Television programs covered in this article: F Sharp Minor: Behind the Music, VH1; Biography: The Eight Bar Drum Intro, A&E; The E! True Hollywood Story: The Baby/Crazy Rhyming Couplet, E!
In this age of blanket entertainment coverage, many behind-the-scenes musical personnel — producers and record company executives — are getting as much recognition as some of the artists themselves. Recent years have seen books and documentaries focusing on people like George Martin and Andrew Loog Oldham, producers of The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, respectively. And now, three upcoming documentaries will be aired that expose the roles and histories of some very different musical stars.
The first of these documentaries, VH1’s long-awaited F Sharp Minor: Behind the Music, spans the five decades that the chord has been in the music industry. It is an admirable undertaking, with many high points, and provides viewers with an insight into the psyche of a highly misunderstood musical presence.
In the documentary, F Sharp Minor talks at length about his history in the music business, including the difficulty he faced in those early days. He weeps as he talks of the hardships he suffered living in the shadow of his elder — and more commonly used — brother, F Sharp.
Famous fans of F Sharp Minor are interviewed, including such long-time collaborators as Neil Young, Leonard Cohen and Brian Wilson. And while the program could have descended into a sycophantic love-in, dissenting voices are also given some airtime, including that of Lou Reed. His disparaging remarks are explained by F Sharp Minor as “a misunderstanding over some stolen ham.”
Witnessing the development of F Sharp Minor as an artist over the years is a treat, and this documentary really captures the changes in his styles. My one complaint with the documentary is the glossing over of several salacious moments in the chord’s career. His collaboration with much-maligned hip hop act Kriss Kross in 1991 is mentioned, but nothing more about it is said. Worse, the chord’s sensational arrest in 1973 for transporting a minor over state lines is surprisingly absent from the film.
All shortcomings aside, VH1’s documentary is a well-made, enjoyable trip down musical memory lane. Less successful is Biography: The Eight Bar Drum Intro on A&E. It’s a disjointed and unfulfilling affair, and Eight Bar Drum Intro himself is not a great interviewee. He has the unfortunate tendency to ramble on at length on subjects that would bore all but subscribers to Drum Solo Aficionado Monthly.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in the section detailing the rhythmic technique’s appearance in Iggy Pop’s Lust for Life. The interviewer tries to get something interesting out of Intro — an anecdote about working with Pop, maybe — but instead he just embarks on a dull story about high-hat cymbals.
There’s a lack of big names in this documentary, which further adds to its weaknesses. The most famous individual is Courtney Taylor-Taylor, lead singer of The Dandy Warhols, who has far more to say about himself and his sexual conquests than Eight Bar’s role in the songBohemian Like You.
While Biography: The Eight Bar Drum Intro fails on many levels, the same certainly cannot be said for The E! True Hollywood Story: The Baby/Crazy Rhyming Couplet, which follows the life of this ubiquitous pseudo-rhyme and its cross-genre appeal.
Despite her advanced age, Baby/Crazy is a lively and erudite talker, and she waxes eloquently about her early years on the jazz scene. One detects a definite air of nostalgia as she remembers all the old songs in which she appeared, and though she doesn’t say it, there is definitely the impression that her time in jazz constitutes her happiest memories.
This being the E! Channel, however, the story of Baby/Crazy is not all nostalgic happiness. A lot of time is spent detailing the long-running speculation that Baby/Crazy was not a legitimate rhyming couplet. Many of her detractors appear on film to reassert the accusation, including Self/Shelf and Love/Above. One gets the idea that their anger with Baby/Crazy’s lack of rhyming has not waned down the years; indeed, Self/Shelf’s rancour is still highly evident. “Say it out loud,” he booms at the off-screen interviewer. “Baby. Crazy. They don’t rhyme! Aby! Azy! They’re totally different sounds!”
Curiously absent from the documentary is Baby/Maybe, Baby/Crazy’s illegitimate offspring. Mother and daughter haven’t spoken since the 1970s, when the latter sided with the detractors in the non-rhyme accusations. With tensions between the two still high, it was possibly too much to expect Baby/Maybe to be involved in a celebration of her mother’s life, but it does create a large hole in an otherwise superb documentary.
These three documentaries, while of differing merit, all epitomize a new trend in filmmaking, that of showing us the faces behind the music we hear. It is a trend that I welcome, being of the opinion that we really don’t need to see another Beatles/Stones/Dylan biopic when we could be learning about the Rock God One-Foot-on-the-Amplifier-Stance or the Instrumental B-side.
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