The Nomi Song

As a preteen, I became aware of Klaus Nomi's (as well as Nina Hagen's) music through my Public Library. I'm pretty sure that Klaus was dead by the time I had discovered him, but his image has remained with me for over 20-years!! Like nearly everyone-else, I first heard his music through a copy of "Urgh!!: A Music War" (and the Bowie-appearance on SNL!!), and loved "Total Eclipse." What can you say about the late-seventies, early-eighties that hasn't been said before? It was a culturally-vibrant time when people still took SERIOUS artistic-chances. While I see a few rumblings with the kids these-days, most of it comes-off as "apeing," and is mostly-unoriginal. Kids, take some lessons from Klau Nomi, THIS is what is original. So original, it has yet to be surpassed.

I have to say that director Andrew Horn did an extraordinary job on this film in every-respect. My only complaint is: where are the interviews with Nomi's contemporaries, like Gary Numan, Nina Hagen (a glaring-omission), Lydia Lunch and others? Otherwise, this film is about as perfect as one could ever hope. For the uninitiated, and for the fans-alike, this film will be a revelation of unknown-scenes and players, and the loss-for-words power that was Klaus Nomi. It also underscores how underwhelming most culture and music have been since-then. Perhaps, we are close to a "new-change" in the counterculture, and a move-away from it being entirely "youth-oriented." Now, THAT would be revolutionary! While my favorites of this era have traditionally been the likes of Devo, PiL, the Ramones, the Talking Heads, Bebop Deluxe, Pere Ubu, Blondie, Gary Numan, Kraftwerk, Nina Hagen, Suicide, Killing Joke, Wire, Throbbing Gristle, etc., Nomi is utterly unique. And that is probably what is "typical" of that wonderful, cultural-era. Miss it? You-bet! Apparently Rush Limbaugh is a "fan" of Klaus Nomi's music, and encourages people to buy the albums through links at his site! NOW the Weimar-connection is becoming clear. With his recent-addiction to powerful-synthetic narcotics (oxykotin), he kinda reminds me of the closeted Herman Goering.

We can thank-the-Gods for the people who documented these groups, scenes, and beautiful people. Without them, documentaries like "The Nomi Song" would be almost impossible (as with the Velvet Underground-- shame on you Andy). The "New Wave" referred to what the American-branch of "punk" called-itself in its early-days, and it was pretty diverse. Unfortunately, things changed for-the-worse when punk-orthodoxy cemented things into the boring, three-chord pap we're stuck with nowadays. But this happens with all cultural-waves. They eventually become the problem after the initial-shock they provoke. Kinda like a joke that was funny...the first-time. Fine, be boring if you want, but there will always be people who like variety and something that challenges them. Watch this documentary (better-yet, buy it now). It will move you, unless you happen to be an emotionally-retarded homophobe. Then, go buy every Klaus Nomi CD in-print. Then, go make the world a little brighter. Create things that amaze you and your friends. Be magical. Life is short. The amazing, and short-life of Klaus Nomi proves this adage.

I just saw this film. I found it exciting, touching, more than a little inspiring, and was impressed by the filmmaker's ability to craft an intimate personal portrait of the man while also rendering a feeling for the period in which he lived.

Good times -- will likely get out to see it again before it leaves town.

Agree with the original poster: this one seems destined for cult status.

PS: Anyone find it odd that saving bandwidth by writing concisely here is punished by IMDb? I love everything else about this site, but the arbitrary requirement that we each become novelists in the mini-reviews is silly, and ultimately counter-productive: is it really so bad if you can say what you need to say in under 10 lines? I pity those who can't, and if IMDb must ban me rather than update their policy to accommodate those who can communicate well, then at least the few of you who read this before they ditched me know that at least I tried.

Some businesses learn and adapt. Others ban reality.

