put into the transgressive film category is borderline, but he does have an aggressive style that has a large dose of religion (mostly Jewish), confrontation, and imagery.

His The Electric Chair, from 1985, has long (well, for 25 years) been considered a piece of “lost cinema,” directed by this film professor from Jersey City State College. Fortunately, Wild Eye Productions has not only seen fit to release this piece of unorthodox cinema, but has also added in a whole bunch of Eisenstein’s shorter pieces as extras, along with some trailers and a track commentary. But more of that later.

Written originally as a play that was mounted but once, Eisenstein (okay from now on I’m just referring to him as ME…deal with it) decided to make a film out of it, and offered the lead role to Harvey Keitel, who actually wanted to direct it as well. ME was all for it, but due to prior commitments, Keitel backed out and offered up his pal Victor Argo in the lead. Yes, the heavily Jewish role was handed to an actor of Puerto Rican heritage, who just nailed the role perfectly. There is a lot of dialog in long bursts, and being trained as a stage actor, Argo was more than up for the part. After filming for no pay, the film sat in the can in minimally edited form for years, even after Argo’s death in 2004.

Though filmed in the ‘80s, ME finally finished the black and white film by editing in some footage he took of decrepit buildings on Block Island in the Long Island Sound (or would that be considered the Atlantic?) in 1971, in splashes throughout the narrative, effectively adding a layer of mood to the zeitgeist of the story.

The basic premise of the plot is centered around a shoe salesman, Arnie Schwartz, a lonely man whose marriage is grown as tired as he is, and who spends nights doing a stand-up comedy and music show at a local bar in New Jersey (where most of ME’s films are located). An electric chair appears on the stage as he is bombing, and in front of an audience that represents his whole life, he is warned not to achieve several levels of intimacy with the object.

As the gig does on, the comedy act turns into a rant about the philosophy of comedy, and bit by bit focuses in on his life, God, and schtupping, which uses up most of the film. It takes a strong actor to be able to portray this level of anger and still remain somewhat sympathetic (though in the commentary, ME states that he was not going for sympathy, just the anger), if not pathetic. In front of his mother, himself as a young man dominated by her, his kid sister, a sax playing rabbi, a couple engaged in their own intimacy, and others, Arnie rails right to the climax, which comes as no surprise. However, it is the last shot of the film that I found the most effective and unnerving.

The time goes quickly, and Argo is more than up for the task of possibly his only starring role in his long career. Keitel would also have done well, but Argo brings some depth to his emotions, and can punch out the lengthy gunfire dialog, while in close-up, without ever making it redundant or boring. It’s hard to turn away as he gives his all, which is even more impressive considering, as I said, he wasn’t even paid for it. That’s dedication to a craft.

The images of the super 16mm film (except for the Block Island footage, which is a grainy 16mm) is exceptionally sharp, giving a near German Expressionist pastiche, with high contrasts and an occasional glow, with Argo’s white suit against a black background. It’s the facial close-ups where the shadows are the most effective. My only qualm is the editing, sometimes a bit too sharp and jarring, or perhaps that was the meaning (the other Eisenstein filmmaker, Sergei, was famously noted for proclaiming that “editing is motion”).

This is definitely not a date movie, nor is it a backdrop film. It needs special care and attention from the viewer to see the slow build-up to the finale, and all the subtlety in-between as the tone of the film changes.

The commentary was interesting all the way through, though I felt like I wanted a second one. ME is paired up with indie filmmaker Peter Crocker (I may have this name wrong) and Rob Hauschild of Wild Eye Productions; Crocker is an “expert” on the film, and runs off with the conversation a number of times I just wanted to say “shut-up, this isn’t your film” more than once. A lot of technical questions are discussed about the film, the “hardware” as it were (pre-production, production, and post-production), but not enough, I feel, on the “software” (plot, meaning, intentions). I would have like more insight on what ME was trying to “say,” and at key moments, such as the ending, I thought, “why are you talking about that instead of what’s on the screen?” Don’t get me wrong, the commentary is full of fascinating facts, it just left me wanting more than it offered.

The shorts by ME that are included, and there are several of them, run from the “mini-feature” of “The Roach,” which lasts more than 20 minutes, to a couple that are just a few minutes.

“The Roach” is an interesting set piece of a waterbug that suddenly becomes human, but still scuttles about, played well by 20-something hipster type Eric Mednis. He has no dialog, and flops around when he’s on his back. The Roach is as confused about the human world as it is about him. He keeps following a profane exterminator named Mr. Acme, played by Nick Taylor, and is nearly seduced by a lonely woman (Joan Moossy, who is in many of ME’s productions), before the film ends, Nero-and-Poppaea -style. The film is simple and smart, and obviously a reversal of Kafka’s infamous “The Metamorphosis,” and is one of his few works here in color.

