Darlene Love in TWENTY FEET FROM STARDOM / Still courtesy of RADiUS-TWC
“You get hooked on music, you’re fucked.” David Lasley, one of the many backing vocalists interviewed in the new documentary Twenty Feet from Stardom, could be speaking for everyone who attempts a career in music. But we see how lead singers are fucked just about every time we turn on Behind the Music; the particular two-fold fucked-ness of supporting players is lavishly explored in this film. And while a lot of the emotional crests and troughs seem familiar, it’s refreshing to see musicians hopelessly addicted to their craft instead of heroin, booze, and adoration.
The first challenge we learn about is relatively obvious: backup singers, no matter how gifted, are at the mercy of whoever’s running the show. Darlene Love, one of the film’s featured subjects, recorded vocals for Phil Spector, who then credited them to other people. In one of the film’s more tragic moments, Love describes finally venturing out on her own, only to have her contract sold back to Spector, who pretty much killed her chances of becoming a star.
Which brings us to the other challenge: making the leap to center stage. All of Twenty Feet’s subjects attempt solo careers at some point. This part of the movie is interspersed with graphics of their faces fading from the covers of their many long-forgotten albums. Even Lisa Fischer, whose Grammy for a 1991 single sits on a cluttered shelf in her apartment, seems spooked by her frontwoman experience and much happier singing backup for Sting. Paying your dues and mastering your craft do not guarantee glory, at least not when you expect it. The one possible exception is Judith Hill, the film’s youngest subject, who also appeared in Michael Jackson’s This is It. It remains to be seen whether her solo career will take off, or if she’ll take one plush gig too many and miss her shot.
Jo Lawry, Judith Hill and Lisa Fischer in TWENTY FEET FROM STARDOM / Still courtesy of RADiUS-TWC
Toward the end, we see our protagonists hobnobbing with Elton John or headlining classy clubs, but by then we’ve learned that the market for backup vocalists has shrunk drastically since the days when megalomaniacal frontmen tacked “-ettes” onto their names. Several interviewees talk about the human voice as the most emotionally direct of all musical instruments, and harmony as a religious experience. You get the sense that all of them would keep singing no matter what. And you can feel a little of that bliss yourself watching a present-day Merry Clayton listen to her searing vocal in the Rolling Stones’ 1969 single, “Gimme Shelter.” The music is stripped away, leaving her raw, verbed-out track and some Jagger yelps in the background. Clayton’s quiet reaction to that last chorus, when the word “murder” becomes a scream, is one of the most poignant moments I’ve ever seen in a documentary.
My heart broke for Clayton, Love, and the rest of them. My knees ached for Tina Turner and the Ikettes, shown thundering across the stage in heels and microskirts as a voiceover explains that Ike Turner saw himself as a musical pimp. And I came away feeling hopeful. This could be the partly the result of selective editing — we learn that Clayton was pregnant during the “Gimme Shelter” session, but not that she miscarried soon thereafter — but Director Morgan Neville makes a good case that musicians, while mostly fucked, can experience music both as the addiction and the cure.
Lisa Fischer in TWENTY FEET FROM STARDOM / Still courtesy of RADiUS-TWC
Who Should Watch It: Anyone who’d rather be an Ikette than Ike.
Who Shouldn’t Watch It: Anyone averse to scatting, especially scatting shown in extreme close-up.
Merry Clayton in TWENTY FEET FROM STARDOM / Still courtesy of RADiUS-TWC
Review by James Rickman
