DVD Review: Molly Hatchet, Live at Rockpalast 1996

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2013
Images from the Internet

Molly Hatchet: Live at Rockpalast 1996
Directed by Gerd F. Schultze
MIG / WDR
71 minutes, 1996 / 2013
MIG-music.de
MVDvisual.com

Back in 1981, I visited a friend in Greensboro, NC, and had the opportunity to attend a show or two at the legendary Fridays club. One of the bands was copying the style of Talking Heads after they went mainstream. It was then that I learned of a Greensboro tradition: rather than shouting out the name of a band they would rather see, the audience chanted the name of one they considered to be equally bad. In tandem, they screamed in the local accent, “Mol-leh Hay-chet Mol-leh Hay-chet Mol-leh Hay-chet,” until the band on stage left.

Now, I knew diddly about Hatchet, as southern rock is not one of my fortes. I’d rather listen to real blues, personally. As time went on, Hatchet never really crossed my musical bow, so outta sight outta mind, right? Well, as any long-term music reviewer knows, you never know where bands will turn up in your radar. In my case, the powers that be brought a live performance of Hatchet from the Rockpalast show on June 23, 1996, at the open-air Loreley stadium in Germany.

This was recorded soon after the addition of new vocalist Phil McCormack, who replaced long-time voxer Danny Joe Brown who left for health reasons. Since I wouldn’t know Brown’s work if I fell over it, I’ll just talk about the 1996 freshly reminted edition. They are awful. Well, the band itself is typical and not much is really exciting, but it’s McCormack who is, well, bad. Sure, he has a growl, but there is nothing noteworthy about his style. He isn’t even too determined to worry about being on key, and could be just about anyone.

Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Ronnie could fuckin’ wail. Same with Jim Dandy of Black Oak Arkansas in his own way, but Phil doesn’t really have much stage presence at all. This is quite evident when you compare his vocals on the Womacks’ “It’s All Over Now” to Mick and Keef’s. The only thing outstanding about McCormack is his Rolling Stones jacket and his beer gut.

I always wonder about bands from the US, especially those from the Deep South, who gig abroad and then play songs that are strongly pro-American to a nationalistic level. I mean, yeah, they do a few bars of “Dixie,” and there are quite a few people in the audience with Southern Cross flags (it makes me nervous especially in certain European countries). It feels weird to be, even with their then-new song, “Fall of the Peacemakers,” about Vietnam vets. I mean, I can’t really recall seeing too many bands come to North America and go on with a consistent “my country is better than yours” attitude. I keep thinking of Britain’s Eater and “Thinkin’ of the USA.”

The songs here are okay, but nothing that’s going to stick in my mind longer than writing this review, quite frankly. Now, they give good energy to Greg Allman’s “Dreams I’ll Never See,” and it’s obvious the band can play, centered on Bobby Ingram’s lead guitar. There is even an interesting empty-handed drum solo by Mac Crawford. But overall, this was hardly what I would call electrifying. Yep, they hit their marks and play together nice into a neat package (especially the twin guitar-solos of Ingram and Bryan Bassett on the “Flirtin’ With Disaster” finale), but their sound lacks hooks, even with the repetitious parts that are supposed to be them.

As a side-note, considering how hot the day was and being under the lights, nearly no one’s hair seems to get slicked. I’m guessing some of these country boys are wearing wigs. Hey, it’s not unknown in the rock world either, y’know.

If yer a Hay-e-cet fan, nuthin’ I’m sayin’ is going to be true. That’s cool. Get down with some JD and enjoy ‘em at your tailgate pawty, and I’m going to listen to somethin’ else.

