The 22 best music documentaries of all time

For the only band that matters, it makes sense that a documentary about frontman Joe Strummer be just as compromising as the U.K. punk rock stalwarts The Clash were. Capturing a young Strummer on camera and featuring an endless amount of rarely-seen footage, the film captures not just what made The Clash important, but also the circumstances in which their music emerged: broadening their cultural impact as they became spokespeople for disaffected British youth. Yet for all of the Clash-bait in here, the film also does an admirable job of focusing on Strummer's career after the fact as well. Essential hard rock viewing, especially given this was made by Juilen Temple, the director of the landmark Sex Pistols documentary "The Filth and the Fury."

The strength of Martin Scorsese's "No Direction Home" is in how it presents context. We know Bob Dylan was a groundbreaking folk singer, but when his sturdy and pointed early works are contrasted with the freewheeling folk absurdism of what was going on at landmark New York venues like Cafe Wha, you begin to understand why Dylan made the splash that he did. He was a breath of fresh air in a scene that was getting lost in the sounds of harps and flower power fetishism — capturing the zeitgeist and then turning his talent into a platform. It's fitting that a film about Dylan be over three hours long, but trust us: it's worth every second.

Part of the reason why Asif Kapadia's uncompromising "Amy" won the Oscar for Best Documentary Feature is because you, the audience, are presented with a difficult scenario. Here is a young upstart Brit named Amy Winehouse who just so happened to turn into a once-in-a-lifetime singer-songwriter and generational touchstone. Her talent is obvious, but so are her vices. There was the drugs, the drinking, and her on-again/off-again relationship with one-time husband Blake Fielder-Civil. While watching Winehouse climb her way to fame is inspiring, we the audience keep hoping for someone to step in and save her from herself. And yet no one does. It's as heartbreaking as it is essential.

While Kevin Macdonald's 2018 film "Whitney" made waves before even hitting theaters by indicating that both Houston and her brother Gary were molested as children by Dee Dee Warwick, let's not forget the revelations that came with Nick Broomfield's excellent Showtime documentary "Whitney: Can I Be Me." In it, he reveals how Houston was pampered for success but rose to fame so suddenly that she barely had time to make a life for herself, which is in part why her toxic relationship with Bobby Brown lasted as long as it did. Long-suffering friend Robyn Crawford is also featured prominently — her admiration for Houston long speculated as something beyond mere friendship. Yet even without all the tabloid drama, "Can I Be Me" serves as a heart-wrenching look at a pop diva making the moves and poses she needs to on her way to fame and how terrifying it was for her being at the top while having few true friends to share it with. "Can I Be Me" is a fascinating if devastating viewing experience.

Brett Morgen is no stranger to tackling unconventional subjects in his films, whether it be the scrappy upstart boxers in 1999's "On the Ropes" to Hollywood producer Robert Evans in the classic documentary "The Kid Stays in the Picture." Yet for "Montage of Heck," Morgen tackles a subject we thought we've seen covered countless times before (Kurt Cobain) and gives it a new spin. Mixing archival footage with present-day interviews with a wide-ranging style of animations (often bringing Kurt's sketchbook drawings to horrifying life), this portrait of the artist as a young man is powerful, personal and touching all at once. Perhaps its greatest strength lies in the fact that it's a journey through the internal life of its subject and not a mere biography of a singer who fronted one of the most influential grunge bands of all time.

Any film that passes the four-hour mark in length might seem like a test in patience, but when the story that's being told is that of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Peter Bogdanovich's expansive dive into the band's history more than justifies the runtime. Although we spend plenty of time with Petty at the peak of his powers, the most fun is had in his early days in Florida: forming band after band, eventually creating a dusty little group called Mudcrutch, which would soon lead him to the Heartbreakers, the charts, and eternal life in our hearts and minds. The best part is how absolutely blunt Petty's interview segments are: the man was unafraid to lay it out exactly how he saw it happening. And it makes "Runnin' Down a Dream" as funny as it is informative.

When Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky set out to make a behind-the-scenes documentary of Metallica making their then-latest album, they had no idea that what they were filming would turn into one of strangest pieces of rock cinema in history. While Metallica preps an album that, in retrospect, was a lowlight for them (2003's "St. Anger"), the heavy metal band's tensions come to a head and led the group to go therapy. Actual therapy. With a therapist. Who wants to get some of his lyrics on the album. This is a must-see-to-believe documentary and one that will make sure you never see Metallica the same way again.

