Believe it or not, kids, once upon a time bands and musicians had to put effort into their work, rather than their publicity.  Yes, before the mass-manufacturing of the pop music sounds of The Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears, musicians would have to write their own music, play their own instruments and endure a long, arduous process of playing in dumpy clubs before getting anywhere.  Music producer Glen Ballard is responsible for the several successes in this area (including Aerosmith and Alanis Morissette), so it’s only natural that he’d turn to the old “Band Meets Trouble on the Rocky Road to Success” trick when writing his first film.

    That film, readers with an acute eye will have already guessed, is Clubland, a film quietly dumped to theaters early in ’99 only to land quietly on video two years later.  (Though this was probably made even earlier, in a time where having a pager instantly makes you a drug dealer) Jimmy Tuckett stars as Kennedy, the lead singer/songwriter of an L.A. band looking for their big break.  The band has it’s share of problems, however; Kennedy’s brother (Dream With the Fishes’ Brad Hunt) acts as manager and keeps killing any chance they get of being signed, drummer Mondo (ex-Freddy Krueger victim Rodney Eastman) is becoming a dealer, and Kennedy can’t seem to get involved with the girl that’s in love with him.  There are other band members as well, but for the most part, they aren’t even given token personality traits.

    Sure the premise has been done before, but it can still be done with originality and style—look at The Commitments.  Unfortunately, between Ballard’s awful dialogue and the standard direction of Mary Lambert (The In Crowd, Pet Sematary), Clubland just doesn’t cut it.  The problem may be Tuckett, a bland leading actor, but it’s hard to tell if he has talent when he’s given lines like “The music is my mistress.  I have to serve her,” performed without the hint of irony.  Cameos by Steven Tyler and Terence Trent d’Arby suggest that they should stay as far away from acting again as possible.  The rest of the cast (Eastman, Hunt and Lori Petty as a drugged-out failed alterna-star) is fine, but they’re given nothing but mediocrity to stalk through.

    Of course, all music-based movies end up getting a boost from their tunes, and Clubland is no exception.  Unfortunately, while the soundtrack includes such staples as Blue Meanies and Star 69, Tuckett’s music on the album (and, naturally, the music the band is supposed to get discovered for) is sub-standard whining indie drivel that would’ve put Seattle-tinged audiences into a deep coma.  It’s better than 1998’s similar Slaves to the Underground, but Clubland deserves its’ fate just as much—stuck in cinematic limbo while its’ better soundtrack turns up in bargain bins everywhere.