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Not many bands are inspiring these days. Most every jerk with a guitar is looking for a quick buck and an even quicker fuck, and there's no way in hell that a soulless asshole like that is going to inspire greatness in someone else. While those morons are doing it for the money, Lucero are doing it for the love of playing music. However, as anybody knows, the music business is a fucked up thing, and instead of garnering mass acclaim and financial independence, Lucero have been fucked over at every turn -- by labels, publishing companies and promoters. Still, they've stood firm in the face of almost overwhelming negativity, hitched up their britches and hit the road in search of what they truly deserve, be it money, acclaim or respect.
Dreaming in America is an honest and forthright look at a band in limbo -- existing without a label, never receiving even a dime in royalties, and playing over 200 dates a year just to keep afloat. Similar in tone to Sam Jones's I am Trying to Break Your Heart: A Film about Wilco, Aaron Goldman's documentary is equal parts industry exposé and warts-and-all account of life on the road. Similarly, the film recounts a story fraught with frustrations and dead ends, but one that ends on a triumphant note.
Frontman Ben Nichols is the natural star of the film, and it's his charismatic persona that fuels the band, both on stage and on record. Supporting players Roy Berry, John Stubblefield and Brian Venable are as good as they come, and it soon becomes clear that they're Nichols's musical sounding board and the support system that he so desperately needs. He's a consummate flawed genius, equal parts Jeff Tweedy, Paul Westerberg and Willie Nelson, but with a flagrant honesty and whiskey-soaked swagger that will endear him to all but the most hardened cynics.
Unlike the majority of rock documentaries, Dreaming in America always remains grounded in the here and now, and even as the band enters into a potentially lucrative deal with East-West records, Goldman is careful to capture the reserved and distrusting air, especially from bassist John Stubblefield. Though the film ends on an uplifting note, there are palpable reservations regarding the future, and Goldman wisely omits half-baked assertions that the band is the next Uncle Tupelo, or the saviours of alternative country, or worse, Top 40 bound.
For such a modestly priced package, Dreaming in America offers a surprising wealth of special features, including a still gallery, an additional eight live performances and some hilarious commentary by the boys and director Aaron Goldman, with the band's bloodletting performances of "That Much Further West" and "The War" standing out as particular highlights.
The bonus live disc that comes with the special edition package is worth the price alone, as the group has never released a "proper" live album. Culled from performances recorded over the last five years, the set is a perfect mix of full-bore rock anthems ("Tonight Ain't Gonna Be Good" and "Tears don't Matter Much") and more introspective cuts ("Nights Like These" and "Crystal Blue"). It's both a perfect introduction to the Lucero live experience, and a fantastic sour mash- and sweat-soaked memoir for die-hard fans.
If you're already a fan, Dreaming in America will only make you love Lucero more. If you've never heard or seen the boys from Memphis, it will make you want to track them down, no matter what corner of the globe they are currently inhabiting. It also makes you believe that sometimes the underdog becomes the big dog, and as cheesy as it sounds, that dreams to come true if you're willing to work your fingers to the bone to attain them. Track down a copy of Dreaming in America and support your local Lucero -- you'll be glad you did.
-- Jason Jackowiak
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