Heavy Metal in Baghdad

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Heavy Metal in Baghdad (dir. Eddy Moretti & Suroosh Alvi)

After suiting up with bullet-proof vests in Heavy Metal in Baghdad’s intro, filmmakers Eddy Moretti and Suroosh Alvi (of Vice magazine) admit the idea of heading into Baghdad to interview the city’s sole heavy metal band, Acrassicauda, is dangerous. But, hey, “heavy metal rules.”

During the reign of Saddam Hussein, headbanging itself was outlawed for its proximity to the Jewish prayer nod, punishable with a life behind bars. For the members of Acrassicauda, even growing their hair long or practicing their music comes with the risk of assassination. Smuggling themselves into Iraq via Kurdistan in 2006, Moretti and Alvi track down the two remaining members of Acrassicauda amid Iraq’s civil war (the others having fled to Syria). Best friends who live 15 minutes apart, they haven’t managed to see one another in person for six months. Their Slipknot T-shirts are enough to get them shot on the streets.

After the July 2006 bombing of their practice space and the destruction of their instruments, the group’s dedication to the cause of metal in the Middle East reunites them in Damascus, Syria. The film’s latter half chronicles their re-settlement and recording struggles.

Embracing a genuine affection for the band, Heavy Metal Baghdad braves the dangers of war-torn Iraq and captures footage of the group’s rare shows. It’s a valuable document, since they’ve performed only six times during their more than five years together in Baghdad — each one a tiny basement musical revolution amid civil war.

Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell (dir. Matt Wolf)

Raised in rural Iowa, a child who even his parents describe as “not like the other kids,” Arthur Russell was a marked outsider from the start. Escaping to New York City (via San Francisco), the late Russell’s varied musical output explored a unique gamut from folk-pop to avant garde experimentation, to some of disco’s more interesting New York loft tangents. While cut short by his death at age 40, Russell’s prodigious output still holds an influence over those willing to delve into it. His style can be easily heard in the music of Final Fantasy, Antony and the Johnsons and Jens Lekman (who’s interviewed here and was recently responsible for compiling the Four Songs by Arthur Russell tribute EP last year).

Collecting touching interviews with those closest to Russell (long-term boyfriend Tom Lee’s excitement over showing off tapes of unreleased songs makes for one of the film’s finest sequences), Wild Combination gives an intriguing insight into an artist often overlooked and nearly forgotten. Russell was a man driven to write and record nearly up to the point of his death from complications related to AIDS in 1992. His mother, Emily Russell, still living in Iowa, asks simply, “Who knows how far he would’ve gotten?” While we’ll never know the answer, Wild Combination at least shows us how far he came, and how few have matched him since.

The Devil and Daniel Johnston (dir. Jeff Feuerzeig)

Ever since Kurt Cobain donned one of Daniel Johnston’s “Hi, How Are You Today?” T-shirts, Johnston’s name has been dropped and his songs covered more times than his own records have ever sold. Daniel’s mother Mabel Johnston recalls, “He was different. I knew that from the very start.”

As a film, Feuerzeig’s portrait of Johnston’s never-ending pursuit of his muse in the wake of his well-documented bipolar disorder stands alongside Terry Zwigoff’s Crumb as one of the finest cinematic portraits of a true outsider American genius. While his momentary glimpse of fame in the heyday of grunge was a fascinating flop, The Devil and Daniel Johnston’s finest sequences chronicle Johnston’s earliest days of burgeoning success in Austin, Texas in the mid-1980s. Wandering around town during his off-duty hours from his part-time job at McDonald’s, Johnston handed out tapes of albums he’d recorded individually copy by copy. He gradually built up enough infamy to get played on MTV.

Despite his problems and disappointments, Johnston has always poured his heartbreak into a songwriting sensibility so natural and unique he has no real contemporaries. “Wherever I am, I’ve got music in my heart,” he claims, and The Devil and Daniel Johnston proves that’s enough.