X: The Unheard Music

The Los Angeles punk rock scene of the late 1970s was a seismic revolution in music appreciation. I didn't say "in the music industry" because the record labels in the same town seemed oblivious to this powderkeg. There were too many units of Air Supply and Boston and various softer fare to be shipped. Relatively safe, radio friendly music was what kept the shekels flowing. Who the hell was going to play this cacophonous noise? It didn't fit any known radio format. Only college stations, on the far left of your dial, would give 'em a spin. How, er, "punk rock" of them.

Elektra, a division of Warner Brothers, was a bit different. To their credit, they would sometimes sign acts that didn't always conform to the predictability of most pop, acts like X. Acts that dispensed with the usual ingredients. Say "melody" to a punk musician or fan and you're likely to get a sigh, or roll of the eyes, or maybe even a middle finger. These were angry, dissonant howls of pain. Shredding guitars, polyrhythmic, pounding drumming, and even feedback was used in the mix. Not necessarily anthems with which you could sway with your cigarette lighter or swill your Budweiser; these were atonal chants, filled with nausea and truth. As Moby states in the liner notes of X's retrospective collection, Beyond & Back, The X Anthology:

"I loved X because they represented such a cool confluence of elements. They were so American and so punk rock and they somehow embodied this timeless poetic archetype of American desolation and exhuberance. Kind of like 'I'm drunk and depressed and it's too hot outside and there are diapers in the front lawn but life is so fucking special I'll go out and shoot out the windows in my car cos i'm full of rage and joy."

Bands like X, Black Flag, Germs, and many others (featured in the potent 1981 documentary THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION)were also self-commissioned as a response to what many called "dinosaur rock". The earlier 70s (and continuing) rock sound was dominated by stadium playing rock gods and "silly boys with lipstick on" glam lads. What had even been worse for the future punkers, the dreaded "prog rock" they had had to suffer with for years. King Crimson, Genesis, Yes. All guilty of creating epic long dirges of sci-fi reaching, philosophical blathering. Punk rock was the antidote: short, fast, staccato hit-and-runs that knocked you senseless before you knew what hit you. And the lyrics. All wounded tales of real life. Romance always ended in jealousy and separation. Vomit and shards of glass were everywhere. There were political rantings, too. The Clash would go on to rail in song after song against Thatcherist London. Sid Viscious would spout profanity on the BBC. This was a revolution, on both sides of the pond. 

Back in L.A., Ray Manzarek, former keyboardist for The Doors, checked out X and was smitten enough to produce (and play on) their first few albums. The Doors, of course, had been signed with Elektra as well. While Jello Biafra and Henry Rollins blew out their vocal folds pretty much all of the time, X's lead singer Exene Cervenka also allowed for some glorious harmonizing with bassist John Doe. Indeed, many of their tunes reflected their love of Opryland-style twang. It was an odd combo, the punk sensibility meeting Hank Williams, but it worked. Rockabilly and bluesy. X's country leanings would even later result in a punk-free side project: The Knitters. Even folk influence would charge later X tunes, perhaps invoking the spirit of Woody Guthrie! 

But we're here to speak of the 1985 doc, X: THE UNHEARD MUSIC. By the time it was released in a very limited theatrical run, the band had long since blazed their trails, had their legendary stands at the Whisky A Go-Go. The later albums were increasingly disappointing, the nadir coming with the overproduction on Ain't Love Grand!. Producer Michael Wagener made everything sound positively hair band. X goes Poison? Warrant? "Burning House of Love" is a good example. Album version = post production dreck. Live version on Beyond & Back = stripped down and groovy. THE UNHEARD MUSIC is not a traditional documentary. Firstly, it is not a filmed performance; in fact, there are precious few live shots, period. The ones provided are potent, but more would've been appreciated. If you want to see some live X, you'd have to check out URGH! A MUSIC WAR (only bootleg DVD so far). The songs in this movie are lip synched by the band in a studio. It still rocks. Take this movie's advice: play it LOUD. 

We also do not get an abundance of band interviews, at least not the sort where the artists sit and talk about themselves to the point of narcissism. There are recollections of the early days, but not filled pointed insight. This band had a lot of drama, particularly between John and Exene, who were a couple for many years. Much of their music told their true life stories, the emotional bloodshed that was occuring. Of course, so did that of Fleetwood Mac. I think of all the perhaps unwatchable, unguarded moments between Exene and John, but the movie doesn't attempt to be a fly on the wall. This movie is a cinematic collage. Pieces of lots of things that don't seem to connect at first glance. We hear record execs explaining how the music industry works. They tout more traditional acts, politely explaining that X just doesn't quite make for neat categorization (and slick marketing). 

Then we cut to steam-of-consciousness visuals. The most mesmerizing for me involves a journey through L.A. neighborhoods, set to the title track. We trail behind and around an entire house behind transported on a trailer. Slowww journey, destination unknown. We see the blur of streetlamps and tai llights. The driving force of the music, unexplainably fitting to such a quiet visual. It's almost philosophical, the implications of which will doubtless differ from viewer to viewer. I was strangely reminded of the floating plastic grocery bag from AMERICAN BEAUTY. If that clicks with you, you may get the essence of my gist, here. We also get a taste of the spirit of what it might've been like to be in a sweaty pit at an X show. "We're Desperate" from the group's fabulous debut record, Los Angeles, is given a frantic, machine gun edited assault of visuals that pounds with the force of a Wilhelm scream. A roundhouse of photos, artwork, animation. If we slow it down you have what resembles the most disturbing coffee table book ever. Beautifully grotesque. 

The centerpiece, however, is "I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts", accompanying war footage. Unabashedly left-wing, and extremely powerful. Partisanship, actually, should not figure into it. Strong meat. I suspect some X fans will be disappointed with THE UNHEARD MUSIC. Those expecting the typical ingredients. This is no tabloid tell-all, no filmed record. This is a rough assemblege of the ideas of the band, the aura. Director W.T. Morgan spent 5 years piecing this movie together, and it plays like the cinematic equivalent of a rummage through someone's box of keepsakes. All that impractical stuff you amass over the years, yet can't quite discard due to the strong sentimental value.