Oh, as far as this documentary goes, I thought it was good. I just couldn’t bear to hear that album one more time. The other assistant manager knew - he goaded me into doing it. One night when you weren’t working, as I was taking the day’s trash out to the dumpster, I shoved Duotones in the plastic trash bag. To that assistant manager: 36 years later, I have a confession. And as we could only play promotional in-store LPs sent by the home office, there was no more Kenny G at Alexandria’s Camelot. The album was gone - poof, no trace at all. She even made some mild accusations, though there was nothing to back up any suspicion. She asked if anyone in the store had any idea where it went. One day, after a few months, the album disappeared. Often even after the store closed while I was mopping or whatever as she counted out the register. One of those managers was obsessed with Duotones and incessantly played our in-store LP copy. That meant I would be working under one of two assistant managers.
I was still in high school, so I always took the evening shifts. So, yes, I can remember when I first heard ‘The G-Man’ (a question posed in the unexpectedly fascinating documentary Listening to Kenny G). I worked at the Camelot Music in Alexandria, Louisiana, when Duotones and its ubiquitous “Songbird” were released. So when it was my turn, I asked, “Jonathan - what was it like to experience the Exploding Plastic Inevitable?” He beamed just like he does when he talks about The Velvet Underground in this documentary. Others were talking to him, and he was being friendly (as he is) but also in that “nice to meet you now move along” kind of way that’s understandable. I walked up to Jonathan Richman after he played a show here in Orlando in 1990.Here’s a fascinating Twitter thread about how The Velvet Underground weren’t as unpopular as the myth tells us to believe.
#The velvet underground meets match todd movie
I’m now itching for a biopic/road movie centered around Nico driving the band bus. He’s a bit of an enigma, and his contributions to the Velvets’ third album are sadly underrated. I wish Doug Yule had participated (anyone know why he didn’t?). The sequence leading up to it was an editing and sonic masterclass intricately designed for maximum chill-deployment in longtime VU fans. I can’t be the only one who got major chills as the opening title crawl kicked in. I am so curious to hear from those who knew little about The Velvet Underground going in - how convincing is Haynes’ testimonial? Please comment if you’re in that camp. This film significantly recharged my fandom - no small feat - and has astonished the 17-year-old in me. And all this footage I’d never seen before and all the new things I learned about VU - in my music snob smugness, I didn’t think there was anything left. It’s easy to dismiss when the things you treasure aren’t portrayed in a way you find deserving. I procrastinated on seeing this film until recently for that reason. I have heaps of bias here, but my love for VU also makes me protective. It sets the context, something lacking in most other docs (music and otherwise). But Todd Haynes understands how vital that mini-scene was to VU and modern music/art in general, and he doesn’t shy away. And most music docs would have spent just a few minutes on the happenings on Ludlow Street. It’s heady and perhaps difficult if you don’t expect something like this in a rock n’ roll story. Most striking is the section in the first half covering 56 Ludlow Street, La Monte Young, and Tony Conrad. But what really sets the tone for a new type of music documentary is this immediate immersion into the subject at hand and the culture that spawned it. There’s a lot of talk about the visual style - the split screens, the use of Warhol’s screen tests, etc. And with such reverence - there’s no condescension, no attempts to invite those who don’t care in the first place, no Dave Grohls or Henry Rollinses strategically placed to tell us that “they were great, take my word for it.” That’s why, from that perspective, I find it hard to believe this documentary exists, especially with a logo from the largest corporation in the world displayed at its start. Someone mentioned a girl in my high school was also “into that Velvet Underground you listen to,” so I tried to talk to her, not so much because I wanted to talk to a girl but also because I wanted to talk to someone about VU. The way I learned about the band was akin to a game of telephone, relying on fanzines and tall tales from older acquaintances. 
Todd Haynes’ documentary The Velvet Underground is the kind of thing I only dreamed about as a VU-obsessed teenager in the late ’80s.
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