Dispatches 16 February 2001   JULIENNED MOORE The use of music in films is a grand tradition--the first talkie wasn't called The Jazz Singer for nothing--but the past year seems to have had more than its fair share of movies about the culture of music. Every aspect of music has received a celluloid examination: my love for the musical obsessives that populate High Fidelity has been obvious to regular readers of this column (all two of them), Almost Famous was about rock-star life, Groove looked at the rave scene (as did an episode of "Dawson's Creek," ha). And that's not even counting the movies about dancing, such as Billy Elliot or Save the Last Dance. A glance at the current box-office top-10 list shows this trend continuing: Saving Silverman has a pivotal scene featuring Neil Diamond of all people, while O Brother, Where Art Thou? goes back to where it began, with an intriguing focus on early 20th-century American music, very much the kind of stuff you'd usually find only in the Bear Family reissue catalogue. (Aside: isn't it odd that the best reissuer of Americana and country music is a German record label?) Of course, Hannibal is distinctly lacking in popular music, but then Dr. Lecter would probably see that as beneath him. What-you want Andy Williams to do "Music to Eat Girls By"? Lecter? I hardly even knew her! What all those movies share is the depiction of lives in which music is central. I think sneering at boybands and their ilk - to which I've contributed, admittedly - is in part caused by the perceived ease of being a fan in the musical culture of "TRL." How can you say you love music when any analysis of your favorite groups tends to involve their cuteness? Yes, you may spend hours in Times Square but did you leave your family to follow a band? Did you spend money on obscure imports and early recordings of the groups you like? It's an oligopoly of obsession: pitting a self-styled elite core against the perceived hordes that populate Times Square. My record collection is bigger than yours. My memory of songs is infinite. All unfair charges to level on 16-year-olds, really. Or maybe part of the sneering is at the breach of the implicit rock-star contract, where rock is the way people who got shunned in high school get even. That's the how the myth goes: Looks shouldn't matter. Keith Richards and Steven Tyler should get the girls, because they made good songs. This is false nostalgia, of course: the fans screaming for the Beatles weren't all expressing their admiration for the artistic prowess of "She Loves You," yeah? But for the boybands to reach a position of power and eschew the attending privileges of sex and substances... for them to play everything so safe. Who took the bomp from the bomp, bomp, bomp? There's two clashing world views here. One sees music fandom as a discrete either/or: either you're a fan or you're not. Either you devote your life to listening to music or it becomes decorative, equivalent to Muzak. The other view is that you can like music without giving your life to it. Here's a litmus test in one question: what do you think of people who say "I don't know much about music, but I know what I like?" Back to the subject of film music. Dissecting music visually is always dicey: none of these films was commercially very successful, which was probably what cost Almost Famous an Oscar nod. And what does it mean that the year's best movies were often about depicting a way of appreciating music that is very different from how many people listen to music? The voice of individual directors and screenwriters rebelling against corporatised rock? A necessary reminder that music and visuals does not live and die by MTV? Who knowsûjust sit back and pass the popcorn.   "STAN"-OFF Thoughts on Eminem performing a duet with Elton John at the Grammies? As someone pointed out to me, "It's great seeing someone so obviously gay performing at the Grammies! And then there's Elton!"