‘Vinyl’ Lets The Band Take Centre Stage – Episode Four Recap

TV series are long in the can by the time they hit our screens, but with Vinyl, you can’t help but think Scorsese’s tweaking things as we watch. Earlier episodes were so stuffed with indulgent nostalgic references that it became difficult to swallow. But now, as we edge towards the mid-way point in the series, all the eye-rolling bits have gone. Ol’ Marty’s refined things to such a point that we suddenly find ourselves with a pretty damn good show. But how has he done it?

The men behind the man

We’ll begin with record-kingpin Richie Finestra, who’s finally starting to fill the shoes of the Tony Soprano archetype he’s clearly based on. Ex-Sopranos writer (funny, that) Terence Winter previously had him fannying around in the cliched doldrums of ‘wannabe-rockstar-gone-bad’. Which is fine, but not at the expense of a rich and varied story. Too much time spent in Richie’s head gets dull pretty fast.

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With episode four, ‘The Racket,’ we get a new focus – that of the everyday. I don’t mean our mundane everyday of course. Instead we get to follow Richie’s bumbling American Century business partners as they stumble from one incompetent blunder to another.

Mustachioed numbers-man Skip Fontaine (J. C. MacKenzie) gives us a laugh when he bungles an insurance scam and gets lumbered with a truckload of fake Donny Osmond records. Meanwhile, dunderhead A&R chief Julian Silver is busy messing up Robert Goulet’s Christmas album and “relationship person” Zak Yankovich is wandering listlessly from room to room bemoaning Richie’s inability to hear anything except his aching lust for the schnozz-powder.

All pretty comical, and the sudden appearance of soul-funk icon Hannibal turns an already manic label office into a frenzied playhouse of drugs, dance and despair.

The soundtrack’s still on top form too. Pink Floyd’s ‘Money’ makes a welcome appearance, as does Janis Joplin, and there’s a specially written track from The Gap Band singer Charlie Wilson.

While the cat’s away…

What isn’t going quite so well is Richie’s often-strained relationship with effortlessly-furious wife Devon (Olivia Wilde). Who’s developing into one of Vinyl’s more enchanting characters.

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After abandoning hope of reconciliation – counselling sessions mainly involve Richie using the family couch to work on his tennis serve – Devon settles on separation. The only problem is nobody believes her. Her deliciously bitchy lawyer refuses to accept she truly wants out and the drug-addled husband hangs up on her before she can drop any kind of divorce-bomb. In Vinyl, you really have to kick up a fuss if you want people to take notice of you.

Still, the beyond-pissed mother of two has her revenge later, taking a frying pan to the kitchen window in a teary rage. No eggs for breakfast then. That’ll learn him.

From friend to enemy

Back at HQ, Richie is not having a good day. Lester Grimes is mad as fuck about his pity offer to release the voice-less bluesman’s archive tapes, and he doesn’t hold back. He accidentally-on-purpose sets fire to the remorseful record exec’s private office in a rib-tickling scene that sees the sprinklers whirr into slapstick action.

Their almost marital relationship – “I’d make you a drink, but you’re an asshole” – reinforces the less-than sinister mood that gives Vinyl a new, lighter tone. There’s an element of Joe Pesci’s comedic rage as displayed in Goodfellas here, a favourite technique of Scorsese’s. Still, Lester’s remains one of the best subplots, and having him take up with The Nasty Bits as manager is a master stroke.

Previously Richie’s had no problem swaggering all over the other characters. Now he has a proper foe he can’t run from. But that’s not the only immovable object this episode has in store for Finestra. Just wait until you meet the all-singing Goulet-superfan detectives that come sniffing around. They’re totally worth the wait.

A new direction

So we’re finally getting somewhere with Mick Jagger’s latest passion project. While there’s still some tendency towards creative overindulgence – take the bloated concert sequence for example – for every sentimental slip-up there’s an encouraging forward step.

Fans of Scorsese’s gangster epics might feel short-changed by the lack of grit on display here. But rock and roll is supposed to make people hang loose not tense up, so the comedic turn here makes sense. If you want sourpuss Robert De Niro crushing people’s heads in vices go watch ‘Casino’. We’re doing just fine here.

Best lines

“He’s ruining my life – I’m not hitting the couch with a fucking tennis racket.” – Devon gives the marriage therapist a piece of her mind.

“Welcome to American Century. Get ready to take it up the ass.” – Some wise, but crude, advice from Lester to The Nasty Bits.

“I need an alibi.” – Richie’s explosive episode-closing statement.

“Ooh, that’s some mean horn!” – You bet it is Hannibal.

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