Rock & Roll Love Letter
Cameron Crowe reflects on Almost Famous as the movie turns 20.
As ‘Almost Famous’ turns 20, Cameron Crowe talks making the movie and why its messages about journalism and the power of music still resonate
When cameron Crowe’s 1996 film Jerry Maguire grossed more than $270 million and was nominated for five Oscars, the writer-director finally had the freedom to make his most personal film yet: a chronicle of his early-Seventies adventures as a teenage writer for Rolling Stone, when he interviewed artists like David Bowie, Led Zeppelin, Joni Mitchell, and others. “Jerry Maguire gave me a credit line,” Crowe recalls over the phone from his home in Los Angeles. “And I thought, ‘I’m going to use it, because I’ll never be able to make this movie unless it’s right now. This is one that’s achingly personal — and I’ll try not to spend a lot of money.’ ”
Almost Famous hit theaters in 2000, and despite critical acclaim and four Oscar nominations, it fizzled at the box office. “Everybody went to see this rerelease of The Exorcist instead,” Crowe says. “It felt like the long arm of 1973 came back to slap us down.” Twenty years later, though, Almost Famous has transformed into not just a cult classic, but one of the most beloved movies of its era. “We were an underdog that gathered support over the years,” he says. “It’s never been as popular as it is right now.”
Crowe has been working on a Broadway adaptation of the movie. As Almost Famous turns 20, the writer-director looks back with a mix of nostalgia and pride: “It’s not written as anything other than ‘I’m getting a chance to do this, like I got a chance to do journalism, and I want to wave a flag for all the people that helped me and paved a path for a music lover like themselves.’ I think people discovered it and brought their own love of music to it, and that is what I’m proudest of.”
The vast majority of rock movies don’t get it remotely right. I imagine that people were initially skeptical of Almost Famous.
Peter Frampton remembers that we used to sit around and rip on all the people that tried to do a movie about rock from a supposedly authentic point of view. So when I told him, “Come work with us on this movie, it’s about growing up in rock in 1973,” he was like, “What? You’ve become one of them! You’re going to try and capture something that you can never capture!” That was thundering in my head while we were making the movie.
Almost Famous came out at a time of teen movies and big-budget action films. Did you feel like you were going against the grain?
Absolutely. It wasn’t a surprise when the movie didn’t do that well in the theater. But the idea was that this is a freebie, because of Jerry Maguire. [Steven] Spielberg was starting DreamWorks, and he said, “Shoot every word.” And then when we lost Brad Pitt [who was originally cast for the role of Russell Hammond], there was no pressure to find another star. Spielberg said, “The script is the star.”
Did you ever think while you were conducting those interviews at Rolling Stone back in the day that it would make for a great movie?
Never. Because my dream then was to get a story in Rolling Stone. I’ve been working on a memoir from those early days in San Diego, so I’ve been going back through all my stuff. I found this Day-Timer from 1973. It’s packed with stuff! It’s like, “Jimmy Page phone interview. John Prine, Bonnie Raitt.” Every day, it felt like a kid in a candy store that I could interview these people whose music I loved.
But you didn’t just shower them with love. You asked them pretty tough questions.
If you challenge somebody like Joni [Mitchell], the more barbs on a question that respects the music, the better for her. She loves tearing into an answer like that. That’s cool that stood out to you, because I always was proud of the research. There were a bunch of people covering music, especially then — not so much now — that doubted it. A lot of people trashed Led Zeppelin. So they would open up a rock magazine, including Rolling Stone, and there’d be somebody not getting it. So at least that when they saw somebody with a thick notebook with a zillion questions in, like, longhand, they’re like, “OK, well, we’ve got a shot at them knowing our music.”
Was there something that happened in the Seventies that was so insane you couldn’t put it in Almost Famous?
There were a lot of things that didn’t happen in 1973 — I put everything into a composite of things that happened around that time. I didn’t drive until I was 18. So when I covered Bowie for the magazine and for Playboy, he used to drive me around. He would stay up all night recording Station to Station, and then, in a yellow VW that he was using, he would drive me in the morning traffic to [photographer] Neal Preston’s house, where I was staying.