Band:
Phil McCormack: Vocals / harmonica
Bobby Ingram: Guitar
Bryan Bassett: Guitar
Andy McKinney: Bass
John Galvin: Keyboards
Mac Crawford: Drums
Leslie Hawkins / Therisa McCoy: Background vocals

Set List:
Bounty Hunter
It’s All Over Now
Gator Country
Rolling Thunder
Devil’s Canyon
Down from the Mountain
Whiskey Man
Dreams I’ll Never See
Encore:
Fall of the Peacemakers
The Journey
Flirtin’ with Disaster



Bonus videos:

A College Memory: Singing with Harry Chapin

Text by Robert Barry Francos
Images from the Internet

It was primary season during the election year of 1976 while I was attending Queens College that would see Jimmy Carter win the Presidency. I had seen Carter’s son on campus outside the Union Building (student center) at some point, yet the upcoming vote was not on my mind. I already knew I would vote for whoever was running against the Republican candidate and hadn’t yet made up my mind about the Democratic run-off.

Finding a place for your car around Queens College was a challenge. Fellow student Jerry Seinfeld (graduated the year I started) once commented that he earned a Bachelor’s of Parallel Parking. On campus, it was by permit only. That morning, I had found a spot a block away on the southern Melbourne Avenue, and was sauntering diagonally southeast to northwest across the campus towards my class past the Union (or “Onion” as we often referred to it for no other reason than we could). There on a post was a sign announcing a talk that same day by Democratic hopeful Morris “Mo” Udall (d. 1998). To promote him, in a free concert, would be Harry Chapin. I was in.

I’d seen Harry play a number of times in Central Park and the like, and was a fan. Yeah, I was neck deep in the whole New York punk scene, my fanzine was just a year away, but part of me was still holding out for a tad of the folkie. Most people came to punk through rock, such as KISS, MC5, Iggy, and the like. For me, pre-Ramones in 1975, I was listening to Simon & Garfunkel, Peter Paul and Mary, and Phil Ochs. And yet, I could see a correlation between punk and folk: lo-fi, plug & play, and protest music. I felt justified 30 years later when so many punkers started putting out singer-songwriter material, such as Joey “Shithead” Keithley of D.O.A.

Though kicking myself for not having my camera with me that day, even though it was a pre-35mm instamatic that took 128 film, I was excited about it. The event was scheduled for later in the day, after my classes were over.

Waiting to get into small auditorium, I started talking to the attractive student standing next to me. Once we were permitted inside and seated, most of the audience was abuzz with excitement. Not for Udall, but rather for Chapin. In the formal introduction, we were told that Harry would be performing after Udall gave his talk, which included a Q&A with the audience. This made sense, because of a lot of this crowd would not stick around to the Udall part after hearing from The Man. Queens College at the time had a very large Jewish population, and was highly liberal, but c’mon, it’s Harry Chapin.

Udall gave an interesting talk, nothing of which had stuck with me nearly 40 years later (yikes). What I do remember well is one of the questions, asked by a known stoner in the audience: “Hey Mo, where’s Larry and Curly.” I was personally embarrassed to be there that second, but proud of the group as a whole who booed the guy out of the auditorium. Udall was gracious (I’m guessing this was not the first time he’d heard this), and impressively moved on without fluster.

Through it all, I kept the connection going with the woman I met on the line, through occasional quips here and there back and forth between us. Then it came time for Harry. He arrived onstage by himself, sitting on a stool with his guitar. This was his hometown crowd, more or less, having grown up in Brooklyn and lived on Long Island for most of his life. We were about 10 rows back, on the right side, in the center of the row.

He didn’t do many songs, but as most of them were quite long, he probably sang for half an hour or so. I remember him doing “What Made America Famous” and “W.O.L.D.” Most likely his did his top seller (and one of the few I didn’t care for) “Cat’s in the Cradle.” But I will admit it was great seeing him that close in that intimate a setting. There were probably about 200 people there, just about as big as the room could fill.

Between each song he talked up America, and what Udall could do for it as President. Then, he said (and I’m paraphrasing), “Since ‘Big John’ (Wallace) and the gang aren’t here, I’m going to need some help to sing ‘Taxi’ before I go. Anyone wanna come up and sing it with me?” The attractive coed looked at me with an excited smile on her face, and said, “We should go!” Like I was going to say no to her? I probably wouldn’t have gone up there if she hadn’t asked, honestly, but I was trying to make an impression.

