Even though we sometimes feel like our favorite genres of music have always been as culturally embraced as they are now, they were all once gestating quietly, away from the public eye, marginalized and ridiculed for being bold and different. Jazz and blues were once seen as the devil’s music, there only to corrupt the impressionable youth into becoming slaves to that darn alcohol and wacky tabaccy. Now they both play 24/7 in coffee shops that are so square, fourth-generation yuppies think they’re too mainstream. After jazz and blues were accepted into “polite” society, it was rock’s turn to be ridiculed, as it was seen as nothing but the blues sped-up to music experts.
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Usually it takes a bunch of oddballs to be the first ones to embrace a new form of musical expression, or any daring and fresh artistic output for that matter. They appreciate its uniqueness and bravery when no one else would, and would go to bat for it simply in order to share their love for it with the world. Music manager Danny Fields is one of those oddballs. Fields lived a life that any fan of rock history would die for, managing legendary artists like The Doors and Lou Reed, while acting as one of the essential pioneers of punk, as he pulled then-obscure bands like MC5, The Stooges, and Ramones into the spotlight.
Yet you’d never guess those accomplishments by simply looking at him. Here’s a man who matches his constant schlubby look and permanent expression of cold indifference with a monotone speaking voice that always reminds us how little he cares about whether or not we consider him to be one of the key figures in legitimizing rock and punk. He’s so cool, he can make an insane story about taking acid with Jim Morrison, an amount that would have made a blue whale trip balls by the way, until Morrison convinced himself that the best way to end the night was to skip from rooftop to rooftop butt naked, and make the whole thing sound like your unassuming grandpa talking about a trip to the grocery store. As flat as he looks and sounds, Fields is always fascinating simply because he doesn’t put the rock “legends” he worked with on a pedestal the way we do. To him, it was all about the music, and dealing with rock stars who could be equally interesting and annoying was a side effect of discovering some unique, bizarre, and wonderful tunes.
“Danny Says” director Brendan Toller’s sometimes frustratingly loose, yet consistently charming biographical documentary on Fields, manages to capture the self-aware oddity of Elektra Records’ star manager via stunningly honest interview footage intercut with low-key pencil-drawn animated segments that dramatize the many crazy stories the revered manager tells about his life and his experiences with his famous clients. Toller’s doc follows a chronological structure, covering Fields’ life from his awkward youth when he was struggling to find his place in the world as a gay man, all the way to becoming good enough at the music biz in order to be trusted with discovering new talent.
Toller spends a good chunk of his doc’s runtime on Fields’ signature accomplishment: pulling punk into the mainstream during the 1970s. During a time when many other music experts thought the output of now beloved bands like The Stooges and Ramones was nothing more than gibberish screamed into the decrepit walls of New York dives, Fields saw raw talent that would mold the future of rock, and struggled to convince his bosses as Elektra to sign them. The rest, as we now know it, is history. Fields’ one-man punk renaissance, told through candid interviews with the likes of Iggy Pop and audio recordings of Fields talking to various talent during the ’70s (one audio segment of Lou Reed going nuts over hearing Ramones for the first time in 1974 is hilarious), takes up only the final third of the doc, even though it’s the meat of what made Fields such a unique figure.
It’s understandable that Toller decided to spend a lot of time on Fields’ stories about hanging out with Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick while he represented some of the biggest names in music, who wouldn’t? Yet since he employs a very loosely paced structure, the punk stuff seems rushed. Perhaps it was Toller’s intent to create a narrative aesthetic that matched the nonchalant attitude of his subject, but it comes at the expense of punk fans who might be itching to learn more about the genesis of their favorite bands. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but a little less time on Andy Warhol and Jim Morrison would have worked better.
The delightfully rudimentary animated segments provide the documentary with enough visual appeal to keep it interesting. Since the rest of the doc uses very grainy and unattractive-looking interview footage from various decades, the implementation of the animation is a welcome visual addition. If they didn’t exist, the entire documentary could have easily been enjoyed as a listening-only experience. Even though it’s far from perfect, “Danny Says” is recommended to fans of punk and rock history. It can also work as a nice appetizer to Jim Jarmusch’s upcoming doc about The Stooges. [C]