Aahh! Where did this come from? Not since Pagan Kennedy's novel "The Exes" (1999) has someone been able to extrapolate a music-making narrative that didn't seem fraudulent -- you'd have to thinly-veil an Ian MacKaye, a Calvin Johnson, invent Yo La Tengo before they existed, cast Henry Rollins. As Henry Rollins.
No more -- and, with this, Ross Perry enters into the exalted realm of filmmakers of Supreme Confidence. There are, what, 7 or 8 scenes? You just go there and linger in 'em. That's it. This takes much, in terms of showing-us-aroundness, as damned if all the characters, save the one played by Eric Stoltz (who doesn't play one of those -- no failing here) don't shimmer with the sort of vibrations those who conduct them for their living, their daily bread, their art carry with them every day in their lives.
It's a musician thing, ya'all.
