User Reviews

Rolling Stone columnist Jay Bulger presents the cinematic biography of Ginger Baker, drum kit legend and certifiable maniac. In his prime, Ginger was probably the most innovative drummer in the world, combining aspects of improvisational jazz, tribal African beats and power rock to change the sound of popular music overnight. He may no longer be a household name, probably hasn’t been in forty years, but fellow superstars Neil Peart (Rush), Stewart Copeland (The Police), Nick Mason (Pink Floyd), Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers) and about a dozen others are here to lend their considerable credentials and tell us exactly why he was so important to the sonic landscape. Like the metaphorical star that burns twice as bright, Ginger’s meteoric career shot through the atmosphere in a flash. The passionate fire that fueled his scathing rhythms also made for unbearable heat in the dressing room, which is why he soon found himself the most talented drummer on the unemployment line. Lunacy is not a new state of mind for Baker, who discarded styles like spent cigarettes and once left behind a tumultuous rock star’s life to aimlessly pilot a Range Rover through the Sahara. Age has done little to dull his pointy edges. We’re given ample evidence of that in the very first shot, where the irate old man cracks his biographer on the nose with a cane. Throughout his interviews, Baker proves to be a gruff, hostile subject, and that extends well beyond the physical attack. He scoffs at basic biographical questions, bristles over old beefs, gripes about disrespect and belittles the audience when informed they probably wouldn’t recognize an obscure ’60s band leader by first name only. In other words, he’s a real peach, sequestered as he is in a fenced South African hideaway that mirrors his emotional seclusion. His story is plenty colorful though, with all sorts of unlikely connections, and his music still holds up through the intervening decades. And, as much of a **** as he can be, Ginger’s honest and respectful when it comes to his influences. He’s at his most open when speaking about a backstage encounter with Max Roach or his self-promoted “drum battles” against Art Blakey, Elvin Jones and Phil Seamen. The guy knew how to give back, even if he didn’t exactly pay anything forward. Rich musical homework with an intriguing subject. I didn’t feel an ounce of pity for the man in the middle of the vortex, but instead mourned the greater influence he might have granted the world at large.