Phil Ochs was one of the most brilliant musicians of his generation, and if his politics hadn't got him blackballed by the Establishment and most of the music industry, he could have gone a long way. Any film about him would, just by virtue of having the courage to take on this complex figure, be interesting--but this one is particularly good because of the attention given to detail.
4 Reviews
God help the troubadour who tries to be a star
jonathan-31113 April 2008
Sean Penn once said that he was working on making a biopic about Phil Ochs. That was 20 or 25 years ago, and he still hasn't done anything about it. This is probably just as well, because I don't think Penn has it in him to do justice to Ochs' life. I'm not saying that to be mean - it's just a fact, the same way that Sylvester Stallone has no right to make a movie about Edgar Allan Poe, particularly with Robert Downey Jr. in the title role.
I watched an interesting documentary last night called "Chords Of Fame," which was made not 10 years after Ochs died, and featured commentary from Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, Michael Ochs, Dave Van Ronk, Sammy Walker, Paul Stookey, Tom Paxton, Pete Seeger and other people who were involved in Ochs' life, some of whom are no longer around. Ochs was probably the only folk singer who came out of Greenwich Village in the early '60s whose work remained primarily political and topical during his whole career, and he was heavily involved in the political rallies and movements of the time. But for a guy whose lyrics were often incendiary and deliberately provocative (such as "here's to the land you've torn out the heart of / Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of"), Ochs was remarkably staid when it came to political movements, particularly when compared to the anarchic beliefs of people like Hoffman and Rubin. Ochs felt that any political rally worth something had to present itself as neat and orderly in order to accomplish anything, and as the '60s wore on and the counter-cultural movement became increasingly commercialized, popularized and freakish, Ochs became very estranged from the movement.
It's a bit ironic that the one thing Ochs campaigned the most heavily for during his life - the end to the Vietnam War - ended up actually killing him when it arrived. It was that moment when he felt that he no longer had anything to say or protest against that sent him into a downward spiral that included drinking, schizophrenia and eventually suicide. It's kind of sad to realize, too, while watching the documentary (which was made in 1984), that if Ochs had held on for even five or six more years, he would have found himself at the beginning of the Reagan administration, which would have given him plenty of song-worthy topics to write about. I think it's a shame that so much attention is paid to the end of Och's life as opposed to when he was productive and vital, but a tragic life is almost always more compelling than one which is simply long-lived.
Dave Van Ronk makes an interesting point in the film when he says that the resurrection of political and topical songs in the '60s grew directly out of the civil rights movement, and that eventually shifted over to protest songs about the Vietnam War. It makes you wonder why topical songs are rarely recognized today, apart from, say, those written by Green Day or (what used to be) Rage Against The Machine, which *aren't* really as literate or provocative as those written by songwriters like Ochs. We've got a war, of course, but since we no longer have a draft, too few people are driven to topical music and protests, even as a method of self-preservation. Maybe we're simply missing that spirit of upheaval that was present during the '60s and the early days of the civil right movement. Certainly we've still got civil rights struggles going on in this country, not only for African-Americans, but for gays and immigrants. Still, that *urgency* and frustration that was present in 1964 isn't there anymore. And most current songwriters fashion themselves after the singer/songwriters of the '70s, like Jim Croce, Paul Simon and James Taylor, who, while still very good writers, were more interested in introspection than politicized lyrics.
Anyway, if you can get your hands on it, and if you can ignore the bad reenactments perpetrated by repertory theater performers, "Chords Of Fame" is worth watching. Now, if only I had the ability to write screenplays...