About 10 of us ran up on the stage, and I stood directly behind his right shoulder, looking down as his fuzzy hair, guitar, and strumming hand; the woman I ran up with was to my right. I was a lot more nervous about being on stage those days, but I was in the moment. He started the song, “It was rainin’ hard in Frisco…” to a huge round of applause.

After the guitar break, it was time for the “Big John” Wallace solo, where we standing, we few, we honored, were to fill in. Harry tilted his head back and with sotto voce started feeding us the line, “Baby’s so high that she’s skying…” when the guy on the other side of him – essentially standing where I was, except on his left – leaned over and said, also sotto voce, “Shut up, Harry, we know it.”

This cracked Harry up, and as we sang the falsetto part, he was playing and trying to muffle his laugh, especially considering the seriousness of the song, but from my angle I could see a single tear roll down from his eye. Somehow he composed himself, albeit just onionskin-thin on the verge of not laughing out loud, and finished the song.

As the rest of the audience stood and cheered, Harry got up of the stool, turned to us behind him, and shook everyone’s hand, the first being the guy who spoke to him during the song. They exchanged a few words and smiles. Then it was my turn, and I felt much honored.

When I looked around, I saw that the woman I came up with was gone, and I never saw her again. As Harry had just sung, “It was somewhere in a fairy tale…”

DVD Review: Blues and the Alligator

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2013
Images from the Internet

 

Blues and the Alligator: The first twenty years of Alligator Records
Directed by Jim Downing
Gazell Films
52 minutes, 1991 / 2010
Gazelle.net
MVDvisual.com

This documentary is fascinating in its own way, and unsatisfying in others, leaving me more questions than answers. Filmed in 1991 on the 20th Anniversary of the label (hence the title), there are some issues that may have been accepted then that raised some eyebrows on me.

But first, let me whine for just a minute. As the talking heads parts go, this is pretty whatever. After working for a mostly jazz specialty label that sometimes released Blues called Delmark, based out of a Chicago record store, Bruce Iglauer rebelled when the label owner, Bob Koester (also interviewed), refused to sign Hound Dog Taylor (d. 1975).

We see shots of Bruce listening to music, the inside day-to-day workings of the Alligator office, brief interviews with him and some of his staff, and more importantly, with some of the musicians. The artists often comment on how the Blues, especially in Chicago, is an urban sound (I agree: Delta Blues is more rural) that African-Americans relate to strongly. We are reminded of this by b-roll footage of Chicago slums and its poorer inhabitants.

However, what really is impressive, and makes this worth a view, is the live performances, nearly all of which are shown in their entirety, rather than clips. There’s an old black and white video clip of Hound Dog Taylor doing the classic “Shake Your Money Maker” at an open-air festival to start off, and then throughout we see music played live in the studio, live in the Alligator offices, and showcased at the B.L.U.E.S. Etcetera club by musicians like Lonnie Brooks, Ronnie Baker Brooks, Lucky Peterson, Kenny Neal and Billy Branch.

One of the only women signed to Alligator, the largest Blues label in the world – and, ironically, she is one of their largest sellers – Koko Taylor (d. 2009). We see her sing the “Star Spangled Banner” at the opening of a White Sox game, and join in on the Etcetera stage with Lonnie Brooks. She is also the only female musician in the entire documentary, even though Katie Webster (d. 1999) had been attached to Alligator for two years at the time of the filming.

Someday, I believe, sociologists may (and should) study this film for various reasons. For example, what I said about the role of women in the Blues. Even in the flick, they mention that it’s rare for women to sing the Blues; while more men have been signed over the years, the list of Blues women through the history of the genre, especially in the last 40 years since the label founded, is actually substantial.

However, what I found the most interesting about this documentary is the racial oxymorons that run throughout. We’re shown the slums of Chicago, black musicians, and told how the Blues are the soul of the black people. And yet, all the workers at Alligator are white. All of the audiences at the live shows are not only white, but obviously middle class and above. That does not mean to me that white people have no right to be there, because the Blues can touch anyone (I give you Johnny Winter, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Bonnie Raitt and Ana Popovic, as examples). No, what I mean is it seems like perhaps the filmmakers are trying to make some kind of comment on gentrification of the music. Or perhaps they were just projecting unintentional or cultural racism for the time. I am certain that Iglauer has the truest of intentions, and even left a good job to record an unknown Black Blues musician, but it also seems odd that none of his staff (as of 1990, anyway) were of color.

