HBO's new series explores the moment of cultural and social transformation taking place at the end of the '70's through the eyes of a group of record executives who's failing company tries to re-define itself to stay relevant.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If you read this Guardian review (and, to be honest, there's increasingly little reason to read The Guardian), you would think Vinyl was a really terrible, awful show conceived, as its author says, by out-of-touch white business executives with little or no authentic connection to the music scene and that there is almost nothing worthwhile about this series. That was the impression this author had after reading it and it was almost reason enough not to watch it at all. And it seems the same is true for many people, as the press surrounding this series has been, generally, fairly negative and, if not focused on how bad it is, focused on how many people aren't watching it, which is just a seemingly more sophisticated way to discuss appeal through the market rather than personal opinion. In any case, despite all the naysayers, this series is actually very well done.

The series' first episode starts-off, perhaps, a bit loud, and the music, maybe, a bit off-putting. But this is probably intended, as the focus of the series, as it becomes more apparent in the second episode, is about the emergence of the punk scene in New York City during the '70s. What makes the series interesting, immediately, is that it's clear that it isn't simply a story about how punk emerged, or a simple narrative about it: the series has a complex structure composed entirely in a flashback, a retrospective remembrance that itself contains a flashback to a previous time. There are, in the show, three times: the present, which is the as-yet unseen, but only felt present time in which the show is written that reflects-back on a period in the '70s New York (a time that one feels will emerge explicitly eventually). Then there is the period in '70s New York. And, finally, the time period to which the former is constantly flashing-back. What is interesting about the way in which these three times are blended together is that the period in the '70s and the period before it of flashback become confused to the point where it is ambiguous which time (pre-'70s or '70s) actually forms the present of the narrative. The way in which these times are woven together has a purpose: that is, to give the viewer a more realistic experience of how a moment in time is lived in its present, which is always an inter-weave of past, present, and future. That is, the present is always pregnant with its future possibilities and with the past. Making these different times explicit, as is done in the series serves the purpose of changing the overall effect of the meaning of the different narratives in time to create the growing impression of coming to understand the precise conditions within which certain change begins to take place in the 'present'.

Take for instance the two narratives about Richie (the head of the record company played by Bobby Cannavale) and the first black performer, Lester Grimes (Ato Essandoh). We see these scenes of Richie's time working in a bar, long before he made his way to the top of his own record label, we see him leaning over the bar listening to this performer, Lester, and then, later, talking with him about getting him a record deal, about representing him, which he achieves after convincing Lester of his real sensitivity to the music he performs, seems to know about it and want to be a caretaker for it, to give this guy a fair deal and proper representation so he has a chance. As we see in these historical flashbacks pre-'70s, this turns sour, with the performer never getting any dividends from the record deal Richie 'negotiates' for him, with the record company forcing him to record types of popular-style records he doesn't want to perform and that were only supposed to be needed once before he could record what he really cared about, and we see Richie refusing to stand up to the record label to defend the artist he represents, all of which ends with the Grimes being beaten in the streets after standing-up for himself and refusing to record any more pop-nonsense, presumably, his voice-box crushed with a baseball bat, his career ended by the person who most promised to take care of him. Inter-woven with this flashback though, are scenes in the present where Richie is being driven home through traffic and, after a detour to his Greenwich apartment, hears some soulful music coming out of the crowded bars, stops his car to ask what the sound is and is held at gun-point and told to leave by a group of people that includes this same performer Grimes he has previously turned his back on (or at least forgotten in his rise to the top of his record label). So, we get a situation where we see in the present the past effects of decisions Richie has made and we can feel his regret and responsibility towards this person. And so, when it turns out that Richie is refusing to sell the record label he built, has decided to go against all the comforts and conveniences his position affords him and those with whom he works, to try to get back to something he can consider real, something meaningful again, we understand his thinking, the guilt and past experiences that shape that decision and the sorts of things, the relationships that will, for better or worse, constitute the new assemblage of relationships into which Richie will move as he tries to return his label to profitability and, more importantly, the center of creating culture.

And this is precisely what the series is about. It's exactly what Richie says when he speaks in the boardroom when he's high on cocaine and using karate chops to communicate his decision not to sell the company to a group of seemingly soulless German record executives: 'we make culture, we have a responsibility that we should take seriously, the ability to shape life'. The point of the series, it seems, is to manifest this particular moment at the cusp of cultural transformation in '70s New York, to understand what it was about that time that created the conditions of receptivity to what would become punk music. Its about more than simply seeing a narrative of how this happened, but about understanding first hand what it was about that time, the people involved, and the histories of the people involved that led to the emergence of this new sound. This is a complex issue really: its easy to say a sound just arises out of pure coincidence, out of random chance; the reality is that there is, as with any story, the actual, specific story of where it came from, why it came at that moment, and, then, the aspect of luck, of chance that sees it succeed or fail, of the risk of supporting it that either pays-off or doesn't. The multiple inter-woven times that constitute the structure of the series work to establish this very point, and do so not only at the level of narrative and objective clarity, but at an emotional level through a kind of poetic logic the interwoven time-lines create.