I watched an interesting documentary last night called "Chords Of Fame," which was made not 10 years after Ochs died, and featured commentary from Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, Michael Ochs, Dave Van Ronk, Sammy Walker, Paul Stookey, Tom Paxton, Pete Seeger and other people who were involved in Ochs' life, some of whom are no longer around. Ochs was probably the only folk singer who came out of Greenwich Village in the early '60s whose work remained primarily political and topical during his whole career, and he was heavily involved in the political rallies and movements of the time. But for a guy whose lyrics were often incendiary and deliberately provocative (such as "here's to the land you've torn out the heart of / Mississippi, find yourself another country to be part of"), Ochs was remarkably staid when it came to political movements, particularly when compared to the anarchic beliefs of people like Hoffman and Rubin. Ochs felt that any political rally worth something had to present itself as neat and orderly in order to accomplish anything, and as the '60s wore on and the counter-cultural movement became increasingly commercialized, popularized and freakish, Ochs became very estranged from the movement.
It's a bit ironic that the one thing Ochs campaigned the most heavily for during his life - the end to the Vietnam War - ended up actually killing him when it arrived. It was that moment when he felt that he no longer had anything to say or protest against that sent him into a downward spiral that included drinking, schizophrenia and eventually suicide. It's kind of sad to realize, too, while watching the documentary (which was made in 1984), that if Ochs had held on for even five or six more years, he would have found himself at the beginning of the Reagan administration, which would have given him plenty of song-worthy topics to write about. I think it's a shame that so much attention is paid to the end of Och's life as opposed to when he was productive and vital, but a tragic life is almost always more compelling than one which is simply long-lived.
Dave Van Ronk makes an interesting point in the film when he says that the resurrection of political and topical songs in the '60s grew directly out of the civil rights movement, and that eventually shifted over to protest songs about the Vietnam War. It makes you wonder why topical songs are rarely recognized today, apart from, say, those written by Green Day or (what used to be) Rage Against The Machine, which *aren't* really as literate or provocative as those written by songwriters like Ochs. We've got a war, of course, but since we no longer have a draft, too few people are driven to topical music and protests, even as a method of self-preservation. Maybe we're simply missing that spirit of upheaval that was present during the '60s and the early days of the civil right movement. Certainly we've still got civil rights struggles going on in this country, not only for African-Americans, but for gays and immigrants. Still, that *urgency* and frustration that was present in 1964 isn't there anymore. And most current songwriters fashion themselves after the singer/songwriters of the '70s, like Jim Croce, Paul Simon and James Taylor, who, while still very good writers, were more interested in introspection than politicized lyrics.
Anyway, if you can get your hands on it, and if you can ignore the bad reenactments perpetrated by repertory theater performers, "Chords Of Fame" is worth watching. Now, if only I had the ability to write screenplays...
a masterpiece
quayle-110 April 2006
This is a film that one is not likely to hear about from the media or music press. However, Phil Ochs was the prototype (without him, there would have been no Dylan), who actually lived his beliefs. He was in the streets opposing the war and standing for social change. Ochs sang beautifully and with sincerity. This film was excellent by providing as reflective a picture as possible. Filming scenes in the real Folk City club in Greenwich Village and finding an actor who could sing and speak like Phil resulted in a fantastic release. This film deserves to become widely available worldwide. The late Phil Ochs left a legacy that warrants permanent access and appreciation. This film is one of the best offerings. Rev. Bookburn, Radio Volta, Philadelphia
Misguided portrait of the folksinger
lor_6 February 2023
My review was written in February 1984 after a Greenwich Village screening.
"Chords of Fame" is an unsuccessful documentary portrait of Phil Ochs, folksinger of the 1960s. Composed of talking-head interviews, song performances by his friends and misguided "dramatic recreations" of incidents in his life, pic fails to justify itself or Ochs' importance worthy of feature-length treatment.
As several of the arm's length interviews state, Ochs, coming out of the Ohio State University to enter the protest movement of the 1960s as a self-styled writer and singer of "topical music", had limited musical and writing talent, but made a strong contact with audiences and had several fine songs which hold up well today. That he was a comparatively minor figure alongside such people as Peter Seeger, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, etc. Becomes increasingly clear as the docu unfolds. His final deterioration, lapsing into a silly (though pointed) imitation of Elvis Presley routine and finally near schizophrenia before committing suicide in 1976 is tastefully documente, except for an unwise juxtaposition montage of four photos linking Ochs with Hendrix, Morrison and Joplin in a vairation on the cornball "martyrs roll-call" of the 1960s.