One of Madonna's greatest strengths has always been her self-awareness. While she dominates headlines and pushes the buttons of pop culture seemingly at will, all of this is because her every move is deliberate. For Alek Keshishian's documentary "Truth or Dare," which covers Queen Madge during her famed "Blonde Ambition" tour, we see Madonna let loose on lovers, her past and her dreams. But there's a degree to which all of this feels very calculated. We are seeing a somewhat vulnerable, open and naughty Madonna (just wait until you see what she does with that glass bottle during a game of truth or dare with her dancers), but it's the Madonna that she wants to present to the world — vulnerable to a fault. Critics have been divided over the film's significance, as it isn't the best ever made, but no one can deny its allure all these years later.

For the acid-drenched Oklahoma weirdos known as The Flaming Lips, nothing about their history is simple. Although the band is fronted by the grand marshal of bizarre Wayne Coyne, the group was initially fronted by his brother. When they signed to a major label, they put alcohol on a drum cymbal and lit it on fire, soon leading to the venue they were in to almost burn down. "The Fearless Freaks" is a fine, above-average documentary, but it truly hits a new echelon of shocking when multi-instrumentalist Steven Drozd does heroin in front of the filmmakers right there on camera. It's a stunning moment which only adds to the group's less-than-typical origin story.

In terms of acclaimed music documentaries, the life of DIY singer-songwriter Daniel Johnston is a rough one. His story is filled with mental illness, unbridled passion for his craft and a recurring obsession with the Devil. His songs are as lo-fi as lo-fi can get, but there was an audience for his distinct artistic vision. Hell, even Kurt Cobain was famously seen rocking a Daniel Johnston T-shirt. The film is sometimes difficult, sometimes hilarious, and always inspiring.

Some might know Harry Nilsson as the guy who sang "Everybody's Talkin'" and "Without You," but his career spanned far longer — and was so much more interesting — than that. At the height of Beatlemania, the Beatles referred to Harry Nilsson as their favorite singer. Nilsson's uncompromising brand of quirk, incredible voice and penchant for heavy drinking all led to a career that was funny as it was tragic, as magical as it was madcap. With talking head interviews with everyone from Nilsson's idol Randy Newman to producer Richard Perry to Micky Dolenz, this is the kind of movie where you can go in cold and come out wanting to buy every album Nilsson ever made. Thank you and goodnight.

"This is Spinal Tap" was a film that immediately endeared itself to the pop culture consciousness — spawning countless catchphrases and serving as a fictional cautionary tale for rock bands all over the world. Well, the rock band Anvil never needed to heed those warnings: they lived through all of that themselves. From playing concert halls to handfuls of people to having a promoter forget to book them trains, the fiercely funny and astoundingly sweet "Anvil! The Story of Anvil" tells the story of a hard rock group that showed some promise, went nowhere and soldiered on regardless. Few rock films are as funny or emotional as this sincere all time masterpiece.

When "Standing in the Shadows of Motown" came out in 2002, it accomplished exactly what it intended to do: take a group of talented musicians who played on virtually every single Motown classic in existence and flush them out from anonymity. The Funk Brothers' list of credits is nearly endless. Although the archival footage and interviews help bring context to their talent, it's the live performances captured for the film with the likes of Bootsy Collins and Ben Harper that prove that even after all these years, they still have a mojo that just cannot be replicated. Inspiring.

While it was understandable that some would be skeptical whether actor Michael Rapaport,  — famous for his roles in Quentin Tarantino and Woody Allen films — would be able to pull off a full-blown authorized documentary on one of the greatest rap groups of all time, he actually surprised everyone with the end result. Focused primarily on a reunion event that few people saw coming, the film spends less time painting the picture of how Tribe changed the face of hip-hop and more time focusing on the feuding power dynamics between Q-Tip, Phife Dawg, Ali Shaheed Muhammad and Jarobi White. The film isn't exploitative but merely captures a group of legends struggling to come to terms with each other years after dropping some of the greatest albums in hip-hop history. It's compelling regardless of your familiarity with the Tribe and the kind of passion project that lends itself to immense re-watchability.

What's most remarkable about Alex Gibney's long-overdue overview of the funk legend James Brown is just how unconventional the "Get On Up" singer is. By Brown's own admission, he was far from the prettiest entertainer to ever take the stage, so he had to work twice as hard at his dancing and singing to make himself into a musical force. "Mr. Dynamite" is both wildly entertaining and exacting, showing just how much fun a James Brown show was as well as diving deep into his personal life and domineering nature. For example, he'd flash hand signals to a band member onstage to indicate how much of their pay was being docked for playing a bum note. James Brown was always a fascinating figure, but this film electrifies his narrative with energy and vigor.

