REVIEW. In POWER BALLAD, the song may remain the same...but some of the chords are different.

Paul Rudd and Nick Jonas in John Carney's Power Ballad.

The "power ballad," that ubiquitous1980s euphemism for slow songs made iconic by hair bands, carries a number of definitions, both lofty and not. For serious musicians, it's been described as "an emotional rock or pop song that starts as a slow, quiet, and introspective tune... progressively builds in intensity, and ultimately explodes into a grandiose, highly emotional climax featuring soaring vocals, heavy drums, and loud, amplified instruments." ( Reddit ) Think Bon Jovi's "I'll Be There For You."

A simpler definition from The Urban Dictionary reads, "Any song written by a hairband that is sung and not screamed." Guess Aerosmith's "Dream On" wouldn't quality here. Maybe Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga's recent "Die With a Smile" is a better option.

Finally, there's MJ's description: A rip your heart out by the throat melody that gets in your head so profoundly that you must listen to it over and over again, from its quiet opening notes until the final gut-wrenching chord. I won't reveal how many times I practiced Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" alone in my apartment, sang alonside Whitney Houston to "I Will Always Love You," or listened to Poison's "Every Rose Has Its Thorn."

Powerful stuff, jam-packed with heartbreak, unrequited love, and the choices we make (or are made for us). That about sums it - and the first forty years of my life - up quite nicely.

But I digress....

Ten years ago, I happened upon a little gem of a movie called Sing Street, a coming-of-age musical dramedy set in 1980s Dublin. Written and directed by John Carney, the film centers on a teenaged boy named Conor (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo) who uses music as a coping mechanism for his troubled home life. After being transferred from his private school to a public Christian school, Conor decides to assemble a rock band in order to impress an older (he's 15, she's16) girl named Raphina (Lucy Boynton) with whom he's smitten, and the story goes from there.

Featuring original songs written by Carney and musician Gary Clark, Sing Street premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in January 2016 and went on to receive a Golden Globe nomination for Best Film, Musical or Comedy. It's a feel-good movie, for sure, but one which also explores class differences in Ireland, adolescent angst, and the process of making music. English film critic Mark Kermode praised Carney's ability to "straddle the line between the sound in the room and the sound in your head," seamlessly bridging the "kitchen realism" of composing a song with the "musical fantasy" inherent in the final recording.

To this day, I still can't figure out why Sing Street's affecting score didn't receive more Oscar attention. It's driving signature power anthem, "Drive It Like You Stole It," captures the polysynth/drum-reverbed inspired spirit of Eighties music and the movie's essential theme of pursuing your dreams, even if it means defying the socio-economic odds of your neighborhood. "Drive It Light You Stole It" should have at least been nominated for the Best Original Song, but - if you've read my annual Oscar picks - you know my views about that particular category's typical nominees. Two of Carney's films had previously received Best Original Song noms, with "Falling Slowly" from Once winning in 2007. Go figure.

So here we are a decade later: Carney's only made one other film, Flora and Son (2023), another music-based story about a woman named Flora (Eve Hewson) who, in a moment of desperation, salvages an old guitar from a trash bin, only to have it become a kind of salvation for her troubled son Max (Orén Kinlan). It is clear that much of Carney's filmography, from Once (2007) and Begin Again (2013) to the current Power Ballad is intentional showing how music can be a great healer, a kind of love language that transcends everything from social class differences to personal trauma, and professional disappointments.

In Power Ballad, Rick Power (Paul Rudd), portrays an American ex-pat musician living with his Irish wife Rachel (Marcella Plunkett) and teen daughter Aja (Beth Fallon) in Crumblin, a working class suburb on the Southside of Dublin. An now aging wannabe rock star turned frustrated wedding singer, Rick seems happy with his modest lifestyle until he meets former boy-band member Danny Wilson (Nick Jonas of the Jonas Brothers - do I smell typecasting here?) at one of his nuptual reception gigs. The two form an easy songwriting bromance during an impromptu post-wedding jam session, after which Danny "steals" one of Rick's songs. The song (natch) becomes a #1 hit, reinvigorating Danny's career, but also bringing Rick back for revenge and recognition. The song Danny stole, you see, was a very personal one that Rick never finished and did not intend to share with the world.