Fundamental error by filmmakers Michael Korolenko, Mady Schutzman and David Sternburg regrettably duplicates that made three years ago in the "Beatlemania" fiasco: using an imitation actor instead of sticking with footage of the subject (Ochs) as well as lapsing into padded, diffuse montages of 1960s events and trends. "Chords of Fame", titled after an Ochs' song dealing with the perils of selling out for the big bucks, a topic frequently alluded to here by the interviewees, constantly strays from its subject to inadequately recall the times (and not the man) in an unintentionally near-parody fashion. As for that imposter, Bill Burnett delivers okay vocal carbons of Ochs' singing style but his acting is weak and the gimmick results in only a couple examples of Ochs' own voice being on the soundtrack, a very disappointing tribute to the performer.
Highlights along the way (which if the dramatized Burnett footage and nostalgia montages were excised could yield a short piece for educational tv) include funny recollections by fellow Yippies Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, with latter conveying the energy and honesty of Ochs as a fellow Ohioan who maintained a "gee whiz" attitude to life. Solid performances of Ochs tunes by various folk stars also include emotional renderings by his Ohio State roommate Jim Glover. Pic ends wih everyone joining in an a cappella version of Ochs' "Crucifixion" and Ochs himself performing "I Ain't a-marching Anymore" filmed at a club date in 1967.
"Chords of Fame" is an unsuccessful documentary portrait of Phil Ochs, folksinger of the 1960s. Composed of talking-head interviews, song performances by his friends and misguided "dramatic recreations" of incidents in his life, pic fails to justify itself or Ochs' importance worthy of feature-length treatment.
As several of the arm's length interviews state, Ochs, coming out of the Ohio State University to enter the protest movement of the 1960s as a self-styled writer and singer of "topical music", had limited musical and writing talent, but made a strong contact with audiences and had several fine songs which hold up well today. That he was a comparatively minor figure alongside such people as Peter Seeger, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, etc. Becomes increasingly clear as the docu unfolds. His final deterioration, lapsing into a silly (though pointed) imitation of Elvis Presley routine and finally near schizophrenia before committing suicide in 1976 is tastefully documente, except for an unwise juxtaposition montage of four photos linking Ochs with Hendrix, Morrison and Joplin in a vairation on the cornball "martyrs roll-call" of the 1960s.
Fundamental error by filmmakers Michael Korolenko, Mady Schutzman and David Sternburg regrettably duplicates that made three years ago in the "Beatlemania" fiasco: using an imitation actor instead of sticking with footage of the subject (Ochs) as well as lapsing into padded, diffuse montages of 1960s events and trends. "Chords of Fame", titled after an Ochs' song dealing with the perils of selling out for the big bucks, a topic frequently alluded to here by the interviewees, constantly strays from its subject to inadequately recall the times (and not the man) in an unintentionally near-parody fashion. As for that imposter, Bill Burnett delivers okay vocal carbons of Ochs' singing style but his acting is weak and the gimmick results in only a couple examples of Ochs' own voice being on the soundtrack, a very disappointing tribute to the performer.
Highlights along the way (which if the dramatized Burnett footage and nostalgia montages were excised could yield a short piece for educational tv) include funny recollections by fellow Yippies Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, with latter conveying the energy and honesty of Ochs as a fellow Ohioan who maintained a "gee whiz" attitude to life. Solid performances of Ochs tunes by various folk stars also include emotional renderings by his Ohio State roommate Jim Glover. Pic ends wih everyone joining in an a cappella version of Ochs' "Crucifixion" and Ochs himself performing "I Ain't a-marching Anymore" filmed at a club date in 1967.
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