Observing the existential oscillations of Moog's life as filtered through the creativity of those he inspired prevents Moog from coming off merely as synth-geek porn. You don't really need to be a Moog-o-phile, or even a music lover, to appreciate how the man was, in essence, a signal sent through unpredictable circuitry to produce a strangely pleasing tone. As we should all be if we're not afraid to twiddle our knobs. 🤷 Certainly Bob's bemused expression as he wanders through the random occurrences of his life shows that he understands the connection between who he is and what he does. He's a thankful and thoughtful man, and while his legacy is much bigger than his humanity, he takes about as much credit for it as I do for any of the accidental noises I might squeeze out of a Micromoog. Bob Moog, of course, was the inventor of the Moog synthesizer, and one of the few people I don't mind calling genuinely "important" or "influential." The impact of Moog's crazy machine stretches into virtually every type of music that's been made since he invented it, and the documentary does a fair job of illustrating Moog's legacy by including interviews and performance footage with some key artists. As expected, the footage of Moog-fetishist indie darlings like Stereolab pales next to the outlandish bombast of Keith Emerson, who works his Moogs like a mad scientist, or the weird jazz-funk of Bernie Worrell, who seems to attempt to make love to his Moog. (A wonderfully awkward backstage conversation between Moog, Worrell, and a suspiciously "manic" Rick Wakeman is an unexpected highlight.) Artists since the 90s have mostly used Moog synths simply as hip window-dressing; my preference is for those who can really wring the weirdest shit out of 'em. A performance by Luke Vibert with Jean-Jacques Perrey is the only interesting bit involving the younger Moog-ers. (Ew, please don't let me use that term again.) My favorite bit, by far, was a 70s-era Schaefer Beer commercial featuring Edd Kalehoff (the Score Productions genius behind most of the "Price is Right" music) playing Moogs as a means of communicating the pleasures of drinking multiple beers. THAT'S Moog insanity at full power. The interviews are mainly candid and nostalgic, for the most part free from hyperbolic gushing over Moog's "importance" or whatever. And while Moog is far from comprehensive (Wendy Carlos didn't participate, for one thing), it makes up for its narrow scope and low budget with an impressionistic, often bemused editing style that does a nice job of reflecting Bob Moog's humble intelligence. The film closes with an elegant shot of Moog playing a mournful theremin solo in the middle of a field—it was a cool way to end the movie, and is a fitting elegy for the man. To boot, it confused the hell out of my dog, who appeared to not be able to comprehend the baffling sound coming out of the speakers.
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