HBO’s “Vinyl” is about a man struggling to keep the
rapidly-deteriorating elements of his life from completely slipping through his
fingers. His marriage is in shambles, his cocaine addiction has dominated his
life, his business is being torn apart, a crime committed in the premiere will
hang over him, and the music scene in which he once seemed a major player is
zipping past him into a new era. It is not coincidental that the premiere,
directed by Martin Scorsese, opens and closes with the New York Dolls’ “Personality
Crisis.” Richie Finestra (Bobby Cannvale) is deep in one, and the show about
him flirts with some identity issues as well. At times, it’s a riveting
examination of a formative chapter in music history through the bloodshot eyes
of a major player in it, reminiscent of “Mad Men” in its period detail and even
recalling “The Sopranos” in its depiction of a man sometimes torn between
business and family. At other times, it feels unsure of itself, flitting from
character to character without grounding enough of the supporting ones to make
them memorable. It can sometimes be a collection of great scenes that don’t
quite coalesce into a great show, like an album with stand-out tracks that you don’t really want to listen to from first song to last. “Vinyl” is
undeniably interesting and worth watching, and could easily iron out its pacing
issues and inconsistencies, but only if viewers are willing to endure a
personality crisis or two.
Richie is the founder and president of American
Century Records. In the opening scene of Scorsese’s 113-minute premiere, he’s parked in an alley separating lines of cocaine with a
police officer’s business card he just ripped off his window. “Vinyl” flashes back to how Richie got here. It’s been a rough few
weeks. With his business partners, including Ray Romano’s Zak Yankovich,
Finestra is planning to sell American Century to a German company, but they
need to sign Led Zeppelin first. His marriage to Devon (Olivia Wilde), a former
model and player in Andy Warhol’s scene, is on the rocks. And he’s just trying
to find that spark that got him into music in the first place. He also recently
spotted a former client named Lester Grimes (Ato Essandoh), and memories of how
he stepped on the first artist with whom he fell in love to climb the corporate
ladder are haunting him. It’s time for drastic change in Richie’s life and at
his company. They’re going to find that spark again, possibly even in a new
punk band called The Nasty Bits, who have been discovered by a young assistant
named Jamie (Juno Temple).
The premiere of “Vinyl” really takes its time to set up its
characters, and, more importantly, the swirling mix of music of its era. At times, it can feel as if it’s frustratingly more about the scene than the people within it. “Vinyl”
jumps from punk to blues, spinning from Bo Diddley to New York Dolls to Led
Zeppelin and back again. It contains flashbacks within flashbacks, blending
music, drugs, sex, violence, etc. until you almost feel as high as Richie.
There are times when it feels like you’re watching a party instead of being
invited to one, but “Vinyl” is still one hell of a bash, and
Scorsese’s pilot is arguably the least accessible of the five episodes
available to the press (largely because of its demanding running time). Once the characters are introduced and the pace
tightened, “Vinyl” becomes a relatively straightforward, entertaining, behind-the-scenes show, and those looking
for Scorsese’s trademark brilliant use of music should know that the tunes become more familiar as the show goes along. By
the time you get to episode four, it’s practically a classic rock greatest hits
(I think they went from Janis Joplin, Pink Floyd, The Who in one five-minute stretch).
While “Vinyl” gets more accessible and interesting as we get
to know its characters, it’s still hard to shake two things. One, it falls
victim to romanticizing its darker edges. Sure, everything is falling apart,
but at least we still get to hang out with Alice Cooper and The Velvet Underground. Two,
the “anti-hero who finds his way” concept is getting undeniably worn out.
Cannavale is typically excellent but do we need another character like Tony
Soprano, Don Draper, Walter White, etc. in today’s TV landscape? And, right
now, Richie is a bit too much of a victim of his surroundings. Five episodes
in, I don’t feel like I really know him, even like I did a Nucky Thompson at
this point in HBO’s “Boardwalk Empire.” Again, the team behind “Vinyl,” including the
great Terence Winter, have never been known to rush things. They could be
playing a long game with Richie’s character development in a way that will make his arc deeply rewarding by the season finale; I can only comment on the thinness
and over-familiarity of the character based on what I’ve seen. It’s entertaining as hell but there’s a bit of a character vacuum, even at the center.
What happens when you live a life of excess and the money
starts to run out? What happens when you build your life around what’s new and
can no longer find the next big thing? “Vinyl” is about how much we take from
others, so it makes some sense that it takes from TV and music history,
stealing from legendary rock anecdotes about the behavior of people like Warhol
and Cooper and Plant, while also feeling familiar to fans of “The Sopranos” and
“Mad Men.” Great rock music doesn’t need to reinvent chord structure—it just
needs to find the right ones to play. After five episodes, “Vinyl” sometimes
feels like it’s still just warming up for the songs that will bring the house
down, but I’m not leaving this show any time soon.