I would have liked to have seen more of what motivated Iglauer, what hardships he had to go through to get the label started (other than that he left Delmark, there is nothing about the risks he took, for example), how he signed the likes of Hound Dog and Koko, what he does for promotion, the reaction of the Black audiences to the sounds, and, well, I could go on.

Certainly, I could recommend this with a clear conscious for the musical parts alone, but I do so hesitantly due to the rest. Somewhere, I hear James Brown singing…”I don’t want nobody to give me nothing / Just open up the door, I’ll get it myself…”

You can see the entire film for free here:

DVD Review: Kid Creole and the Coconuts, Live at Rockpalast1982

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2013
Images from the Internet

Kid Creole & the Coconuts: Live at Rockpalast 1982
Directed by Christian Wagner
MIG / WDR, 1982 / 2012
Disc 1: 116 minutes
Disc 2: 125 minutes
MIG-music.de
MVDvisual.com

Y’know, I often complain about how so much of the music related to the Top 10 charts over the past few years is actually theatre, and is essentially the same song with compressed sounds over and over, often using the same dance moves. I mean, Nicki Minaj and Ke$ha are pretty interchangeable, with no aural va va voom.

However, theatre and music (as opposed to musical theater) can work. One prime example is, say, Alice Cooper during his Billion Dollar Babies and Welcome to My Nightmare period of the mid-‘70s. But for sheer entertainment value, it’s hard to top Kid Creole and the Coconuts. Sure, David Johansen tried to step on Creole’s stylistic wave in his Buster Poindexter phase, and while he became more successful thanks to his stints on Saturday Night Live and the infectious “Hot, Hot, Hot,” it was a rip-off of KCatC – albeit a joyous and totally enjoyable one.

With an incredibly large multicultural and pan gender band including three backup singers / dancers called the Coconuts, August Darnell is in control with his zoot-suited character, Kid Creole. The music is mostly Latin based, with a touch of reggae and even a smattering of disco-influenced rhythms and proto hip-hop; there is lots of dancing, movement, storylines, and a whole lot of fun.

While I don’t think it would be fair to say that there is a narrative that goes through all the songs, there certainly is a motif, with each one is acted out using different characters, including the songs led by band co-founder Andy “Coati Mundi” Hernandez.

Many of the songs are humorous, such as “Table Manners,” “Mr. Softee” and “Annie (I’m Not Your Father),” where the Kid tells the titular girl, “If you had my blood / You wouldn’t be so ugly.” This, like most of the material, is a rave up, everyone is pretty drenched in sweat early on, but they never let up. Even with the rare slow numbers, the energy level is high, such as the lovely “Dear Addy,” which shows off the strength of Kid’s singing.

The camera keeps up with the action without doing that MTV-style quick editing that is so annoying (and always has been), which is commendable on many levels; there are also no claustrophobic close-ups of nose-hairs and the like. Plus, considering when this was recorded, the image is incredibly crisp without that dated video fuzz, and the 24-track music is sharp and clean. This is especially true considering this was probably transferred from the PAL format.

This release is actually a double DVD, with each one averaging two hours. That is a whole lot of finger and toe tapping for the viewer. There is lots of interaction between band members, the Kid, and the Coconuts (one of whom includes Darnell’s ex-), who have quite a few costume changes

The first disc is the second recorded show, starting on October 16th, 1982, and lasting into the next day. It’s filmed at the huge German showplace, Grugahalle Essen, in Cologne, part of a Rockpalast-sponsored festival. The enormous crowd, who aren’t seen too often, are obviously into the sound when the camera does focus on them. During the last samba song, “Malaise D’Amour” (translates as “Love Sickness”), the band conga lines through the audience, who joyfully join in… well, those who don’t dance on the stage, that is.

