Is there a better film about the insane longing and irrational urge that is the eternal, unwavering draw of rock n' roll? About journalism? About both? If there is I've never seen it. There are great films about rock and roll, and about journalism, but not about both, and not to the depth of the nostalgic bait-and-switch candy shell for Crowe to deliver a vibrant, lively -- and mostly importantly -- relevant story of the death rattle of rock n' roll, which has been reborn again and died a dozen times since.
Crowe's lush, generous and unmerciful yet tender recollection of his rock journo youth, writing for Lester Bangs and Creme Magazine, touring the country with the Allman Brothers for Rolling Stone is the ultimate commingling of the unpredictability of rock and the compulsive mad scrambling of journalism, of forbidden sex and drunken idealism, and of, ultimately, the forces of good and the forces of evil playing out on a stage and on the page for the our dollars -- the desperate battle for the music halls and neural walls, as Andrew Bird later put it.
You can spare $5, my uncool friends. Show starts at 9:30pm.