Some of the shorts are extremely esoteric, such as “The Smog” (1967; 6.5 min.), where people are filmed talking in a smog while their voices are re-recorded; “Eight Tragedy Term Papers Plus Three by Maggie Murphy” (1967; 15 min.) in which a real-life poetic term paper by a student who passed away is read by ME as a typewriter types out newswire stories; and in “Mark Eisenstein: Inventor of the Frame” (1982, 1.5 min.), the director explains how he “invented” the frame for cinema (before, supposedly no one knew where to look). There are a couple of others of varying success, but interesting to help put The Electric Chair into a larger picture of Eisenstein’s process.

There are also some trailers put out by Wild Eye Productions, though there is also one for an unreleased Eisenstein film called “God Is On Their Side,” an (I am assuming) allegorical tale of trying to get God on one side or another during a war, while all he wants to do is sing, dance, and smoke cigars. Why am I so interested in this? Simply because God is played by (and credited to) Buster Poindexter, also known as New York Dolls’ vocalist and Staten Island’s own David Johansen.


Bonus video:

GOD IS ON THE OTHER SIDE - rare UNRELEASED movie trailer - New York Dolls from Wild Eye Releasing on Vimeo.

DVD Reviews: Two of the America’s Music Legacy Series: C+W; R+B

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2010
Images from the Internet

Part 1: This is just two of a series of DVDs that have been released to promote a collection of television specials from the 1980s that highlight specific genres of music, with each disc focusing on a one at a time.

America’s Music Legacy: Country and Western
Directed by Gene Weed
Cube International / Century Home Video, 1981 / 2010
115 minutes, USD $16.95
Cubeinternational.com
Qleap.co.uk
MVDvisual.com
The program itself was originally titled Countrystyle. Considering the wide range covered, that seems pretty appropriate. This show, mounted at the Knotts Berry Farm Theater in California, is externally hosted (he’s filmed at various park spots and then spliced inbetween) by Gene Weed (d. 1999), who did the same honors for the short-lived television series Shiveree, and was director for ABC’s coverage of Live Aid (he was part of Dick Clark’s company).

Starting with the young and fresh, the show opens with Sylvia (Kirby), who is one of the first “new country” artists (similarly along the lines of Juice Newton), when country starting becoming as much about pop music. She performs two of her early hits (well, I guess then-current), starting with “Drifter,” which went to No. 1 on the country charts. She follows up with the really awful “The Matador,” a pandering audience sing-along mess, which is due more to the song than the singer. However, she is apparently enjoying herself up on stage, though now nearly 30 years later, she’s a life coach rather than a performer. Heck, this disk did not even list her in the bios section!

The first to unofficially represent the ‘70s period, the last bastion before the rise of “country pop,” is Razzy Bailey, whose style reminds me of the likes of Larry Gatlin, with “Lovin’ Up a Storm” and “She Left Love All Over Me.” He also does the classic “Nightlife,” a Willie Nelson boogie blues ballad.

Eddie Dean (d. 1991) has been around since the ‘30s, first making appearances singing in Roy Rogers westerns and the like. He certainly stands out in his bright yellow two-piece outfit. I swear, C+W musicians have the loudest clothes of all music genres, and I won’t even go into the tassels (or tzitzit, as my parent may have called them). Anyway, Dean sings some songs he has been known for, such as the traditional cowboy tune from yon, “Wagon Wheels” (which has a similar feel to “Tumbling Tumbleweeds”). He follows this with the (I’m) cheatin’ hit of his, “One Has My Name (One Has My Heart)”, written by Dean and his wife. This song is so classic and timeless. Then there’s another Dean-penned number, Hillbilly Heaven,” which is a bluegrass ballad that reminds me in theme of the Righteous Brothers’ (worst) song, “Rock and Roll Heaven.” It takes us on a name dropping tour of all the people in hillbilly music that died, and even those to follow! Dean is definitely ol’ time country, and is fun to watch.