I would look around, and there was red-haired David Bowie in a little yellow VW bug next to lawyers heading to work. I know it’s not rock excess, but it’s something you never would expect. Things like that happened a lot, where you just went, “Nobody would believe this, except it’s happening right now.”
I was listening back on some of the tapes from the Bowie interview. He writes a song in the course of this interview to show the Rolling Stone reporter how he writes a song. And there’s a song on this tape that nobody’s ever heard before that he wrote to
show me how he did his craft. I will never take those moments for granted.
What are the major differences between you and William Miller, your stand-in in the movie?
I was sometimes more of a class clown. But I doubt I was as poetic as Patrick [Fugit, who played Miller] in terms of taking in the world and feeling the wonder of it all. I felt like Patrick acted it. It’s just somebody trying to fit in, and you find a place in the world to fit in. That’s the character.
The film featured several Led Zeppelin songs. You flew out to London to screen it for Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. What was their reaction?
We knew we were going to roll the dice. We had four Led Zeppelin songs in there. [Soundtrack producer] Danny Bramson made sure communication was good. We were coming to them hat in hand. We timed it to the one day of the year Jimmy and Robert got together and went over tapes and talked about Led Zeppelin business. At the end of that day, they came to watch our movie in the basement of a hotel.
It was just Joe [Hutshing] the editor, Danny, and me. We’re in the back row, and Jimmy and Robert are three rows from the front, sitting together. They would lean and say things to each other, and you’d just see this outline of their heads talking privately, and we looked at each other like, “Oh, we’re fucked. They’re trying to figure out how they can leave.”
Then came the “I Am a Golden God” scene, and Plant just laughs. It’s the greatest laugh, and we’re looking at each other like, “Oh, my God! We’re still OK. We’re still OK.” Then came the scene where Jeff Bebe says, “Russell, he has you high on a roof saying, ‘I am a Golden God.’ And Billy [Crudup] says, “I didn’t say that. Or did I?” And Plant goes, “I said it!” [ Laughs] We’re giving quiet high fives.
The movie ends, and they’re both smiling. Plant walks up the aisle, so he’s in our row. He says [ with a perfect Robert Plant impression], “Cameron, was your mom really like that?” I said, “That and more.” He laughed, and he looked at Jimmy, then he said, “I have a bottle of quaaludes that’s been on my shelf since the early Seventies. I think I’m going to go home and crack it open tonight.”
How’d you secure the rights to the music?
They took us across the street to a wine bar. They said, “Well, ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ we gotta say no to, ’cause it’s just too much. We just don’t do anything with ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ ” We’re like, “Whomp, whomp, whomp.” And Page goes, “But I would like to give you an extra song that’s more of an acoustic busking vibe. We’ll give that to you free.” He replaced “Stairway to Heaven” with “Bron-Yr-Aur.”
He gave that to us for free, just to have that texture in the movie, which was amazing. And we ran through the streets afterwards. The rest of that meeting was spent talking about how much we all loved Jeff Buckley. Officially the coolest night ever, or the un-coolest night ever. I don’t know. That was a huge kind of buoy to swim to, because without Led Zeppelin, it’s just not the same movie.
Neil Young originally had a role, right?
Neil was going to come backstage in Cleveland with a young wife. He is Harry Hammond, the estranged father of Russell Hammond. They’re complimenting the show, but the young bride is looking at Crudup, and he’s looking at her; and he realizes that the father is being played and is piggybacking on his [son’s] success. It’s a heartbreaking moment about what success does to an estranged parent.
It was a cool little scene. Betsy [Heimann] had outfitted Neil Young, and he had his clothes and everything, and canceled the morning of. But he was first in line to give us the acoustic “Cortez the Killer,” and went through his archives to find the perfect take, and mixed it and gave it to us. So he giveth and he taketh.
Why do you think the “Tiny Dancer” scene connects with so many people?
One, it’s [key grip] Herb Ault and [chief lighting technician] Randy Woodside, and the camera crew outfitted that bus with a rig that allowed you to shoot from the roof. We had the ability to float between the people, which means it wasn’t as cut-y and could be kind of dreamy. Also, it’s a movie about loving music, and music is what brings them back together again.
