Vinyl

[Bobby Cannavale's] performance is something to behold. Music, not surprisingly, is the driving force here, used creatively and effectively in scene transitions, as scene setters and in performances.

What follows is a sometimes humorous, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes bumpy ride through the era, with a story that often seems to halt just when it’s picking up momentum. Still, every time the story falters, the characters’ and the show’s obvious love for popular music in all its forms lifts it back up.

The thrill of rock 'n' roll as it took a turn toward modern punk, discovered disco and made way for hip-hop in 1970s Manhattan is captured in a fresh way in Vinyl, a tough-minded series.

Vinyl will leave you dancing to the music, but may leave you wondering why you should care.

It takes time to get going, and even four episodes in, still hasn’t really found its voice. HBO is clearly looking for another hit, but this one needs a little more time in A&R.

Scorsese and Winter and a whole host of talented episode writers and directors including Jonathan Tropper (Banshee), S. J. Clarkson, Debora Cahn, and Adam Rapp labor mightily to bend you to the will of Richie Finestra--to see and hear the music the way he does, as full of endless innovation and possibility--but too often, Vinyl traps you in a familiar cycle of sex and drugs and rock & roll.

Overall, Vinyl suffers from an inflated sense of its own importance, and a dreary lack of humor (though the pilot has a funny drive-by diss of England Dan & John Ford Coley.)