What can one say about Doug Kershaw, the “Ragin’ Cajun”? He is pure entertainer, with his fiddle in hand (but rarely under neck); he plays nothing but toe tappin’, foot stompin’, yeeee-haaaaaw Cajun-style bluegrass. Considering the way he handles the fiddle, could one call him the Hendrix of the instrument? Well, maybe that’s overstepping, but the cat can play. He performs two of his big hits, “Diggy Diggy Hi, Diggy Diggy Low” and “Louisiana Man,” as well as Hank Williams’ “Jambalaya.” Or should I say, of course he does that song, considering he comes from the bayou (his dad was an alligator hunter). He is obviously having fun, with the audience, about the previous performers, with the cameras, and especially the music. He is quite comfortable dancing around the stage while playing, and it’s catching.

Sadly, one of the few real disappointments on this collection is the wonderful Clara Ann Fowler, better known as (Miss) Patti Page. Oh, the woman can sing, and even though her big hit, “Tennessee Waltz” was recorded in 1950, she still has the pipes that made her famous, without missing a note. Great voice. The problem for me is the presentation. He puts absolutely no soul into most of the songs, such as Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again,” “Please Release Me” (made famous in the US by Englebert Humperdink), and a bizarre cover of John Hartford’s “Gentle on My Mind,” where she takes the position of the woman he left behind, presenting it in a classic hetero-normative stance (yes, I know C+W is conservative, but…). She sings these songs both bouncy and flouncy, like she’s barely present, or as a lounge singer may. Absolutely no stage presence at all. However! She does a pretty good job on a new song for her at the time, “No Aces,” and actually has a nice tenderness for her classic “Waltz.”

Moe Bandy started out in the rodeo, and after moving into music it’s a topic he still comes back to often. In fact, his first big hit, played here, is “Bandy the Rodeo Clown.” He also does the like-minded “It’s a Cheatin’ Situation” and “Cowboys Ain’t Supposed to Cry,” both of which are rodeo related. His milieu is the weepy storyline of heartbreak and sadness, and he continues that theme with “Take Me Back to Yesterday Once More” (why do C+W titles tend to be so long?). His music has lots of steel-string wah-wah.

The next performer is the only person who could comfortably fit on most DVD categories in this series, without changing his material all that much. Jerry Lee Lewis moved comfortably into C+W and gospel after his rock and roll career was cut short in 1959, with his influence felt both from and to the varied genres. And, as always, he does not hold back. Whether blasting through the rock and roll boogie of “I’m Rockin’ My Life Away” and “Great Balls of Fire,” or the more traditional bluegrass boogie of “I’m Walkin’ at the End of the Road” and “I Trusted in You” (the flipside of the “Great Balls” 45), he covers all the bases. It’s also interesting that he invokes himself in third person in nearly every song. Do I really need to tell you ‘bout the Killer, one of the more exciting entertainers in the last 50 years?

Once in the rock band Fire and Ice, Terry Gregory brings that energy to country (well, new country) with the silly “Marie LaVoe” (a swamp witch who likes to make “another man done gone”). She moves around the stage, strutin’ and squattin’ as if she was still rockin’, but it definitely works for her. Her second song, “Can’t Say Goodbye,” is a break-up ballad that’s more pop than country. She is nicely expressive in her presence, and has a decent voice.

He’s now a legend (his list of awards in the bio area go on for pages), and it’s clear to see why. Ricky Skaggs is the final new performer here, and he covers a bunch of his traditional-influenced country crooning with the (again) heartbreakers “Get Your Heart Broke,” “You May See Me Walking,” and “I’m Cryin’ My Heart Out Over You.” Skaggs has been a major fixture in both the country and rock (e.g., the White Stripes, Bruce Hornsby) scene for decades now.

For some reason, we return to Terry Gregory, though it’s obvious this clip is actually from the earlier set, where she covers Tammy Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man.” Terry does have a good voice and charm, but she is no match for Wynette’s version, when it comes to pacing, intonation and inflection.

And then, again, there is Jerry Lee (also from the earlier set), where he brings down the house with the history of rock’n’roll, covering Chuck Berry’s “Memphis, Tennessee,” his own “A Whole Lot of Shakin’ Goin’ On,” and as an encore, an abbreviation of Little Richard’s “Good Golly Miss Molly.”

Covering traditional, neo-traditional, bluegrass, Cajun, and new country, among others, this wide covering makes this a nicely handled package.
[see video at end of blog]

* * * *


America’s Music Legacy: Rhythm + Blues
Directed by Kip Walton
Cube International / Century Home Video, 1983 / 2010
95 minutes, USD $16.95
Cubeinternational.com
Qleap.co.uk
MVDvisual.com
This was a potentially very scary DVD for me to watch. I love early R+B, but from 1974 through 1985 (aka the dreaded disco years), R+B became a nightmare (ass it would again with the advent of hip-hop and rap). Fortunately, most of what is covered here is from the earlier incarnations of the sound, which it broke off from jazz in the 1940s. Perhaps that explains why many of the people here have passed on since its airing.

