A Matter of Life and Death

           

           Resurrection is a pretty heavy topic for a rock doc. After all, films about bands are usually niche movies meant for diehard fans with closets full of tour shirts. Rarely do they have such universal appeal as Jeff Howlett and Mark Covino’s A Band Called Death; then again, few are so masterfully executed, and fewer still tackle such weighty themes in such an emotionally resonant manner.

            It doesn’t hurt that Howlett and Covino have such a singularly interesting story to tell. It’s the stuff of music-nerd dreams: three black brothers (David, Bobby, and Dannis Hackney) from Detroit start a band in 1972 and proceed to invent punk rock several years before it was even a gleam in Johnny Rotten’s eye. They record a groundbreaking album, labels refuse to touch it, and the master tapes sit in Bobby’s attic for thirty years until a network of record collectors and a Huffington Post article rekindle interest in the band, resulting in a reissue and a reunion.

            Even a good story like this can be butchered by an inept teller, but Howlett and Covino do a marvelous job. They don’t gloss over the dark parts of Death’s history; in fact, they spend the majority of the film dwelling on the thirty-five years in between the band’s breakup and their reunion, showing the way the Hackneys attempted to deal with rejection and move on from the specter of Death. It is one thing for a band to break up, but it’s quite another for a band of brothers to fall apart.

            During this rough middle patch, Howlett and Covino focus their lens on the spectral presence of David Hackney, the group’s visionary guitarist, songwriter, and spiritual leader. They are sympathetic but unwavering in depicting David as a broken man who never recovers from having his genius languish unheard, showing him drift away from his brothers, descend into alcoholism, and ultimately die. Yet, David is never a pathetic figure, either: his portrait is imbued with dignity and respect, and this makes his death all the more heartbreaking. 

            But it is this painful middle that earns the film’s triumphant end, giving the viewer a real sense of cathartic joy as Death launches into one of their old tunes before an adoring audience with a photo of David hanging above Bobby’s bass amp—a band called Death resurrected, triumphing briefly over death itself.