It began with the rewatching of Almost Famous for the ten thousandth time. This 70's inspirational wave I'm riding, that is. It then led to reading the memoirs of a brassy Reseda girl, albeit a famous 1970's groupie, whose intimations could be a post in and of itself.
Yet, I thought, I need more of a fix. Trust me, I love Steven Hyde's snarky voice of reason more than anyone, but it had to be more than a smokey basement with an angry Red lingering above. As luck would have it, Vinyl popped into my queue. Quite sad it didn't continue for further seasons. Martin and Mick created something visually incredible.
1973, what a year, right? I am left wanting more. More makeup. More hair. More Alice Cooper. More of the wonderful man who played Bowie. (But let's be honest, guys, what were you thinking casting that dude as Robert Plant?!)
Short story is: a struggling record company tries to navigate the torrents of financial crisis, drugs, and temperamental rockstars in pursuit of revitalizing the Rock'n'roll industry, which has grown stagnant. The A and R folks within the company are thrust to the battlefront and are tasked to dig up new acts who undeniably rule. There is a murder most foul and outta sight style. Not to mention, the interiors make you want to step through the screen to claim the scene as your own.
It is filled, nah, packed with sitings of the greats. Gram Parsons here. New York Dolls there. And a Warhol shoved between Max's and The Factory. It is a mixed bag of musical and artistic history in one city. What would it have been like to be there? Well, Vinyl gives access to a glimpse of the possibilities.