This release is actually two separate television shows (specials?), both taking place in a studio made to look like an intimate club (a perfect setting for this style). The first is hosted by actor Brock Peters (d. 2005), who has a deep, rich speaking voice (like James Earl Jones). Between musical acts he explains the history of Rhythm and Blues in short spurts, and one old film clip of Slim Gaillard. He is thankfully non-obtrusive, and his presence is actually a nice pace-setter.

The first artist is Brook Benton (d. 1988), who sings the metaphoric tune, “Boll Weevil” (about trying to find a home), and a bluesy “Thank You Pretty Baby.” Let me add right here, that because these are two shows pasted together, to save time they edited out some songs, which remain listed on the cover; this quite frustrating. Benton’s “Rainy Night in Georgia” is among those; a far superior tune to “Boll Weevil,” it is not here. Surely there was enough time to put this on, since the cover states this is two hours, and it’s actually 25 minutes shy of that.

He is followed by the ever-lovable native of Terre Haute, IN, Ben Scatman Crothers (d. 1986), of whom I’ve been a fan for years. You may know some of his acting work, such as the mailman on Chico and the Man, the guy who gets killed by Jack Nicholson in the last reel of The Shining, and the title character voice of Hong Kong Phooey, but he’s been a musician (starting as a drummer) since the 1920s, eventually getting into guitar and said scat singing. Strumming a guitar uke style, he is obviously having fun with a rambunctious “Ain’t She Sweet,” the slow ballad “Mean Dog Blues” (which he co-wrote), and the Louis Armstrong styled “End of the Road.” Scatman is always a joy to watch, even much younger as a drummer in the above-mentioned Gaillard clip.

Moving up to Motown, Mary Wells (d. 1992), one of the first artists to have a hit on the label and helped define the sound. She does her classic Smokey Robinson-penned “My Guy,” and then a disco-ized “Gigolo” (this seems to be a kind of ‘80s trend: when I saw Martha Reeves play at Zappaz in Brooklyn during this period, she did the same treatment for “Dancing in the Streets”). I was not happy, especially since her “Two Lovers” is listed by not presented.

After that disco terror, there came the polar opposite style in the form of O.C. Smith (d. 2001), who had a big hit with “Little Green Apples” (1968 song of the year). I would be hard pressed to call this R+B, but more like lame pop. While there is a slight pick-up with “Stormy Monday,” in which the band easily outshines Smith, he drags it right back down with the turgid Bobby Russell-penned “Honey (I Miss You)” (that Bobby Goldsboro had a bigger hit with, for some reason, perhaps a deal with the devil). Ironically, Russell also wrote “Little Green Apples.” Smith’s R+B-lite is not exactly exciting performing, rather looking like he phoned it in. Throughout, I kept thinking that it’s a shame they didn’t get Bill Withers to do “Ain’t No Sunshine,” a much better artist and song in the contemporary R+B genre.

There is a rise in spirit, though, when Sam Moore hits the stage. His version of “Soul Man” is as exciting as ever, even without Dave Prater. It’s definitely rousing, and a fine way to end the first program (though “I’ve Been Loving You” and “Hold On, I’m Coming” are, again, listed but not shown).

Without any announcement, the second program is started by a jump cut, and we are introduced to its host, Billy Eckstine (d. 1993), who, like Brock Peters, gives a bit of a history lesson between artists, showing a few b+w clips such as Louis Jordan and Amos Milburn. A singing contemporary of Sinatra, Eckstine actually gave blue eyes a close competitor, especially among the African-American demographic.

Eckstine starts out with a solid proto-rocker, “Little Mama,” the kind of song Elvis would take and add in his own spin. This only makes sense, as the first guest is Ruth Brown (d. 2006). There are some who will know her from her appearance in the original Hairspray film, but she is considered one the first queens of rock and roll (though I would place her in the proto- area as well). She is so much fun to watch as she careens through her 1953 “5-10-15 More” and “Teardrops From My Eyes.” And as joyous as it is to see someone this present in their music, she is obviously having a blast as well.

