I was struggling, as usual, to stay awake during SNL this past weekend, but I did perk up for Ashlee Simpson’s second “performance.” You know, I thought to myself, the first song sounded suspiciously canned (I’d experienced the "punkier" Simpson actually singing that song at the MTV VMA’s pre-show and it was truly awful!). So when I miraculously woke up for the second round, I thought I was still dreaming. What a magical moment of self-destruction! And she blamed it on the band! Awesome television.

Speaking of self-implosion, wannabe rock stars and any one who has any illusions about the music industry must check out Dig! Writer-producer-director Ondi Timoner tracks the “rise and fall” and the uneasy friendship of bands The Brian Jonestown Massacre and The Dandy Warhols over the course of seven years, starting in 1996. The result is a compelling study of the hype, excess, and frenzy of the nineties, when, after Nirvana broke out, it seemed every alt-rock band was getting signed to the majors. Around that time I was Program Director for my college radio station and I remember getting so turned off by the gold rush, being bombarded by promoters, the CMJ monster, the corporate machine, that, for a while, I was mostly dipping into and exploring older stuff rather than buying new “product.”

I was, however, sold on the early BJM critical hype and consumed a few of their early recordings, which were released in rapid-fire succession, and now they sit somewhere in the back of my collection. I clearly dug their concept but ultimately I found their output rather unremarkable and more than a bit derivative. The Dandy Warhol’s jive would have been the kind of thing that might appeal to me but I immediately found their music tired and annoying and didn’t even bother going there.

And music is the one thing that’s missing from this otherwise comprehensive documentary. I have no doubt in Newcombe's abilities as a multi-instrumentalist and as an intuitive, although steeped in retro, songwriter - I "feel" his "scene" and vision. And I applaud the Dandies for playing their cards right for all they are worth at the right moment.

But, ultimately, with , the film-maker gets so caught up in squabbles, antics, - the indie - and politics of the players in these two bands - that the audience never gets a chance to find out if the bands rock or not.

Are we supposed to believe that BJM’s Anton Newcombe is one hyper-talented freak, a misunderstood messiah? All the audience gets is footage of one trashed, disasterous, and self-thwarted performance after another. What exactly is this “revolution” every one keeps on referring to? Um, didn't it already occur - if it indeed did - circa 1967- 69? All we see a revolving gang of messed-up, strung-out brats who can’t keep their egos and substance use in check. Newcombe goes to great length to construct this “Beatles-Stones/Oasis-Blur” rivalry with twatty Courtney Taylor-Taylor of The Dandies, who land a major-label contract. It’s a deranged leap of logic on Newcombe’s part – I mean, are these bands, were these bands, even players? Who gives a fuck about The Dandy Warhols? Well, I guess in Europe they grooved that jingle...

Critic Ernest Hardy points out in the LA Weekly that the documentary “is as much a chronicle of the ways in which the music industry hamstrings careers and collapses upon itself as it is about the dazzling rise of one band and the spectacular implosion of another. There’s nothing new in Dig!’s revelations about the business end of the music business: Ninety percent of new bands fail. Formulaic crap gets signed while visionaries get fucked over. New artists and musical scenes are just more oil for the creaky corporate machine. Et cetera. The film nimbly conveys all that, allowing us to see how ancient formulas playing out in familiar ways still manage to inflict fresh wounds.”

All in all, Dig! is quite compelling, if anything for the cast of real-life players. Newcombe is fascinating – he’s like one of those personalities you always thought were so cool from a distance and then when you finally get to know him you realize how deeply fucked up and parasitic he really is and then you want to get away. Had the director probed a little deeper into his childhood (addiction and schizophrenia are in his bloodlines), one could almost feel sorry for him. The clowning BJM tambourine shaker Joel Gion, hapless industry execs, and The Dandy’s clueless Zia McCabe provide for ample comic relief. And I loved the way that while Courtney Taylor-Taylor does the voiceover framing for Dig!, the film actually takes a huge toss out of him. Watching a train wreck play out can be hilarious.

Side note: whatever happened to Miranda Lee Richards? She was actually the sole voice of reason in Dig! (At one point saying to the effect: "like, what Anton doesn't realize is that the Rolling Stones did all the drugs after they got big"). Her debut album, The Herethereafter, while misguidingly overproduced, showed a great deal of promise. Seriously, it was my moving-in soundtrack three-plus years ago! Plus, Robert Crumb is like her godfather or something. Did Virgin drop her? Damn music industry...

I’ve fallen behind on writing about the films I see on this site. Not that any one cares, but I like to keep a record. Its the Virgo in me. So in brief, lately, I’ve enjoyed (and I'm forgetting a few) Team America:World Police (although it wasn’t as hilarious as I had anticipated – the jokes were spread a little too thin. Just wasn't as clever and over-the-top as I expected and the musical numbers suffered. But I’m a HUGE fan of Gerry Anderson - anyone who experienced childhood in Europe and elsewhere abroad during the pre-90s has to be, and, besides, at one point as a kid I made fast cash as a puppeteer - and the David Rockwell art direction was clever and amazing!), Shaun of the Dead(Brilliant!), and Bright Young Things (Stephen Fry realized the right frenzied, squandered tone in interpreting Waugh's Vile Bodies). So-so were Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (I admired the director’s vision - a vanilla, tech-savvy Guy Madden - but the story and performances were flato) and Merci Docteur Rey (Jane Birkin gives the only halfway appealing performance - and the film is only/best enjoyed if one is familiar with a dated certain kind of 60s/70s low-budget campy Anglo-French-Euro-co-production-farce-comedy of errors-vehicle-featuring-trans-Atlantic talent. The idiom of which I am, sadly, a connoiseur).
Ay, guess haven’t been going out to the movies much...

Comments

[torn]

Excellent review of Dig! -- I suspect my reaction would be similar (should I ever get the chance to see it, which of course I won't). I hate "music" documentaries that somehow leave out the music. By far the best review of the movie I've read in fact -- great job.

I'm over my distress at Peel's passing by the way -- great way to go. What was the alternative, to end up in some old folks' home ("come along Mr Peel, it's time for your undertones records now")? A wonderful life, lived to the full, doing what he loved, bringing joy to millions, and loved and respected by all. You can't ask for much more than that.