Writer/director Carney is astute weaving big themes into personal stories, always with a healthy dose of music (familiar and un), and Power Ballad is no exception. Rudd's Rick still longs for rock stardom, as the opening sequence at a typical wedding reception shows: he's still pushing unrecorded songs he's written on the audience, fantasizing about singing them to throngs of loving fans, even though no else seems interested in his unknown melodies. Rick may rock a great cover version of Kool and the Gang's "Celebration," but when her veers into his own music, the dance floor empties before the song ends.

"We're not rock stars," his bandmates from "Bride and Groove" (yup, that's the name of their party cover band), remind him, "We're a human juke box."

Point taken.

To their credit, Bride and Groove does a credible job covering everything from The Police to Hall and Oates, with Rudd providing some impressive vocals. He really can - and does - sing, adding a bittersweet authenticity to Rick's longing for recognition. When Jonas's Danny wanders into one of their wedding gigs (he's a friend of the bride and groom currently trying to reinvent himself as a solo artist), his unrehearsed rendition of Stevie Wonder's "I Wish," with Rick sharing lead vocals, literally rocks the house.

It's all director Carney needs to set up the film's essential premise which deftly explores the frustration of musicians who never quite crossed the bridge to international fame and those who have lived the celebrity life and are desperate to hold onto it. In one pivotal scene, Danny's manager Mac (Jack Reynor) makes it clear that, without a bona fide #1 hit that shows his credibility as a hot male singing artist, he can kiss his house, fancy cars and affluent lifestyle good-bye.

What Danny ultimately does is use the verse and chorus of the song Rick played during their jam session, to build a power ballad. Savvy enough to understand the music industry's standards for constructing a successful hit, he adds an impactful bridge along with the musical riffs necessary to turn Rick's unpublished "How To Write A Song Without You" into a worldwide hit. Six months later, when Rick hears his melody wafting through a local mall, he cannot contain his anger and disappointment at not being recognized, yet there is a certain joy that fills him, knowing he created such a popular song. But whose song is it, Rick's or Danny's? And who owns the idea, the inspiration? Carney posits these questions, but doesn't offer easy or in-depth analyses of them.

Troubled by what to do about his situation, Rick wanders around Crumblin and happens upon an older street musician. As he projects his own experience on the folk singer's gentle melodies, several kids run up and steal the money passers-by have left in the old man's guitar case. A metaphor for the film: the frivilous young stealing from the downtrodden old? Perhaps, but there's more story to unfold here.

Unfortunately, Rick can't find what he is certain is a long-buried recording of the original song and, without it, he's got no paper trail or legal claim that Danny stole any part of it. What follows is both a desperate quest for validation and a genuine search for musical justice. We know what Danny did, it's the why that remains somewhat unclear, especially since Danny and Rick forged a natural musical kinship during their spontaneous jam session all those months ago.

For someone like me, who spent a brief time on the periphery of the recording industry, what follows is neither surprising nor inaccurate. During my tenure as Education Director at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, not a week went by that a visitor, music teacher or budding rock star would come up to me with one of these two questions: "How do I get my song submitted to ____ (fill in the rock star)? OR, "How do I claim royalties for _______ (fill in the blank) song that sounds just like ______ (fill in the blank) hit I wrote years before it was recorded? You'd be amazed at home many people penned "Born to Run" before Springsteen and wanted to claim their share of the profits.

In this way, Rick's frustrating attempts to re-connect with Danny, despite having his management's business card, rings true, as Mac carefully walks the tightrope between deflecting Rick's claims and ensuring that Danny hasn't done something unethical. Carney understands the inner workings of the recording industry well enough to depict a mostly realistic, if softer, version of what actually goes on behind the scenes. The recording industry is ruthless, but Carney opts to show a more palatable view of the professional conflict and personal betrayal inherent in the story.

Perhaps, that's because Carney is more interested in the healing power of music than the intricacies of writing a song and getting it recorded. He does, though, as in his other movies, give the audience a sense what it means to compose a song without inflicting the inevitably tedious moments that are a natural by-product of the creative process. As a musician who has participated in many rehearsals, I can attest that it's much different being engaged in refining a song than it is being an observer to the proceedings. And we're back to that fine line between articulating the music in your head with the fantasy the song will generate for an audience.