The second disc was recorded a few months earlier, on June 3, 1982, at the much smaller Sartory Halls, also in Cologne (seems to be about the size of Irving Plaza, in NYC). Story goes that this show was so well received, they were invited to play again at the much larger hall of the first disc. Despite the high energy, the sound quality for this show is a bit lacking compared to the first, though the high energy is definitely present and easy to get into the groove; the image is also a bit grainy and occasionally has the blue horizontal lines wavering. However, note that there is something intimate and gratifying about this performance, though the later show may be considered more of a definitive record.

It’s a consistent party over the two discs, with the songs being long, averaging around 6 minutes, though there are a couple that are a few that last well over 12 minutes per. And yet it all goes by so fast because it’s so much fun. This is even good listening with the sound alone. As a sidebar, it’s a joy to cook while it’s on (which I did my second time through).

The two extras, one per disc, are the trailer for the set, and a 10-minute-plus pre-show interview at the Sartory Halls, which is a humorous mix of English and German.

Band:
August “Kid Creole” Darnell: Lead vocals
Adriana Kaegi: Vocals
Cheryl Poirier: Vocals
Taryn Hagey: Vocals
Andy “Coati Mundi” Hernandez: Vibes, flute, vocals
Mark Mazur: Guitar
Miss Carol Colman: Bass
Al Mack: Drums
Bongo Eddie: Percussion
Ken Fradley: Trumpet
Lee Robertson: Trombone
Charles Lagond Sax (disc 1)
Alan Ross: Sax (disc 2)

Disk 1 Set List:
Intro
Turkey Trot
Going Places
I’m a Wonderful Thing, Baby
Mr. Softee
Loving You Made a Fool Out of Me
Ain’t You Heard the News?
Don’t Take My Coconuts
Annie I’m Not Your Daddy
No Fish Today
Que Pasa
Table Manners
Dear Addy
Stool Pigeon
Encore:
Gina Gina
Imitation
Maladie D’Amour

Bonus Disk Set List:
Adnaloy
You Had No Intention
Gina Gina
Mr. Softee
With a Girl Like Mimi
Turkey Trot
Que Pasa
Schweinerei
Any Time is Party Time
Table Manners
I’m a Wonderful Thing, Baby
Ain’t You Heard the News?
In the Jungle
Encore:
Don’t Take My Coconuts
Stool Pigeon
Latin Music
I Am

DVD Review: Gregg Allman Live on Stage: I’m No Angel

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2013
Images from the Internet

Gregg Allman Live on Stage: I’m No Angel
Directed by Jim Yockey
Cherry Red Films
52 minutes, 1989 / 2011
Cherryred.co.uk
MVDvisual.com

Southern rock certainly had its heyday, mostly from the very late 1960s via the early works of Texas’s Winter boys¸ Johnny and Edgar (that is until Johnny saw the error of his ways and took a more purist blues route in the early ‘70s) through the early ‘80s.

Along the way, some the stars included Lynyrd Skynyrd, Black Oak Arkansas, ZZ Top, arguably Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers (who were initially lumped in with the punk movement for some gersh-dern reason), and especially the Allman Brothers, led by Gregg and Duane (until the latter up’n died in 1971, though the band kept going for years afterwards).

What these bands and this genre had in common was a heavy reliance on the blues (ironically more of an electric Chicago style with some dirty Delta chops), an absolutely blazing guitar upfront, a singer with a gravelly voice, and for some reason long blonde hair upon the vocalist’s head (often accompanied by facial hair). Sure, there were some more blues purists, such as Stevie Ray Vaughn, but Southern rock was more into some heavy bottom-end rhythm and pyannah (that’s piano), usually electric for this genre.

Even after the metamorphosis of the Allman “Ramblin’ Man” Brothers after Duane’s dreadful death via motorcycle accident at age 24, Gregg kept the band going, but eventually giving it up and forming his own Gregg Allman Band (also known as Gregg Allman and Family, again seeming ironic to me), which is represented here. Recorded at The Cannery in Nashville, in November 1988, it was after their second LP, and just before the collapse of this line-up at the end of that year.

