A segue back....

Since we've been on the topic of movies for a few posts, let me suggest an easy way to segue back into music (because, ultimately, I really need to start talking about Led Zeppelin) by throwing out another challenge:

Name the best musical performance in non-musical, non-concert film

This can be canned or lip-synced (as it very often is) or it can be a real live recording, but it can't be a movie about that artist or anything that is chiefly musical, and it can't be a documentary. It must be a movie where the characters wind up in a bar or a concert or whatever and see some artist perform. This is, by default, going to involve a lot of bar scenes.

This could be a real band, like the Circle Jerks playing in Repo Man, or it could be a movie-only band, like Otis Day and the Knights in Animal House. I'm going to have to rule out The Blues Brothers since that's a movie primarily about a band, just as I would pretty much rule out any Muppet movie, despite the spectacular songwriting contributions of Paul Williams and others to those brilliant soundtracks.

The key factor is really that the performance has to be a part of the story, whether primary or just incidental. It can be offhand or it can be absolutely key to the plot, but it must be a piece of the narrative. I think we should probably also rule out movies that are not primarily "musicals" but have more than two or three musical performances in them, like School of Rock – although I could watch that credit sequence over and over again and never get tired of it. As much as I know it will pain you, this would probably also exclude The Fabulous Baker Boys.

So, I've been thinking about this all morning and the one that continues to stick in my head is Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds performing "From Her to Eternity" in Wings of Desire. Something about the way it was integrated in to the movie, both in terms of visual and overall mood, really struck me when I saw it and continues to stick with me years later. So, that's my initial vote, but I'm eager to hear more examples from you.

Johnny Greenwood

Alright, this "hater" is going to take you to task over the Radiohead guitarist's big-picture soundtrack for There Will Be Blood. We've already debated the merits of the movie itself, which I found very good, despite Anderson's tendency to beat the viewer over the head with "this is an important movie" bluntness. I'm not sure the movie would have held together without Day-Lewis' method madness anchoring the whole thing, but as a bizarre, almost hellish, bleached-out period film, it's hard to think of anything that's tackled this kind of subject successfully in recent years without trumpeting the "revisionist" label. There Will Be Blood is truly an original work of art. Then again, I can think of quite a few John Ford movies I'd watch again before giving this one a second view. As rewarding and original as it was, this movie hurt my brain.

I blame said damage partially on the soundtrack, which screeched and caromed like a derailing train in scenes seemingly bereft of accompanying drama. It's clear that a peculiar brand of harshness was central to Anderson's portrayal of the period, and he certainly achieved that visually. Greenwood's soundtrack offered no relief – not that it absolutely must – but instead piled on the dread in a way that would make John Carpenter proud. If Anderson's filmic vision was one of sandpaper and grit, Greenwood's soundtrack felt like a nail file dragged slowly across it.

As an experiment in sinister, minimalist composition, I think the soundtrack holds some interest. Greenwood and company have trafficked in existential dread for years (somewhere along the line, they became our generation's Pink Floyd), so I guess it made sense to recruit one of the creators of a fully-realized, haunting rock sound. But I'm not sure that Greenwood's creation works particularly well for a movie, precisely because it offers no contrast with or complement to what's actually on screen. It is monochromatic, harsh and unforgiving; the violin crescendos scream at you as if a slasher is waiting around the bend. The movie beats you to a pulp, and the soundtrack comes by and kicks you in the head just to be sure.

I have no problem with atmospheric gloom (Michael Mann may be the standard bearer for that) or high musical drama (think of all those Lost cliffhangers) but both are typically leavened with something to keep you from clawing your eyes out; too much of anything, especially within the confines of a nearly three-hour period piece, can be a bad thing. Anderson used Greenwood's music sparingly – thankfully. But the sparse appearances stood out even more, calling attention to themselves like the ravings of the deranged minister.

I don't doubt that all of this was intentional – as I said, there is something about this movie (and a few others in Anderson's ouvre) that screams "LOOK AT ME, I'M SERIOUS." Maybe that's what happens when you've never surpassed the popularity of your light-hearted riff on seventies porn - you go and make really serious movies until people listen to what you have to say. Judging by the critical acclaim, Anderson was successful in finally getting people to take him goddamn seriously. I just don't think he needed a soundtrack to add another layer of misery on top of it.

What do you think?

The Gauntlet

Throwing it down here, baby. Despite similar tastes, you and I disagree on enough music to let a few sparks fly. So this here blog will be our Thunderdome, our Battle of the Network Stars, our Urgh! A Music War. This is it — it's go time, bitch.

I'd like to propose some list-making, but that is the most hackneyed goddamn thing a music lover can do, so I'll start off elsewhere (and I know that we will be making bloody lists before long).

My first challenge to you: Defend Robert Palmer.

I see Palmer as a dime store Bryan Ferry, a cut-rate version of what amounts to a questionable phenomenon in the first place: the British white-boy torch singer. I don't deny that Palmer has had a few moments here and there, but I can't help but view his coat, tie and artificial smoothness in the harsh, blinding reflection of the impeccably mannered and sexually sophisticated Mr. Ferry. Was there another soul in the 20th century who could make excessively perspiring in a bespoke suit so damn, well, erotic? I don't think so.

Robert Palmer may have become ubiquitous from a clever music video, but today I think the image of mindlessly swaying, robotic models is all that remains of his legacy. Mildly talented and never quite as suave as he would have us believe, he deserves little of our attention, and certainly not the position in your music collection that he currently occupies. Keep a couple of the hits and toss the rest out. You need the space on your iPod.