RUMBLE: THE INDIANS WHO ROCKED THE WORLD (A-minus) - This heartfelt and technically precise documentary lovingly sings the praises of people of American Indian heritage who helped shaped popular music in the 20th century.
The movie starts at ground zero with Link Wray, the '50s guitar slinger who invented the power chord with the irresistible instrumental that gives the movie its name. The song -- devoid of lyrics -- was reportedly banned by some music stations merely on the basis of its gang-inciting title and its primal sound.
Filmmakers Catherine Bainbridge and Alfonso Maiorana then shift back in time to explore even deeper origins or American music -- blues/folk hero Charley Patton and jazz singer Mildred Bailey -- before returning to the baby-boomer era to celebrate Canadian Robbie Robertson (Mohawk) of the Band, folk sensation Buffy Saint-Marie (Cree), Jimi Hendrix (one-quarter Cherokee) and Redbone.
Filmmakers Catherine Bainbridge and Alfonso Maiorana then shift back in time to explore even deeper origins or American music -- blues/folk hero Charley Patton and jazz singer Mildred Bailey -- before returning to the baby-boomer era to celebrate Canadian Robbie Robertson (Mohawk) of the Band, folk sensation Buffy Saint-Marie (Cree), Jimi Hendrix (one-quarter Cherokee) and Redbone.
The array of talking heads is impressive: Buddy Guy, Steven Van Zandt, Tony Bennet, Steven Tyler, funkster George Clinton, Wayne Kramer (MC5), Quincy Jones, Martin Scorsese, Slash, the Black Eyed Peas' Taboo, a couple of Nevilles, and New Mexico poet Joy Harjo. Rhiannon Giddens leads a memorable front-porch jam session.
Bainbridge (a producer most of her career) and Maiorana (a cameraman) never make a false move. They are respectful of the culture. They compose riveting images. Their narrative flows effortlessly, with seamless transitions. They dig out fascinating facts. They let the music do much of the talking. In sum, this is an elegant elegy with a haunting undercurrent, a profound story that has long gone untold, at least in such a comprehensive fashion.
The filmmakers dig deep to tell the stories of some unsung performers: Jesse Ed Davis, a troubled man who played lead guitar with Jackson Browne and John Lennon, before drugs did him in at age 43, and Randy Castillo, a dynamic drummer for Ozzy Osbourne and Motley Crue, who died at 51 of cancer. Castillo's spiritual connection to his home state of New Mexico -- brought home by a friend, the guitarist Stevie Salas -- makes for deeply moving images.
"Rumble" starts with a twang and ends with a whimper. Like "20 Feet From Stardom" and "The Wrecking Crew," it shines a spotlight on both pioneers and unheralded sidemen. It is 103 minutes of joy.
THE SUNSHINE MAKERS (C) - This run-of-the-mill documentary tells the story of Nicholas Sand and Tim Scully, an odd couple who became notorious manufacturers of LSD in the '60s and '70s.
Newcomer Cosmo Feilding-Mellen takes a rote approach, relying on purported archival video of Sand, Scully and their cohorts, as well as trite stock footage of things like suspects being handcuffed and telephones ringing. Without that, he's stuck with two rather boring men reliving their heyday as the toast of Haight-Ashbury.
We watch Sand, now a heavy-set man, do naked yoga and tell tall tales, mostly about the numerous women he seduced over the decades. Frankly, some his stories come off as ... enhanced. Sand's hedonism is contrasted with the relatively monastic life of Scully, a classic chem nerd, who describes eating the same dinner for 30 years and performs a whiteboard mapping of the process for making LSD.
There is so much potential here, but the filmmaker never truly taps into the groove of the hippie era. Visual tricks paper over the lack of substance that takes this to Dullsville too often. Even the insider intrigue -- the pair were both financed and double-crossed by a trust-funder named Billy Hitchcock, whose writings are voiced by an actor but who, understandably, doesn't appear on camera or otherwise participate.
It is kind of fun to see dowdy old ladies in their 70s describe their carefree days of sex and drugs. And the men seem truly devoted to their utopian mission to turn on the world, one hit of Orange Sunshine at a time. Their story just didn't end up in the right hands.
BONUS TRACKS
The power chord that set rock 'n' roll apart, Link Wray with "Rumble," live in 1998:
Bainbridge (a producer most of her career) and Maiorana (a cameraman) never make a false move. They are respectful of the culture. They compose riveting images. Their narrative flows effortlessly, with seamless transitions. They dig out fascinating facts. They let the music do much of the talking. In sum, this is an elegant elegy with a haunting undercurrent, a profound story that has long gone untold, at least in such a comprehensive fashion.
The filmmakers dig deep to tell the stories of some unsung performers: Jesse Ed Davis, a troubled man who played lead guitar with Jackson Browne and John Lennon, before drugs did him in at age 43, and Randy Castillo, a dynamic drummer for Ozzy Osbourne and Motley Crue, who died at 51 of cancer. Castillo's spiritual connection to his home state of New Mexico -- brought home by a friend, the guitarist Stevie Salas -- makes for deeply moving images.
"Rumble" starts with a twang and ends with a whimper. Like "20 Feet From Stardom" and "The Wrecking Crew," it shines a spotlight on both pioneers and unheralded sidemen. It is 103 minutes of joy.
THE SUNSHINE MAKERS (C) - This run-of-the-mill documentary tells the story of Nicholas Sand and Tim Scully, an odd couple who became notorious manufacturers of LSD in the '60s and '70s.
Newcomer Cosmo Feilding-Mellen takes a rote approach, relying on purported archival video of Sand, Scully and their cohorts, as well as trite stock footage of things like suspects being handcuffed and telephones ringing. Without that, he's stuck with two rather boring men reliving their heyday as the toast of Haight-Ashbury.
We watch Sand, now a heavy-set man, do naked yoga and tell tall tales, mostly about the numerous women he seduced over the decades. Frankly, some his stories come off as ... enhanced. Sand's hedonism is contrasted with the relatively monastic life of Scully, a classic chem nerd, who describes eating the same dinner for 30 years and performs a whiteboard mapping of the process for making LSD.
There is so much potential here, but the filmmaker never truly taps into the groove of the hippie era. Visual tricks paper over the lack of substance that takes this to Dullsville too often. Even the insider intrigue -- the pair were both financed and double-crossed by a trust-funder named Billy Hitchcock, whose writings are voiced by an actor but who, understandably, doesn't appear on camera or otherwise participate.
It is kind of fun to see dowdy old ladies in their 70s describe their carefree days of sex and drugs. And the men seem truly devoted to their utopian mission to turn on the world, one hit of Orange Sunshine at a time. Their story just didn't end up in the right hands.
BONUS TRACKS
The power chord that set rock 'n' roll apart, Link Wray with "Rumble," live in 1998:
Jesse Ed Davis with his solos in "Doctor My Eyes," a song that creeped me out when I heard it around age 9 on the radio at a cousin's birthday party. The good parts kick in at 1:47 and 2:28.
Davis and poet John Trudell with "Silent Lightning," from their late '70s collaboration before Davis died from drug use at age 43:
Davis laying down the groove for Taj Mahal's "Take a Giant Step":
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