The 78 Project Movie

Director: Alex Steyermark/Producer: Lavinia Jones Wright

Based on the acclaimed web series, The 78 Project Movie documents director Alex Steyermark and producer Lavinia Jones Wright's quest to capture performances of American musicians using a vintage, 1930′s era Presto direct-to-acetate disk recorder. The small, mobile but relatively heavy recording machine allows one to record a phonographic record on location, using a black lacquer disk.

Inspired by Alan Lomax, the famed ethnomusicologist and folklorist who combed the American hinterlands recording folk songs sung by local denizens, Steyermark and Wright attempt the same, though with a different approach and a set of parameters not unlike those encountered by musicians from the first half of the 20th century.

Musicians were asked to choose an American song from the nation's past; not of the hit parade variety but ones known and sung by local cultures. They were allowed to choose a recording site, indoor or out with only one take in which to record. The pressure-intensive conditions not only posed an exciting challenge to the musicians, but to Steyermark himself, as he had only one take in which to capture the performances on film. Adding drama to the proceedings were the mechanical limitations and idiosyncracies of the Presto recorder; a machine we learn much about in the course of the film. The performers were also to use only one microphone (of a vintage variety); a technological crudity Lomax's musicians also endured.

The unwieldy Presto's innards were subject to frequent maintenance, which made it necessary sometimes for Steyermark to disassemble the machine, replace tubes or such, then reassemble. It was also necessary during recording for Wright to apply a brush to the disk to keep the black lacquer shavings produced by the stylus from accumulating; a hazard that threatened every recording.

As we see Steyermark and Wright recording in various locations around the country, we hear some startling performances. The musicians often discuss how they first heard the song they've selected and a little of its history. One performer mentions the 18th century origins of the song she performs and, providing food for thought, comments on how the song was only heard when one person performed it for another until the advent of recording. The performances are often as hauntingly beautiful as the archival recordings, which suggests the timelessness of song and its ability to move people decades or centuries removed from one another. We also see and hear the musicians themselves react to the playback of the songs on the disks, which they often find startling and wonderful.

Between locations and songs, we learn the history of the Presto recorder from experts; its attributes and shortcomings. We also hear from musical archivists at the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian, who lovingly (I can't stress that word enough) care for the immense collection of acetate and vinyl recordings made and collected by people like Alan Lomax. It is fascinating to see samples of the collection, whose sleeves bear the scribblings of those who presided over the recordings. Information about the singers and musicians is often scant, which carries a whiff of the tragic. Equally so is the knowledge that our country's musical heritage is kept preciously--and precariously on acetate, a material not entirely suited to longevity. Some of the musicians seen in the film have their own collections--which are also precious and culturally priceless.

Steyermark is also keen to show us a plant where acetate disks are manufactured; making his subject thoroughly informative.

He gives us a touching experience; one that carries the subtle, disquieting notion that much of our country's musical heritage--one very much vital and alive--is stored in boxes and shelves, demanding our attention and care. Efforts are being made to transfer the music digitally but will something be lost in the transfer? As the film demonstrates, the first recordings were pretty much a one shot deal, with no margin for error or the luxury of multiple takes, which makes the manner of recording as immediate as the performances. This is mind-boggling to consider. Everything was of the moment. Digital storage means the music will be preserved--a very good thing--but will we forget the beauty of the ephemeral; the painstaking efforts to record the music in its moment and time? As we hear the lovely, sometimes dark sentiments in songs that expressed the common man's laments and joys, we get the sense that what moved someone one or two hundred years ago or what moves one today is immutable, as demonstrated in all the performances. It is quite possible that someone in the year 2114 will be just as affected by an old folk or blues tune as are the performers in the film.

The 78 Project Movie is a synergistic alliance of music, technology and history, which makes for a terrific documentary; one that could conceivably spawn sequels, for the subject matter is rich and worthy of further exploration.

Steyermark and Wright's project is a labor of passion and one I hope they continue to pursue. I also hope the film finds the audience it so richly deserves.