After being diagnosed with Alzheimer's, the Rhinestone Cowboy himself appeared to be headed to an early retirement. However, with the help of his family both onstage and off, Glen Campbell persisted, and his "farewell tour" is captured in this incredible document. What's perhaps most surprising about "I'll Be Me" is director James Keach's desire to show Campbell in all states: when he's onstage and very happy, when he can't remember something in a hotel room and is angry, and when he goes back out on stage but can't quite remember which part of the verse he's supposed to come in on. At times heartbreaking but generally inspiring, "I'll Be Me" is one of the more remarkable music documentaries to come out in the past two decades. It even netted Campbell an Oscar nomination for Best Original Song.

Of all the films on this list, it's probably best to go in as cold as you can to "Searching for Sugar Man." Some surprises are best not spoiled. But if you don't mind a bit of a reveal, the film chronicles two fans from Cape Town, South Africa, who try to settle the rumor of how musician Sixto Rodriguez died. His 1970 album "Cold Fact" was a bonafide hit in South Africa when it came out, but the fact that this dedicated musician killed himself on stage broke many hearts — elevating his story (and by extension, his music) to the point of legend. So as these fans get closer to what went down, they soon shockingly discover something that no one expected: that Rodriguez is, in fact, alive and well, living in his hometown in Detroit. The fans meet him, inform him that he's one of the popular musicians of all time in South Africa, and he should probably come back to see his fans — and the filmmakers were there to capture it all.

On paper, a documentary about former Orange Juice frontman and "A Girl Like You" crooner Edwyn Collins might not seem like much. Then you learn about the two cerebral hemorrhages that Collins suffered in 2005 and the effect left on his life. All of this would make for a compelling story in and of itself, but directors James Hall and Edward Lovelace give "The Possibilities  Are Endless" a truly unique visual interpretation, avoiding typical rock-doc tropes to instead make a movie that's less like a documentary and more like a real-life art house film about how our own lives will one day deteriorate. The end result is more Shane Carruth than it is "Behind the Music." Who would've guessed that such a treatment was exactly what we needed for a film that explores life, mortality and our shared love of pop music?

While Martin Scorsese's epic-length "No Direction Home" manages to cover more ground on Dylan due to scope alone, it is D.A. Pennebaker's raw "Don't Look Back" that will go down as arguably the best music documentary of Dylan on film. Elliptical in structure and pieced together from hours of fly-on-the-wall recordings, Pennebaker shows Dylan dealing with the sudden, massive amount of fame that has been thrust upon him — leading him to turn a wry joke one minute and be rude to his musician friends the next. Decades before the rock documentary formula was perfected and then oversaturated, Pennebaker created a remarkable film that feels about as close as you can get to meeting peak-era Dylan without actually being there yourself.

When Spike Lee directed the "Bad 25" documentary for the epic 2012 re-release of Michael Jackson's landmark album "Bad," the ensuing film was... fine. It had a lot of behind-the-scenes material, including a lot of what went into each music video that was made, but it was very surface-level/fan-service. For his "Off the Wall" companion, however, he pulled out all the stops and provided the world with the most comprehensive view of a young, tireless Michael Jackson making the transition from child star to pop icon. Early footage of him perfecting his dancing is nothing short of incredible, but the best reveal might be in a letter he penned on a bus once, talking about how he's sick of being the kid from the Jackson 5 and will work harder and do better than any entertainer that came before him. He was hungry for success, and as we all later found out, all that hard work paid off in spectacular fashion.

Have you heard of a band called The Dandy Warhols? Or maybe The Brian Jonestown Massacre? No? Well, then you are the perfect candidate to see "DiG!" — one of the greatest rock documentaries ever made. Detailing a rivalry between two like-minded alternative rock groups, Ondi Timoner's epic film details a seven-year period where the Dandys work their way into mid-range success as the talented-but-troubled frontman of The Brian Jonestown Massacre basically self-sabotages himself at every possible moment. With remarkable characters like wise-cracking tambourine player Joel Gion and too many I-can't-believe-they-were-there-to-film-that moments to count, "DiG!" is a film about friendship, record label politics and rock music that was deemed a classic the second it hit Sundance (and handily walked away with the Grand Jury Prize).

Much like "Standing in the Shadows of Motown," Morgan Neville's soulful documentary about female backup singers through the years is downright compelling. While a litany of top-tier talking heads show up to sing the praises of those vocalists who helped define our favorite moments from our favorite songs, it's the women like Lisa Fischer, Merry Clayton, and the inimitable Darlene Love who make the most compelling case for their own recognition. They thought that backup singing was just a step to becoming a star when the truth of the matter is their gig is rough in just about any era of music. While honest in presenting its information, the singalong by film's end proves to be that perfect amount of uplift for a movie that would later go on to win the Academy Award for Best Feature Documentary.