Honestly, I believe that calling this the Gregg Allman Band (GAB) is inaccurate, actually, since most of the heavy lifting is done by ace guitarist, Dan Toler. Sure, Gregg sings away in a sort of distant, almost I’m-somewhere-else mode, Toler works his finger magic, and actually has more solo time in the songs than does Gregg vocals. But the Allman name has the clout, so this is technically his group. While singing in that recognizable relatively minor growl (compared to some other Southern rockers), he tinkles at a two-level keyboard, but even that seems kind in half-hearted compared to the occasions when the other keyboardist, Tim Heding, does his Jerry Lee speed (especially on the finale of the Sonny Boy Williamson cover, “One Way Out”).

There is absolutely no talking between songs including individual tune introductions (Johnny Winter is great at that, albeit self-depreciating at times) by anyone in the gropj. Most of the tunes are either from the Allman Bros. period, or written for the two GAB releases from the mid-to-late ‘80s. Honestly, the earlier numbers are the one that resonate, and have more of a pure feel. “It’s My Cross to Bear” (written by AB guitarist Dickie Betts), “Don’t Want You No More” (a Spencer Davis Group cover), “Just Before the Bullets Fly” (by Warren Haynes), and “Statesboro’ Blues” (classic by Blind Willie McTell) have a more genuine feel from the band.

Some of the later-recorded numbers, such as the awful “Slip Away” smacks too much of ‘80s gloss and riding the Top-10 attempt wave. Perhaps I’m seeing what I want to see, but Allman seems to bland out even more on these tunes, like his heart just isn’t in them. Another assumption I’m making is that as Gregg Allman went through treatment for substance abuse in the mid-1990s, so he may be a bit absent for other reasons.

I think it’s important to point out that whatever weak link the leader of this group is, overall the sheer power of the rest of the troupe hauls his ass out and makes this a strong entry, whether you’re a fan of the genre or not (I’m admittedly closer to the latter, but respect the workmanship).

Despite being originally shot on video and transferred to digital, the image is pretty good, if a bit grainy, but the sound is pretty sharp, as that is more of what is necessary.

Band:
Gregg Allman: Vocals / keyboard
Dan Toler: Guitar
Bruce Waibel: Bass
Tim Heding: Keyboards
Chaz Trippy: Percussion
David “Frankie” Toler: Drums

Set List:
Don’t Want You No More
It’s My Cross to Bear
Sweet Feeling
Just Before the Bullets Fly
Fear of Falling
Demons
I‘m No Angel
Statesboro’ Blues
Slip Away
One Way Out

DVD Review: David Bowie Under Review – The Calm Before the Storm: 1969-1971

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2013
Images from the Internet

David Bowie Under Review – The Calm Before the Storm: 1969-1971
Executive Producer Rob Johnstone
Narrated by Thomas Arnold
Sexy Intellectual
65 minutes, 2012
Chromedreams.co.uk
MVDvisual.com

David Bowie has always been an enigma to me, quite frankly. Sure, I understood what he was doing, and how he latched on to what he wanted – even if it originated with someone else – and made it his own. While I respect that, he has always felt pretty contrived to be, especially from his theatrical Ziggy period onward.

And yet, I have always found his story interesting, and have followed his career somewhat over the years. Now at age 66 with a new recording about to come out, here is a British documentary in the Chrome Dream collection that starts at the very beginning of his rise to superstardom.

Of course, the problem with this DVD is that Bowie’s career has been so carefully documented in every possible medium, there really isn’t too much here that’s pretty common knowledge to a true fan. But as someone who is unaware of the pre-Ziggy career, this is a treasure trove, especially all the interviews which are new, and the clips, many of which are rare.

Bowie (often pronounced as Bow-wee on this) started his public career apparently not as a musician, but as an activist for a bogus group he started for the protection of men with longer hair, back in 1964. This managed to get him his first televised experience, a clip of which is shown.

We follow him through his less-successful folkish-mawkish period, influenced by the likes of Anthony Newley (1999), when he was supposedly inspired by Bob Dylan (I don’t see the root). But as journalist Chris Roberts states in an included interview clip, “He’s always had a good ear for musicians and a good eye for collaborators. He always surrounded himself with useful people.” A special talent indeed, and I mean that with no hint of sarcasm.

