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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

HBO’s ‘Vinyl’ never finds a groove

Juno Temple stars in the HBO series “Vinyl.” (HBO)

Much like the music of the maligned “dead-weight artists” Richie Finestra and his gang at American Century Records must cut to make ends meet, the HBO series “Vinyl” is a rehash of old ideas, wrapped in a glamorous package that ultimately leaves the viewer unsatisfied.

The show’s shortcomings are not for lack of trying. “Vinyl” examines a seminal period in American music, when disco was blending with glam rock, soul, dance and the early pushes toward the punk and hip-hop movements. There’s fertile ground here for interesting characters and social commentary, but creators Terrence Winter, Mick Jagger and Martin Scorcese seem more interested in once again giving us a flawed antihero struggling to make his way in the world.

Finestra is played capably by Bobby Cannavale, who’s putting on enough good guy charm to make you forget his record executive character is a deadbeat father with a coke problem who’s willing to throw his friends under the bus as he is finding “the next big thing.” Richie is just another Tony Soprano or Greg House or Tommy Gavin. Except, to paraphrase the immortal words of Christopher Walken’s Bruce Dickinson, once his pants are on, he makes gold records.

Cannavale is surrounded by more-compelling side players, perhaps chief among them Juno Temple as an ambitious office girl trying to weasel independence away from her wealthy mother, and Ray Romano, as Richie’s friend and co-worker whose life is left in shambles, in large part thanks to Richie’s drug-induced mistakes.

There’s also Lester Grimes, played by Ato Essandoh, a soul singer who’s lost his voice, thanks to Richie. Jack Quaid’s Clark is willing to go behind his employers’ back to gain a name for himself in the industry. And, in a criminal waste of casting, Olivia Wilde spends most of her time as Richie’s wife, Devon, staring wistfully into the distance and denying all signs that she should cut bait and run.

Wilde doesn’t even appear in the season finale, which is used to tie up a high-profile murder that feels out of place and unnecessary in this period piece. In fact, the involvement of mafiosos – something of a requirement in a Scorcese project, it seems – is just one of many unnecessary story beats that’s here to remind you that this is 1970s New York, and the mafia had its hands in everything.

The involvement of wiseguys isn’t the show’s biggest sin, however. That goes to the intermittent musical sequences, featuring music of the era lip-synced by lookalike actors. Some of these sequences are better than others, but all are groan-inducing cameos meant to portray a certain emotion or emphasize something that’s occurring in the story. An extended Karen Carpenter sequence with Wilde and an out-of-place appearance by two Jan and Dean doppelgangers on a private jet are among the most egregious offenses.

Finally, the writers are just working too hard to get in cultural references meant to appease a music-minded audience. In the finale, we find out a bar Richie is meeting the cops in is, surprise, a dive owned by Hilly Kristal that will become CBGB. John Lennon, or someone who looks like him, is present for a Bob Marley and the Wailers show, where lookalikes rock out to what is obviously a master studio track. There weren’t enough live versions of Marley that could be used instead?

“Vinyl” ends up having all the right pieces to become a hit but never assembles them for long enough to become truly great. Winter’s departure and the clear moves to tie up the pointless murder subplot in the finale indicate the show may be heading in the right direction. But Season One feels like a wasted opportunity to set up something really special.

This story has been updated to reflect that it was Jan and Dean, not the Beach Boys, who appeared in the scene on the private jet.