The difficulty with making a series or a film about music is the problem of giving proper respect to the music itself, to allow the music to speak for itself about what it is. And while certain reviews would have you believe this series has more to do with the characters lives (notably the protagonist, Richie) than the music, the truth is actually quite different, if you take the time to look more closely. For instance, the close-up live-performance shots of singers performing, the profile shots with stage light flaring in the camera lens, the microphones gleaming in the light, the direct attention to nothing but the sound of the music in certain moments all work to this end, to put the focus on the music. This is signature Scorsese, really, the talent of someone with the experience and intuition to know precisely how to transmit music through cinema, how properly to represent it, someone capable of extending the language and vocabulary of cinematic expression to accomplish it. When we see these performances, the music speaks directly to us, giving us something on which to take a position directly: 'this is something worthwhile, obviously something that transcends this moment it's performed in, the smokey bar, the trivial conversations of its patrons'. Or, more appropriately--as it relates to the punk music, particularly this concert by the New York Dolls in the building that collapses--this is music that cuts through the insanity and meaningless contradictions of the current period/situation, something that expresses a deep frustration and basic emotional reaction to the declining significance of the times that are becoming overly comfortable and sanitized. Sure, its true, as the Guardian reviewer points out, that the perspective (one of them at least) is that of rich, privileged, disconnected white record executives; but that is entirely the point, that we see the reality in which these people moved at the moment in the '70s that punk music began to surface, and we understand their own motivations to help work to expose it further and give it a voice, to contribute to its effect in transforming culture at that time. It's easy to criticize anyone who's had some success, to level the critique at them that they're no longer relevant and that they have become subsumed by market forces to which they pander. But the reality is that things are much more complex than this and, as we see in this series, a lot of these successful music label people really do have authentic interest in what they do and a genuine appreciation for the music and talent. When the Nasty Bits are criticized by Julie Silver (Max Casella) of the record label for making nothing more than noise, that a band needs to play together, to play the same thing, should we look at this as simply an interference in the basic creative impulse of these artists or, is it possible that it can have anything at all to do with a kind of mentoring, whereby someone with experience helps guide the uninitiated into the full power of their potential? The suggestions made to this band that they play two Kinks songs and two of their own as an audition to the record label shows that the person making that recommendation (Silver) really does have some level of insight into music history, the band he's listening to, and how the two intersect, and that he is looking out for the interests of the music rather than simply or solely trying to make money.

On this issue of money and success in music: this is a theme dealt with in the Cohen brothers film Inside Llewyn Davis and, even more appropriately, in the documentary about the concert held in New York focusing on the folk music of the film (called In Another Day, Another Time: celebrating the music of Inside Llewyn Davis). This could really be one of the greatest musical documentaries every made, and certainly the best film/music documentary made about folk music specifically. On the one hand, there is the film Inside Llewyn Davis that sought to do precisely what Vinyl does, but for the folk scene in the '60s. We are there, literally, inside Llewyn Davis as he struggles in that particular moment trying to make headway with his music, struggling amongst the culture of his time. We see the problem of struggling for self-expression against the background of pervasive creativity, where everyone claims authenticity for themselves and their own form of expression. We see John Goodman's character criticizing Davis's music played in 'three chords on a ukulele' as they drive to Chicago; we see Davis's struggle to not just be a monkey for hire to entertain (at the dinner table), but to make his music his life and his work; and we see him struggle and, ultimately it seems, to give-up and fail just at the moment the film ends and he is beaten outside the back-alley of the Gaslight when Bob Dylan takes the microphone and starts singing in his distinctive and clearly revolutionary (as we know today, in retrospect) way that opens-up the space for folk music to enter into the history of popular culture. We understand that the struggles and failures of many supported bringing folk music into the world in the way that we now know it and we see that this story is more than just the story of the economics of the emergence. And this is even more true for the documentary about the music in the film, In Another Day, Another Time, where what was left implicit in the former is made explicit here, as bands from around the world come together to reflect, through their music and speech, on the profound importance of folk music in our contemporary culture. This isn't just a story about exploiting the music to put on a concert, produce a documentary, and cash-out by a group of clearly successful and probably generally privileged people; it's also the story of a group of people that takes folk music deadly seriously, that cares for it and have dedicated their lives to it. This is what we see in that documentary: all divisions between people, ego, any 'assholes' is non-existent as the group of musicians works together in a space of complete creative harmony to pay tribute to the thing they love. We see this not just in the documentary, but hear it in the music. This is what this documentary accomplished so perfectly: to be a perfect balance of music and film so that the music speaks through the film, becomes the film itself, the montage of scenes inter-playing with one-another to create the effect of perfect musical harmony and intention to produce something of cultural importance and that culminates in a sublime reflection on it all.

And while it is probably a bit early to make such a resounding endorsement of Vinyl, its clear that it follows in these footsteps, that it is a series with a deep respect and knowledge of the music with which it is concerned, and that it shares with it a concern for the people involved in the music and their specific life-stories that made the music as we know it today, for better or worse, for profit or not-- just exactly what it is as our history today, not another history we might have preferred.