After the release of his self-titled album, which bombed when first released, he came up with his break-out song, “Space Oddity,” a true rock gem. Then with the help of the likes of collaborators like guitarist Mick Ronson (d. 1993) he began to evolve through the likes of the LPs The Man Who Sold the World (1970) and Honky Dory (1971), and he became more flamboyant.

The tone started changing when Bowie opened for Tyrannosaurus Rex, and started adopting more of Marc Bolan’s proto-Glam style. Friendship turned into jealousy as Bowie’s career began to eclipse Bolan’s, though they stayed friendlimies for the rest of the latter’s short life (d. 1977). The birth of Ziggy Stardust’s androgyny started to click in Britain. Apparently, star-maker and producer John Peel (who is shown here in a 2004 interview, shortly before his death that same year) never really forgave Bowie for his alleged treatment of Bolan, and states so explicitly.

And where did that fashion style originate? Mostly from a of a cast of New York-based performers that showed up to act in a gender-ambiguously play called Pork, namely Cherry Vanilla (the woman who single-handedly helped introduce and break Bowie to the American audiences), the lovely Wayne (now Jayne) County, and publicity maven / photographer Leee Black Childers. Personally, I think these three should have been interviewed on this film because David Bowie may never have become David Bowie if it weren’t for this amazing trio (testify, Jimi L!). Luckily, they are at least given credit by one of the journalists who are part of the commentary.

That kind of style “borrowing” and eclipsing would not historically end there with Bowie. One needs just look at Boy George’s appropriation of bands like Hayzee Fantayzee. But I digress…

The other half of from what was Ziggy Stardust formed was the Andy Warhol Factory group, where Bowie is stated here as essentially saying that he wanted ‘“the mind of Lou Reed and the body of Iggy Pop. Ziggy Stardust was Bowie’s attempt to be that." Leee Childer’s once told one of FFanzeen’s writers in the 1980s that Bowie’s genius is knowing what to steal, and when. Very subtly, this DVD agrees.

There is a gaggle of journalists interviewed here mostly stating opinions, such as David Stubbs, Andrew Mueller, and Paolo Hewitt. As always, what fascinates me more are the people who are more intimately involved, like collaborators from the early years like Keith Christmas and Bob Solly. Shame they couldn’t get Angie Bowie, she certainly would have joyously livened up the volume on the DVD.

As always, there’s lots and lots of rare clips, both video and sound, from the entire period under discussion, including interviews with Bowie, of some of his influences (like Bolan and Donovan), and even a snippet of a telly advertisement in which he participated before his rise. Of course, all of these clips are short and incomplete; otherwise this would be five hours long.

In Chrome Dream fashion, this is a well-released and solidly-put together. It also feels a bit more even than some of the earlier histories, in that some interviewed are actually critical of the man at the center, rather than merely full of hyperbole (though some of that is here, too).

Now that I have finished this enjoyable history, I’m going to watch an alternative version with Velvet Goldmine.

DVD Review: The Point (Harry Nilsson / Ringo Starr)

 

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2013
Images from the Internet

The Point: The Definitive Collector’s Edition
Directed and animated by Fred Wolf
MVD Visual
74 min, 1971 / 2012
MVDvisual.com

The 1970s was a key point in cinema animation, with works by Ralph Bakshi (Fritz the Cat, Wizards), Martin Rosen (Watership Down) and Ralph Lafoux (Fantastic Planet. At the same time, weekly television cartoons went from 24 frames per second to 18 (e.g., The Jackson 5ive, Nanny and the Professor).

Undeterred by the growing maturity of the medium, The Point, drawn by Fred Wolf, was bravely released into the world and shown on ABC television as the first animated “Move of the Week” in 1971. Using simple line drawings that looked an Alka-Seltzer commercial from the ‘60s (which had been drawn by RO Blechman), it went out to touch a wide-reaching audience for various reasons.