To exemplify soul, they call in “the fifth Beatle,” Billy Preston. Like Brown, he is obviously having a good time, setting proverbial fire to his two-level keyboard electric organ. He starts off with a lengthy, raucous cover of the Gershwin brothers’ “Summertime” (from Porgy and Bess). While most of it is an instrumental, he jumps in about half-way through and plays the piece as “Bach would play it,” and then as Ray Charles would, including a vocal impression. Then he really gets down and goes through one of his bigger hits, “Will It Go Round in Circles.” Even I was singing along on parts (“…Let the bad guy win / Once in a while!”).

Getting back to more a traditional sound, Gloria Lynne sings the torchy “I Wish You Love,” and is then joined by Eckstine for a jazzy “Call Me Irresponsible,” a 1962 standard. While her voice is a bit rough in spots, one can see where she was coming from, and admire her work.

And speaking of irresponsible, the last act is Sheer Delight, a ‘80s post-disco girl group performing “Getting to the Good Part.” Solid top-10 schlock, this type of material was handled so much better by the likes of Lady Flash. This is one time when I was just fine with a couple of songs that were listed on the cover but not performed.

To close the show, Eckstine commanders the stage, and performs Duke Ellington’s “Mr. Saturday Night” (which has the line “Don’t get around much anymore”), “In My Solitude,” and “I’m Beginning to See the Light.” He finishes up with the slow boogie blues of “Jelly Jelly Blues.”

So, mostly my fears were unwarranted, and this was actually a really nice collection. Yeah, there’s more I would have liked to see, such as some of the artists I’ve mentioned, and others, such as Aretha, James Brown, and Curtis Mayfield, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they show up on a later part of this collection.

DVD Review: Brian Wilson Songwriter 1962-1969

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2010
Images from the Internet

Brian Wilson, Songwriter 1962-1969
Executive Produced by Rob Johnstone
Narrated by Thomas Arnold
Chrome Dreams, 2010
190 minutes / 2 disks, USD $21.95
Chromedreams.co.uk
MVDvisual.com

Is there anyone who doubts that Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys was one of the great recording producers in rock’n’roll history? From the original bubblegum surf sound through the master work of Pet Sounds, there is hardly anyone who could touch his productions in harmony and layering of sounds.

If there is a person or two who are unaware of what lay behind – and beneath – the tracks, this British double-disk documentary set is for you. And if you are someone who is a fan of the man, well, this is also of interest.

Amid clips of the William Asher-directed Beach flicks of the early ‘60s, focusing on the likes of Dick Dale, the story starts off at the beginning, of the rising of the nascent surf scene and sound that was based on the likes of Dale and the Ventures. There is no mention of Duane Eddy’s 1958 “Rebel Rouser,” which I believe had a hand in that sound, though father of the twang guitar, Leo Fender (who lived near the Wilson family) is given credit. In fact, before the Beach Boys, most of the music that would fuel the surf sound would be instrumentals (Dale being a rare exception). Other major influences listed for Brian are the likes of Chuck Berry, B.B. King, Ray Charles, and the vocal jazz harmonies of the Four Freshmen. In fact, according to original Beach Boys member David Marks (1961-63; he left when Al Jardine came in), who is interviewed pretty extensively here, what made Wilson unique was his ability to effectively combine rock’n’roll and jazz.

As the Beach Boys [BB] started out, Brian used his music to bring people to him, rather than him having to go out to meet anyone, states BB biographer Peter Ames Carlin (Catch a Wave: The Rise, Fall and Redemption of the Beach Boys, 2006). That’s just one of the many great insights presented by some interesting folks in their own right, who are interviewed for this set, such as other writers like Domenic Priore (Smile: The Story of the Beach Boys’ Lost Masterpiece), Anthony DeCurtis (editor of Rolling Stone mag), and Phil Lambert (a music professor and author of Inside the Music of the Beach Boys). But more on the other talking heads later.

During the recording of their first single, “Surfin’,” released on the indie Candix label, there is an audio of Brian pushing the other members to give what he wants to hear. While dad Murray is not mentioned at this point, there is obviously something that Brian picked up from him as far as stating his mind, even though he was shy outside the studio (and nowhere does this documentary mention the infamous story about how Brian could not hear in stereo because of being deafened in one ear by a shot to the head by said Murray). Murray does come into the story after the single is a local hit and he uses it to push the interest of the BB to Capitol Records, who sign the band to much success for all.

We are, around this point, introduced to three key players in the BB history of this period through interviews: the BB’s manager and promoter Fred Vail, LA producer and songwriter Russ Titelman, and close friend and confidant of Brian’s, Danny Hutton, who would go on to his own fame in Three Dog Night.

