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Whether you realize it or not, you've heard a Moog synthesizer. Ignoring all of its commercial uses, prog rockers Supertramp and Emerson, Lake & Palmer dug on them, hipsters like Stereolab made them cool again, Wendy Carlos's soundtrack for Kubrick's Clockwork Orange shot the instrument into the mainstream, and a few lesser known gems like Jessamine's stunning Kranky debut sparked an all-out moog renaissance in the nineties. The invention of a single man with a PhD in Engineering Physics from Cornell University, the Moog synthesizer radically altered the direction and shape of popular music.
You're not going to find a more sympathetic character than Bob Moog. He's intelligent, sensitive, profoundly thoughtful and charismatic in a way that is immediately endearing. The fact that he's an educator with the ability to express complex technical ideas in simple terms with an emotional edge, is especially rewarding; access to this side of Moog is what makes California-based musician and documentary filmmaker Hans Fjellestad's film so rich and satisfying. Moog approaches things not so much as an engineer, but as a philosopher. Discussing his relationship with technology and the inspiration that spawns innovation, Moog remarks, "It's something between discovering and witnessing." He goes on to explain, "I can feel what's going on inside a piece of electronic equipment," and there is nothing in his voice that convinces you otherwise.
Moog is the story of an engineer, an inventor, an entrepreneur and a legend. Fjellestad chooses the man first and the instrument second, making for a thoughtful and compelling biography of a modern music genius. In his notes on the film and the majority of press that accompanied its theatrical release in 2004, Fjellestad made it clear that Moog would not be a history of electronic music but the story of the man who made perhaps the largest contribution to its technical evolution. However, as Moog's life is bound up with the invention he is most famous for, very few aspects of the synthesizer go unanalyzed. Fjellestad follows Bob Moog both at home and on tours around the world, capturing intimate discussions about life, technology and art, and public appearances before throngs of dedicated admirers. Musicians and artists who have taken the Moog synthesizer to great heights are presented within the film as both experts and fans. Money Mark gushes in the company of the inventor, while DJ Spooky elaborates upon the influence of Moog's invention upon contemporary electronic music. Rick Wakeman (of YES fame) speaks with technical precision about the synthesizer, while P-Funk legend Bernie Worrell and Keith Emerson demonstrates some of its most classic sounds. Equally interesting is the series of conversations Moog has with his fellow synthesizer pioneers and contemporaries from the early days of the instrument, including Jean Jacques Perrey, Walter Sear, and Herb Deutsch, and the difficulties that came with launching a new instrument in a conservative marketplace.
Visually, Fjellestad's documentary is a touch timid and fails to realize fully the promise of the dynamic opening credit sequence's stark graphic design and playful animation. Pulsating geometric shapes move to the bubbling and buzzing sounds of a Moog synthesizer coming to life, then transition into a clever animation sequence that introduces Bob Moog by way of an archival recording of an early demonstration of the technology. The bulk of the film, however, is talking head interviews interrupted by clinical performance footage. While Moog immediately becomes the quintessential visual document of the man and the synthesizer, it would have been interesting if Fjellestad had more closely mapped the evolution of the Moog instruments onto its inventor's penetrating insights into the relationship between man and machine. However, much of the extra material included with the Plexifilm release emphasizes this relationship in the lives of the featured artists: Stereolab's Tim Gane, for example, discusses his growth as a musician directly in relation to the instrument.
Sadly, Fjellestad's film may very well serve as the coda to Moog's remarkable life; in May 2005, Moog was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor and immediately began intensive chemotherapy. As of the writing of this review, he remains in high spirits and was overwhelmed by the email messages of support that numbered in the tens of thousands on a website dedicated to his recovery. There is no better tribute than hopeful words of encouragement and praise expressed by complete strangers whose lives have nonetheless been impacted by such a humble and soft-spoken character. Fjellestad's Moog offers an even wider audience the opportunity to introduce themselves to gentleman inventor Bob Moog. A fitting tribute, indeed.
-- Mike Baker
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