But first, this message: Narrating the story-within-a-story is Ringo Starr, as the dad who reads the story to his young son, who is more into watching television (“my shows”) than books (sound familiar?). Starr’s easily recognizable voice rambles along, up and down tones in a slight sing-song manner that he’s known for, which is, of course, endearing Note, however, the original airing on television used Dustin Hoffman’s voice, and Ringo was added for the video release years later The songs that accompany the story is by Starr’s cohort and real-life close friend, Harry Nilsson (d. 1994), known for the likes of “Without You” and “Everybody’s Talkin’”. One from the film, “Me and My Arrow,” even became a somewhat hit. Nilsson also wrote and pitched the story idea. And in typical post-Beatles music-related animation, there is a bit of a psychedelic feel to the colors and flow. I wouldn’t go as far as to call it derivative as much as influenced.

The story told is about a little boy, Oblio, and his dog Arrow, who live in a land where everything and everyone has a triangular shape, or a point (for people, it’s at the top of their heads, possibly inspiring the Coneheads. And yet, no one’s pointy-headed life has any point Yes, the double meaning is purposeful in the story, especially when Oblio is born with a round head (like us). Nearly everyone else in the story is also The Simpsons-ish orange (perhaps Snooki?), though occasionally to make a point, some are other colors, such as a crooked politician being purple. Yes, it is very Yellow Submarine in that way, with the meanie being a darker hue of blue.

Due to the machinations of said politico, inspired by his bully of a son who is Oblio’s school mate, Oblio and Arrow are cast away into the “Pointless Forest.” There he meets a serious of people or creatures, some having some kind of trinity about them. First there is a slimy character with three heads who consistently points out that all those who Oblio meets in the forest is pointless, to which he disagrees. Then there’s three obese women bouncing around like beachballs (reminding me more of a post-blueberry Violet Beauregarde). Among others, there is a fashion industry manufacturer tree waiting to bring out the next season’s line (“Careful! Leaves don’t on trees, y’know!”) and an obviously African-American Rock man (“Dig?”) that has a rear-view mirror touch of Semitic and Black-hep stereotyping, among many others.

Oblio is voiced by 10-year-old Mike Lookinland, who is better known to that generation as the youngest boy Brady, Bobby. Other voices include animation stalwarts Paul Frees (who narrated many films and cartoons, as well as playing both John Lennon and George Harrison in the Beatles cartoon; d 1986), Lenny Weinrib (he voiced both Scrappy-Doo and H.R. Hufnstuf, among so many others; d. 2006), and voice-queen Joan Gerber (d. 2011); also child actor Buddy Foster (who played Mike Jones on both the Andy Griffith Show and Mayberry RFD; he’s also Jody’s older brother).

But the most important voice, however, is Nilsson’s as he croons the Greek-chorus songs that weave throughout the story. This can almost be seen as a happier version of The Little Prince meets Alice in Wonderland, where the child has many exciting and sometimes dangerous adventures on his way to find truth, meaning, and yes, the point of life. Then there is the consistent looking for the positive in everything like Candide.

And what happens when round-headed outcast Oblio returns to the pointed land? Well, that is the – err – point, isn’t it…

This really is a charming story and well told. It will appeal to children with the art and music, and there is enough double entendres that will keep the adults interested. And those Nilsson songs. Even with a few major hits, it is true that he was underrated for his voice and writing. This film, as a Nilsson legacy, is something to be treasured, even though it has become a bit dated over the years in some of its categorized characters. The story, however, remains true, and that’s what matters in the end.

The extra is a 27-minute documentary broken into four parts: “Who is Harry Nilsson?”, “Pitching The Point,” “Making The Point,” and “Legacy of The Point.” It’s consistently interesting, about how Nilsson brought the film to fruition. Some of the oral history is presented by the likes of director/animator Fred Wolf, Mickey Dolenz of the Monkees, Terry Gilliam who animated Monty Python’s Flying Circus, John Lennon’s consort May Pang, and Harry’s last wife, Una and adult kids Annie and Beau. Shame they couldn’t get Lookinland to discuss his role.