DVD Devotee North by Northwest 50th Anniversary Edition (Warner Home Video)

I’ve been very much enjoying the current ABC music doco Seven Ages of Rock, but when it came to the punk music revolution of the 1970s, the usual suspects were casually trotted out. Of course bands like The Sex Pistols, The Clash and Television get the juices flowing, but what about seminal Australian artists like The Saints and Radio Birdman, who spearheaded a golden age of musical creativity? Further down the track, non- Countdown embracing bands from the late 1970s such as The Primitive Calculators, Boys Next Door and Thrush and the Cunts could really get those juices flowing. And this is kinda what Dogs in Space, the superb 1986 feature length debut from Richard Lowenstein, is all about. It has only recently arrived on DVD, and both the packaging and bonus mini-feature on the super vibrant post-punk Australian scene are excellent. Furthermore, I can now toss out a well worn video cassette copy, and finally embrace pristine digital. The film is set in inner city Melbourne in the late 1970s and covers a fertile period sometimes described as the ‘little band scene,’ which valued authentic self-expression over commercial appeal. The ‘little’ part of the equation was perceived as the appropriate antidote to pernicious mainstream influence and Lowenstein avoids spoon feeding viewers the standard quick fix, instead focussing on the punk engendered Australian counterculture in all its fast-paced, hilarious and often absurd glory. The late Michael Hutchence turns in a suitably unselfconscious performance as the lead singer of semi-fictional band Dogs in Space. His character ‘Sam,’ who is based on the very real Sam Sejavka from obscure avant-garage band The Ears, strikes a desirable chord from the onset through his mostly comical but ultimately tragic attempts at countercultural salvation. Human empathy in rough times is the basic theme, but this movie is intrinsically tied to the music, and the accompanying soundtrack is absolute killer.

It’s hard to imagine how futuristic and otherworldly Roxy Music were in the early 1970’s. Go ahead – try it. See, told you so. They fell from the sky perfectly formed with the exhilarating Virginia Plain – a song as fresh today as it was jarring back then. The quintessential art-school band, Roxy were the oddest of combinations: aloof, effete, intellectual, glamorous, explorative, inventive, droll and pompous. A band that swung effortlessly between loving, sincere homage’s to classic Hollywood actors (2HB) and odes to fucking inflatable dolls (In Every Dream A Heartache). More Than This is a relatively straight down the line, chronological history of Roxy told by all key participants in relative candour. Bryan Ferry is smoky and gorgeously dishevelled, Brian Eno is hilarious, Phil Manazenara is some sort of bug eyed genius, Andy McKay has a lovely flat and Paul Thompson was a bricklayer. The power struggle between Bryan and Brian changed the path of the band (and music) forever. But as Eno acknowledges, it was Ferry’s outfit and his departure was entirely organic. At 90 minutes, there’s a nagging feeling a much bigger story remains untold, especially from Ferry’s perspective. He ruthlessly guided the band from art-punk, through 70’s glam, to cod-disco, then smooth AOR pop and finally back to skronk-pop with their recent nearly-fully-reformed concerts overcoming some serious egos and intra-band infractions on the way. Yet he presents as a relaxed, dandy. No doubt he is – but that’s just the surface. As usual, the music is the bigger story. Tantalizing, yet incomplete.