Good stuff here, even if Carney won't delve deeply enough for some into the cutthroat world of pop/rock music or the disillusionment faced by both those who never quite caught the brass ring and those desperately trying to hold onto it. But that deficit may be more personal movie taste than an artistic flaw. For me, what Carney ultimately achieves is something more subtle and intriguing: he uses the template for a power ballad [verse/chorus, verse/chorus, bridge, (verse)/chorus} to provide an emotional counterpart to the story.

The early scenes between Rick and Danny, as they hash out the lyrics, chords, and structure of Rick's long unfinished song, are especially good, with Rudd and Jonas each totally believable as the aging aspirant rock star and the anxious former boy-band member longing for solo artistic credibility. Each brings something different to the song: Rick's authenticity crafting songs that are based on genuine emotion, and Danny's industry knowledge about what makes a song marketable. Danny's motives may seem more cynical, but he still understands the importance of honesty when expressing personal feelings through music.

When "How To Write a Song Without You" is finally performed in its entirety, I was moved by how beautifully, how seamlessly the components of a power ballad mirrored the story Carney wanted to tell. Just like the musical genre on which the movie is based, Power Ballad kind of snuck up on me with a wistful reminder that music may be the only truly satisfying art form that can bring us together in love, in sadness, through heartache, and with joy.

Speaking of joy, Carney's love for his native Ireland is apparent in all of his films, though here it's more of a scenic contrast than cultural player: Rick's given up his American dream for an unassuming life in Crumblin, whose name is mostly used as a throwaway joke in one of Rick's lyrics. The scenes of the beautiful Irish countryside (and some of its decaying homes and castles), seem mostly designed to highlight the difference between Rick's humble lifestyle with the flashier, contemporary trappings of wealth on full display in Danny's luxurious Los Angeles home. Too bad. There's more to Ireland than its pastoral landscape, and I wish Carney would have explored some of the cultural and musical differences a bit more.

Arguably, the film's most glaring glitch is the somewhat implausible way that Rick finally finds his way to an after-concert party. Though it's always more who you know than why you should be included, the tight security typically surrounding major celebrities makes Rick's seredipitous entrée to Danny's home, especially after the roadblocks he encountered trying to work through Mac, improbable at best. Nonetheless, it sets up a finely tuned climax and resolution, which I won't share here because writing about it would detract from experiencing it.

I left the theater smiling, still brushing away a tear. I couldn't help but remember a wedding I played the organ for years ago where the bride and groom insisted I play Bryan Adams's "(Everything I Do) I Do It for You," his Oscar-nominated song from 1991's Robin Hood: Prince of Theives, during the ceremony. Despite my protestations - mostly, that I wouldn't sound like Bryan Adams and that the pipe organ would not replicate the recording - they insisted the song be played. And so I did my finest baroque instrumental interpretation of the song, only to have the best man later quip upon handing me my check, "It didn't sound like the record."

True enough. And I didn't sound like a human juke box.

But Adams's song, like any power ballad worth its designation, plays in my head from time to time, a whimsical reminder of how popular songs can become sign posts, identifying and underscoring important moments in our lives. And so it is with this movie. Like any good earworm of a rock song, Power Ballad grabs your heart and never lets go.

*******

Power Ballad played in limited release last week and is now playing in wider release in theaters. It is rated "R" for language and mild (pot smoking) drug use throughout. It will likely stream on Apple TV+ and Amazon Prime later this year.

Meantime, you might want to check out John Carney's other fine movies currently available on various streaming platforms: Flora and Son (2023): Apple TV+

Sing Street (2016): Apple TV+, Amazon Prime Video and others

Begin Again (2013; w/Mark Ruffalo & Keira Knightly): Apple TV+, Amazon Prime Video and more

Once (2007): Apple TV+, Amazon Prime Video and Fandango

*******

Finally, I've included the link to "How To Write a Song Without You" below. Here's hoping it's remembered when the Oscar nominations are announced next year. Check it out.

https://youtu.be/RMt-gssZyMQ?si=hG_4qXAtHAtXMQy0