Somewhere along the path between Stradivarius and Pro Tools sits an unprepossessing and grandfatherly man named Robert Moog.
Moog (rhymes with vogue) sold his first synthesizer, the Moog, in 1965. In the 40 years since, these musical instruments -- and, Moog will tell you, they are musical instruments -- have changed contemporary music.
See photos Just how that happened is the subject of Moog, a new documentary by Hans Fjellestad being released on DVD this week.
The film holds a number of revelations. For one, the early Moogs were big. And manifestly complicated.
In one scene, Keith Emerson (from Emerson, Lake and Palmer) jams on an original Moog. It looks like a prop from a 1950s sci-fi film -- a bulky cabinet covered with a gnarly mess of wires, tubes and knobs.
After 1965, synthesizers -- including Moog's own Minimoog and Micromoog -- began shrinking in size and price and increasing in sophistication. More and more musicians began using them. And an entirely new vocabulary of sounds was injected into mainstream music.
"You created the whole alien alphabet," Money Mark, aka the fourth Beastie Boy, tells Moog in the movie. But the Moog made much more than galactic beeps and screeches. Moog can take some credit for the drum machine, the electronic bass line and a nearly infinite catalog of sonic effects.
In 1968, the composer Walter (now Wendy) Carlos used the Moog to record Switched-On Bach, which won three Grammys.
The album was both a technical achievement (no one had done anything nearly as complex with electronic sound) and, some felt, a virtuosic one (the pianist Glenn Gould was said to have called Carlos' "Brandenburg Concerto No. 3" rendition one of the best he had heard). Switched-On Bach was also a commercial phenomenon -- the first classical album to go platinum.
Carlos went on to compose the music for Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange and The Shining. Still, the resistance to electronic music remained fierce.
"(People said) it wasn't natural and so it wasn't right," Moog tells Fjellestad. "It was considered suspect at best and downright harmful at worst."
Moog is most successful when exploring how artists can embrace technology. Moog himself sounds like a mystic when discussing it.
"I can feel what's going on in a piece of electronic equipment," he says as the movie opens. "I have a sense that I know and can to some extent control what's happening inside the transistors."
From this first scene, Fjellestad offers a reverential portrait of Moog. And Moog deserves it.
Still, reverence isn't always the most exciting thing to watch. Another film about a pioneer of electronica, Theremin: An Electronic Odyssey, follows the Russian inventor-composer whose life was filled with bizarre twists. (After he became an international phenomenon, Leon Theremin was kidnapped by the KGB and forcibly returned to the Soviet Union.) Moog, on the other hand, consists largely of long, occasionally rambling interviews.
Moog isn't a comprehensive study of electronic music (check out Modulations for that) and the music doesn't have exhilarating tunes and the underdog spirit of Scratch, a thumping history of the art of the turntable.
Moog's concert footage does feature some notable players (Money Mark and Mix Master Mike, funkster Bernie Worrell, Rick Wakeman from Yes, a brief burst of Stereolab). But there are also conspicuous absences. Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk come to mind, and artists including Donna Summer, Stevie Wonder and the Beatles were Moog players.
Carlos herself doesn't appear (although Fjellestad apparently made every effort to interview her). Also disappointing is the lack of good goofy Moog music, with the exception of one splendid old Schafer commercial, with keyboardist-composer Edd Kalehoff rocking some crazy sounds (and loud polyester).
The late 1960s and early '70s were heady days for the Moog. Digital synths arrived on the scene soon after. The bulkier, more expensive and sensitive Moogs, with their analog technology, skidded toward obsolescence.
But a new wave of Moog appreciation has hit. This week, the second annual MoogFest features performances by Edgar Winter, DJ Logic, Living Color and keyboardist Adam Holzman (who has played with Miles Davis).
So, the Cult of Moog is substantial. And Moog, though flawed and sometimes frustrating, is a timely, relevant portrait of the passionate, vibrant man who stands at its center.