It’s hard to believe the lines “I have to go home” and “You are home” were improvised.
That was just me shouting that out to them, “Try that.” It’s a lesson, really, in getting so comfortable in the world of it so that the movie and the characters are talking. You’re feeling what they would be saying.
“Tiny Dancer” wasn’t as popular as it is now.
It wasn’t an established hit, but it really captured the time so well. To his credit, Elton John saw the movie and said, “This is so cool. I’ve always loved ‘Tiny Dancer.’ This means a lot to me.” And he gave us credit for years when he played the song. “This is because of the movie Almost Famous.” Nobody does that. But he does. He really does. He’s so great.
Have you ever thought about Stillwater’s future? Did they have a hair-metal period or a Rick Rubin album?
Farrington Road [Stillwater’s third album] was the beginning of them stretching out. An album cover without them on the cover kind of thing. I think from there, they might go to a concept album — their Tales From Topographic Oceans, brought on by the success of “Fever Dog” and “Love Thing.”
So they do a double album that is spearheaded by [ Jeff ] Bebe, but with a lot of cool instrumentals by Russell. Nobody buys it. The band splinters for many years. Various reunions are tried, maybe one album in the Eighties. Then I think they come together for a roadworthy touring group of House of Blues and other smaller operations, which is [drummer] Silent Ed’s band. Silent Ed becomes Stillwater. And Bebe continues with a solo career. I haven’t figured out Russell yet. Maybe he joins the Eagles. [ Laughs] He becomes Joe Walsh in another band.
Watching it now, do you think there’s this double nostalgia where you’re nostalgic for 2000 and nostalgic for your teenage life?
Yes. And now there’s a third layer because of the play. So you’ve lived that stuff three different times. I think it’s time to stop. [ Laughs] No. Time to grow up.
I’m giving back something with that movie and story. It’s all one big “Thank you.” It’s a pure message to music lovers. And to journalism, because Jann Wenner let me go off with Led Zeppelin. As well as my mom and dad. These people trusted me. I tried to do that for others in the spirit of that, just in life. And the movie is a version of that.
ONE OF THEM leapt off a balcony into a swimming pool. Another almost missed the tour bus after attending a post-show bash. A newspaper headline said the band “runs deep.” If you think that sounds like Stillwater, the fictional band from Almost Famous, you’re correct. But amazingly, those tales also apply to a real-life band of the same name.
The band coalesced in 1973, in Macon, Georgia. They called themselves Stillwater, inspired partly by the name of a member’s previous band, Coldwater Army. “We were sitting around in my kitchen, and I threw the name out there,” guitarist Mike Causey says of the name. “We just ran with that.”
They couldn’t have picked a better time and place. Southern-fried rock was at its peak, and Macon’s Capricorn Records was the music’s hub. Capricorn signed the band, and in 1977 released Stillwater’s self-titled debut, which included “Mind Bender,” a song about a talking guitar that utilized the “talk box” effect. It nearly cracked the Top 40, but on their first tour a truck containing their gear was stolen in Chicago. “It was a messedup thing,” says bassist Al Scarborough. “We had a hit record and couldn’t support it.”
Stillwater’s second LP downplayed Southern influences in favor of a more mainstream hard-rock sound and a yacht-rocky ballad called “Women (Beautiful Women).” It tanked, and within a few years, the members transitioned to very non-rock & roll lives. They worked in advertising sales, crate manufacturing, carpet installation, electrical engineering, and for the postal service; one joined the Air Force band. In 2000, as Almost Famous was wrapping up, DreamWorks discovered there was already a band called Stillwater. The news surprised Cameron Crowe, who had no clear memory of the band. “I thought [the name] was a not-so-subtle comment that the band was possibly stagnant,” he says, laughing.
Stillwater still play occasional reunion gigs, albeit without keyboardist Bob Spearman, who died in 2003. They loved the film. “It’s funny,” says Causey. “You’ve been associated with that your whole life. Seeing it [in a movie] was kind of wild.” DAVID BROWNE
“The name was a commentary that the band was stagnant,” says Crowe, who has no clear memory of the real Stillwater.