We very much enjoyed this movie and it expanded our enjoyment of Klaus Nomi. We already had the "Encore" album and were fans. Of course, seeing Klaus is very much part of the experience. To see him speaking and to hear others reminisce about him added a very nice personal touch. On the extras there is a video of Boy Adrian's mutant dance. Way cool. It reminded us of Ray Harryhausen animations for films in the '50s, such as The Seven Voyages of Sinbad. Hearing Klaus's wonderfully weird vocals and seeing that performance were something. I wonder if anyone knows what became of Boy Adrian? Lovely DVD. We're going to rent it again now to listen to the commentary after reading about that in this message board.

This is a personal vision from a filmmaker who obviously knows what he's talking about when he approaches music, show business and the 70-80s. He succeeds in delivering a film hovering between fiction and documentary, respecting the original character, Klaus Nomi, all along, while offering a personal perspective on the man and his era. Because he interviews actual witnesses of the time, the result is a realistic and phantasmagoria dive into the life and death of a charismatic individual with the destiny of a shooting star. This film has all the potential of a cult movie.

Andrew Horn's The Nomi Song makes no bones about it - performance artist Klaus Nomi was a man of genius. The film is an unapologetic celebration of the mystique of Nomi, the weird brilliance of this late '70s/early '80s New York club phenomenon, who had a minor breakthrough after appearing with David Bowie on Saturday Night Live (he sold well in Europe anyway). If you have no idea who Nomi was then you're not alone; his appeal was purely a cultish one. Those who sing his praises in The Nomi Song - people who were doing lots of drugs in the days they're recounting, it must be pointed out - would have us believe that this was a man of such soaring talent, it would only have been a matter of time before he became famous world-wide. The evidence put forth by Horn - old home videos, some snippets from professionally made programs - would seem to suggest something else, however: a man who, in spite of his obvious talent (he was a trained opera singer, a tenor capable of achieving a haunting falsetto), was always too wrapped up in his own strange, stylized persona to ever really connect with the masses.

The Nomi Song is the portrait of a man who reinvented himself, an exhibitionist who discovered an audience by nullifying every hint of his own personality, and presenting himself as a kind of performing robot. The real Klaus Nomi, we're told, was a sweet, gentle soul, a kid from Berlin who came to New York with dreams of being a star and wound up mopping floors; and the few glimpses we get of Nomi off-stage would seem to uphold this. The real Nomi, it appears, was nothing special, outside of the fact that he could sing (it was his misfortune that there wasn't much market for German tenors who could stretch to a falsetto soprano); the fake Klaus, invented by Klaus as a replacement for the one the world didn't much care for, was a man with a painted face who dressed like a gay Ming the Merciless and sang opera-tinged pop songs in New Wave clubs. People who witnessed Nomi's bizarre, Kabuki-like stage-act gush on and on about what an overwhelming experience it was, but what we see of Nomi, though certainly odd and interesting, fails to convey this feeling. Nothing, we're led to believe, could ever capture the true power of Nomi on-stage. What the film offers us is a tantalizing taste of something eyewitnesses swear was practically transcendent; it's like trying to appreciate the greatness of Robert Johnson by listening to some scratchy old records.

Maybe Nomi was what the film insists he was - a great talent who, by the sad fact of his untimely demise not to mention some egregious mis-management, failed to achieve the stature he seemed destined for. I would tend to doubt it, but the movie makes its argument compellingly, and by placing Nomi in the context of his times, the fag-end of the Andy Warhol days and the beginning of the AIDS horror (Nomi died of the disease), conveys a poignant sense of a lost era, a fondly-remembered scene (the eyewitnesses are all middle-aged, conservative-seeming people; it's hard to imagine them decked out in pink hair and Star Trek get-ups). It finally doesn't matter if Nomi really was what The Nomi Song wants us to think he was (his music was simple-minded and mannered); it matters more that he existed, and embodies in people's minds a certain time and place (those who die young always come to represent the age they lived in; James Dean IS the '50s). The Nomi Song is as much a portrait of the world around Nomi as it is of Nomi, and that world, its strangeness, its lingering energy, is the thing worth remembering.