Since its genesis with Frank Zappa’s "Freak Out," the concept album has become a staple of rock’s storytelling. For those who are not familiar, a concept album is one in which all of the songs are interconnected in some meaningful way. For instance, David Bowie’s "Ziggy Stardust" is the tale of the titular character’s arrival on earth and subsequent effects, while one like Alice in Chains’ "Dirt" revolves around the themes of addiction, self-loathing and misery. What matters is that the album’s sum is greater than the individual pieces. This tactic is well-established in the rock repertoire, but has also been utilized in film, through massive ensemble casts in which there is no true protagonist. Instead, the story evolves through vignette-esque scenes that all adhere together. The pinnacle of this style is Robert Altman’s "Nashville." It features two dozen major characters with diverse philosophies, ambitions and talents, but all are linked through country music and the alluring promise of success at some level -- some want to be major stars, some are major stars, while others just want to sleep with major stars. Every facet of the music business is represented by someone, and it paints a comprehensive picture of the industry. Despite the daunting number of characters, it links together fluidly through the connection of Nashville as a city.

At its moral core, "Nashville" is a cynical analysis of the city and what striving for/maintaining fame creates: disaffection and greed. It is rife with tenuous/strained relationships, and every marriage is abusive or adulterous. This general disdain for others is only part of the rampant selfishness that permeates the character interactions. Those successful -- or at least think so -- are dismissive of others below them and most saliently manifests as sexual dynamics. In one scene at a bar, multiple people with varying levels of success try to pick up other major characters “above them," but are shut down when the other person deems them below their status. One particularly awkward moment in that flurry is a couple of people do not even remember the other’s name, even though they’ve met previously. However, those not in power are pestering and petulant; their attitude does not make it hard to imagine why the stars developed such thick social callouses. Success also blinds those too consumed by its possibilities. An aspiring singer is talentless but too obsessed with potential success to notice she’s being manipulated and has no future as a performer (when a friend speaks the truth to her, he is dismissed, even derided). The film likes to layer performances to juxtapose some element of it (talent vs. no talent and fame vs. obscurity). It creates an alienating effect on the viewer. Despite their geographical proximity, these people are living in different worlds. From there, a void appears that precludes any chance of connection between those who made it and those who did not. There is a never a sense that people want to help each other out of altruistic means, they just want to advance their own career and ensure they are always on top.

What makes "Nashville" unique is its use of music. The film makes music the core component of the film. It is filled with about an hour of performances, which reinforces the importance of music to the city and how it drives the desires and ambitions of those living there. Aside from the more than half dozen performers featured in the film, there are people who are in the city simply to sleep with musicians -- reinforcing the mystique of celebrity. While the city is what connects all of the characters, music is so central to Nashville’s identity that is dominates the culture of the city, it is the glue. Even churches are only depicted while in song. The importance of music is also shown by its absence or failure. When the famous singer Barbara Jean (Ronee Blakely) falls ill and begins rambling instead of singing, the audience and behind-the-scenes bureaucracy, react harshly, jeering and yelling at her, despite her just getting out of the hospital. There is no room for kindness or consideration when the music falters.

The ending is the most cynical part of the film. It is the most visceral reminder as to what stardom, fame, and the incessant pressure to achieve can create in the minds of those consumed by its potential. It raises the daunting question what someone is supposed to do when they can’t sing or negotiate. Do they fade into the dark or stake out their own fame?