There has always been a tendency to view art and artist as a single entity—the art being a direct extension of the artist. Through the years, however, our culture has offered many examples of talented luminaries whose flaws have reminded us that great art always begins with a human being. The gifted director Alfred Hitchcock was reportedly a sexually frustrated curmudgeon; and it’s said that his frequent composer Bernard Herrmann, who scored Vertigo and Psycho, was cranky and belligerent—as far from a “people person” as the Grinch or Ebenezer Scrooge. The brilliant author Roald Dahl, who wrote Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and many highly inventive horror stories, was, at least to some degree, an anti-Semite. And then there’s Phil Spector—a relic of happier times who reminds us that evil can still come in brilliant packages. Beneath his red-dyed madman’s afro boils a tortured mental melting pot of genius and paranoia. Though recently convicted of her murder, Spector claimed actress Lana Clarkson died by committing suicide at his California mansion. The recent documentary The Agony and the Ecstasy of Phil Spector tracks the producer during various phases of his first trial (which ended without a verdict) and showcases some of his definitive ‘60s work, like the Righteous Brothers’ performance of “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.” That hit is a time capsule, and the perfect distillation of the Wagnerian Spector magic. It’s not about the song, which is a near-perfect melody seamlessly matched to a chilling, accessible lyric; nor the performers—the Righteous Brothers weren’t actually brethren and had virtually no branded identity outside this song—but rather the recording itself, taken holistically. This was the art of record-making at its most splendorous; the perfect storm of song, performance and production. Spector’s dense “wall of sound” was achieved by stuffing as many instruments and vocals as humanly possible into the trebly phone booth of his productions. Was Spector a genius or a madman—or both? That’s your call. But one way or another, he may actually agree with you. Oddly in touch with his dark side, Spector once said to an interviewer, “You don’t want my life. Trust me.” At least the art is infinitely trustable. Unfortunately, like a tabloid, you can’t always trust the source. Indeed, sometimes we must suffer for their art—and that can be deadly.
The Agony and the Ecstasy of Phil Spector (Dir. Vikram Jayanti, BBC Arena/Vixpix Films) is currently in very limited release; keep tabs on screenings and DVD release info on the film's Facebook page.
