Showing posts with label Fame. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fame. Show all posts

Saturday, 30 November 2019

Rocket Fuel


I have a confession to make. I wrote about the Elton John film Rocket Man before having seen it. Back in August I was stating, ‘if you want to see a movie that conveys the musical impact of Elton John, you would be better off watching the bus scene in Almost Famous than digesting Rocket Man’.
            I’ve now seen Rocket Man. For me it is a game of two halves. I like the coverage of the pre-fame years, particularly the scenes of Elton John as a boy in suburban Pinner. When he becomes famous, though, the film becomes dull. It’s not that stardom or drug addiction are inherently boring, it’s more that this film doesn’t really capture their highs, lows and weirdnesses. Interviewed by Graham Norton this week, Elton John had far more engaging things to say about the megalomania and depravity of rock stars, as well as about the oddities of fame. In particular, I enjoyed the story about introducing his partner, David Furnish, to his mother for the first time, only to have Michael Jackson turn up and come along to the dinner date as well.
            And what of the music? I think my hunch was right. Almost Famous is the more effective film when it comes to illustrating Elton John’s brilliance. There is one scene in Rocket Man that cuts through musically, however. It depicts the composition of ‘Your Song’. What I liked about this scene is its relationship with ‘truth’. It could be considered false in relation to music making, but true in terms of illustrating what it feels like to write a break-through hit. You capture lightning in a bottle.
            It takes place at Elton John’s childhood home, where he has returned to live with his mother and stepfather, bringing his lyricist partner, Bernie Taupin, along with him. Taupin hands John the lyrics to ‘Your Song’. John goes to the piano and writes the tune in real time. This brought to my mind Oliver Stone’s film, The Doors, in which the band similarly create their breakthrough hit, ‘Light My Fire’, in a spontaneous jam session.
Looking at the scene in The Doors again, the guitarist Robbie Krieger has scribbled down the chords and lyrics to ‘Light My Fire’ beforehand, and there is some tinkering around by the keyboard player, Ray Manzarek, before he stumbles across the Bach-inspired introduction to the song. The fully realized version that follows takes place in a different context: it soundtracks a montage sequence in which we witness the band’s escalating fame. In contrast, in the film Rocket Man, Elton John finds the tune to ‘Your Song’ immediately.
Why then does the naturalistic setting in The Doors feel corny, while the theatrical scene in Rocket Man rings true? Part of it comes down to this staging: naturalism can sabotage itself if the detail is not perfect. Melodrama, on the other hand, can capture a truth to feeling without having to concern itself with historical accuracy.
            Another reason is that The Doors scene surely is false. ‘Light My Fire’ may well have emerged from the scribbled notes, been worked up in rehearsal, and had a quickly realised intro because, in  Manzarek’s words, ‘It just came out of, you know, fifteen or twenty years of music practice’. Yet there is still the feeling that the whole process would have taken longer than this.
            Elton John, on the other hand, really does take the words of Taupin and create fully-realized songs off the bat. ‘I put my hands on the keyboard and away we go’, as John stated to Norton this week. As one example, he composed the music for the double album, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, in three days. Lest we forget, this is an album that includes ‘Candle in the Wind’, ‘Bennie and the Jets’, ‘Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting’ as well as the title track. ‘Your Song’ was written just as quickly. John talked with Norton about its staging in Rocket Man. For him, the film gives ‘a pretty accurate description of how it was done’.
            Even though it is ‘true’, this remains a remarkable means of creating successful music. Other composers, in contrast, can toil for months. I’m not sure how widely known it is that John writes in this way. Yet my guess is, even amongst viewers who do not know about this process, the ‘Your Song’ sequence would still appear honest. Could it be that there something in the music that is letting us know?

Tuesday, 23 September 2014

Here Comes Success


Most popular music biographies, whether in print or on film, have the same lacuna. They deal well with the pre-fame years. This period is often covered in great detail, particularly in musicians’ autobiographies, which may say something about the arrested development that fame forces upon its recipients. Music biographies also deal reasonably well with the years of the fame, albeit that this period frequently turns out to be more dull than the pre-fame years.
What is missing or what tends to be obfuscated is how this fame is achieved. There is usually a quick leap between obscurity and mass adulation. This can be frustrating, particularly for those who want to have similar success. The aspirant musician is left with no clue as to how it is achieved.
            There are various possible reasons why the attainment of success is glossed over. One is that artists and their employers would like it to be mystified. The work that goes into making it is either more prosaic or more undignified than they would want to be made known. Another reason is that the success might not be as ‘popular’ as it has commonly appeared. The cash nexus between the artist and fan might be superseded by various behind-the-scenes deals.
            Or perhaps the attainment of success genuinely is peculiar. Artists may well have made it without knowing quite what has happened. One of the filmic conventions for demonstrating rapid success is to show a montage sequence of escalating hysteria, accompanied by swirling media headlines documenting the artist’s rise. I used to be frustrated with these, but have come to think that this maybe is how success feels. Take-off can be so sudden that it feels as though it has taken place in jump cuts. Meanwhile, the newspaper headlines neatly summarise the role of the media in both covering and amplifying success.
            The second episode of ‘Cilla’ was on British television last night. This three-part drama documentary is charting the career of the singer Cilla Black. The first episode was concerned with her pre-fame years. Last night’s episode documented the arrival of fame. Unusually, it was more interesting than the early years. It also made a better stab than most at communicating how the attainment of success feels. It helped that the great Sheridan Smith was playing the lead role. It also helped that the true Cilla story contains elements that are both dramatic and sudden. She moved quickly from being on the fringes of the Beatles’ scene (famously being the cloakroom attendant at the Cavern Club) to being a signed recording artist.
            That said, the programme glossed over a great deal and included much dramatic licence. Although Cilla was shown in the recording studio, there was no indication that she promoted her releases. Instead, she was shown back in Liverpool, waiting for news from the distant metropolis. She received this news via a public call box. While there might have been an element of truth in this, surely she could have listened to the chart run-down on a radio. Nevertheless, I found myself sharing her elation when she heard that she had made it to number one. I found myself thinking, yes, that is what it must feel like. This is because it showed Cilla on the cusp and in-between. It was her who had made the hit record, but its ascension was happening apart from her, while she remained in her old world. The phone box was a portal to new places and to different time-frames, just as it is in Dr Who. Maybe I just want the mystification to remain.