The most important thing I've ever learned about music writing came out of the mouth of
As the scabrous rock critic Lester Bangs, Hoffman plays the part with a perfect mix of grumpiness and unkillable enthusiasm for what great music writing -- and music -- can tell us about ourselves. As he talks the young turk William Miller (played by Patrick Fugit) through his big Rolling Stone assignment, Hoffman's Bangs is a compass guiding Miller on the wildest ride of his life.
But he's guiding him toward a particular job: to document and understand everything he sees, and never get seduced into thinking he really belongs there. Hoffman's performance took a disheartening truth about the writing life, and made it feel like this outsiders' understanding was a deeper reward than sex and drugs and private jets.
This was the first time I'd heard a great actor describe genuine uncoolness as a virtue. Even today, interviewing musicians never ceases to be this weird dance between loving someone's art so much that you want to jump inside and be overwhelmed by it. But you also have to document it as it is. You're there, but you're never truly supposed to be there. To love and defend music, you have to get at its real heart, and that means being set apart from it.
That sense that there's truth in isolation and observation made me want to have this job. I knew I wanted to be a music writer after seeing Hoffman as the grizzled Bangs, cutting right to the marrow of Miller's not-belonging, but then introducing Miller to the underground of uncool people wringing something deeper out of music.
His turn as Bangs was one smallish role in an incredible career that came to an impossibly sad end this weekend. But it was the one that gave me my first glimpse of what good criticism can achieve -- not coolness, but truth, and that lasts longer. And it's a damn shame that Hoffman, who articulated hurt and humor and truth on-screen like few others, won't be home anymore to remind us of that. (Watch the scene below.)