There’s a lot about Brian I didn’t know in this period (I love the BB, but have not read too much of their history, including the books listed above), such as how he managed to find writing partners, and how he also produced many other bands, such as Jan and Dean (okay, I knew about them), and the Honeys (Brian would marry one of them and produce his part of Wilson Philips). I had always thought that all the of the BB had collaborated on the Jan and Dean material, but it seems that is where the animosity within the band seems to start, especially with vocalist/cousin Mike Love, and dad Murray, who were mad that the penned by Brian/sung by Jan and Dean “Surf City” went to No. 1 before anything by the BB.

At this juncture of the story, Phil Spector is introduced, with his infamous wall of sound. However, it is pointed out that Spector learned everything he knew from Leiber and Stoller, and Brian picked up some tricks from Phil. It seems Brian loved the Ronnettes “Be My Baby” (what’s not to love?), and musically, “Don’t Worry Baby” his Brian’s response to it (as is musically demonstrated). But as Bruce Johnson (BB member since 1965) points out, “Wilson overrated Phil Spector; Brian was light years beyond Phil Spector.” Part of his rationale is that where Phil obsessively focused on the music, Brian did the same on both music and vocals, and in less time.

Phil famously used the same set of musicians over and over, dubbed the Wrecking Crew. Impressed by them, Brian flew them out and also used the same group, two of whom are represented in interviews here: the rightfully celebrated drummer Hal Blaine, and renowned bassist Carol Kaye, who was in the studio for more of the records we listen to from that time than anyone else; she is a true living legend and I’d love to see a documentary on her life. But, again, I digress… Blaine suggests at some point that, in the studio playing just bits of Brian’s material, it was “infantile” stuff, seemingly “unsophisticated; we didn’t realize how far out it was.” Brian records all the songs with these musicians while the BB are on tour, and then when they come back, they record the vocals.

When the Beatles arrive, Capitol shifts its focus and starts to ignore the BB, much to Murray’s agitation, who starts to harass the company, leading to his firing by Brian, now sole leader of the group. At this time, when “I Get Around” hits No. 1, Capitol starts being interested again. However, the BB was maturing, and after “All Summer Long,” the focus of the band changed to pop, rather than just surf.

Thus ends the first disc, after 1 hr, 31 min. Please note that although I am telling a lot here, I am only putting out a fraction of the story presented in this wonderful documentary.

At the start of the second disc, which is 1 hr. 38 min., the narrator fills in on the four LPs that followed their first hit. Brian, meanwhile, wanting to work in the studio rather than touring, is replaced on the road by Johnston (who is a great songwriter in his own right, including “I Write the Songs” [that’s right, it was not Manilow], and he had a hand in co-writing Elton John’s “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” and Floyd’s The Wall. Yes, I know, digress…).

It’s pretty common knowledge about Brian’s drug use, mental illnesses, and the like, but this film sheds some interesting light on the behind the scenes goings-on. The main focus of this second disc, though, is dedicated to their classic Pet Sounds and failed Smile albums. There is a lot of detail about the record, reactions, and tension within the BB, both in the studio and after. While I wrote 3 pages of notes about this period, well, I firmly believe it’s worth seeing it yourself, rather than waxing on and on.

The story of the Beach Boys is a fascinating tale of personalities, pressure and popular music of the period. The interviews are solid, the film clips are impeccable (including bits from American Graffiti, The Last Picture Show - which seems like an odd choice since it takes place in 1951 – and other sources. There’s lots of Beatles, Phil Spector, and especially of the Beach Boys live through the years; there is also plenty of still photographs to complement the narrative). This is good storytelling (and editing) without pandering to salaciousness. One of the better Chrome Dream British telly shows I’ve seen, and most of have been quite good.

There are two bonuses (other than detailed interviewee bios that are in too-tiny print that cannot be “zoomed,” one of my few complaints about Chrome Dream disks). The first is a 3-1/2 minute interview with Johnston called “Pet Sounds Preview: John and Paul Hear the Record,” where he discusses how he brought a pre-release tape of the LP to the UK, and played it for the two Beatles, which Johnston claims highly influenced the Beatles Revolver release. The second short, at 9-3/4 minutes, is called “End of an Era: The Beach Boys in the ‘70s.” The decline of the BB is discussed despite albums like Wild Honey, which went mostly unnoticed.

My only real complaint about the DVD (other than small text for the bios) is the (two-bar?) incidental music by Chris Ingham. Well, not the music itself, which can be heard on the opening clip below, but its overuse to the point of annoyance. Still, the overall package is worth the view.


Bonus unrelated video: