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Filmmaker's Diary:
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The big day. I've actually been staying at Ned and his wife Anne's
house for this weekend. 
Sleeping
on the couch with their three dogs spread all over me like lumpy, hairy, snoring
blankets. Staying at Ned's sort of fucks up my whole objectivity goal. I'm depending
on him for shelter, food, transportation, introductions to interview subjects,
etc. I also know that the rest of the band figures the movie's really about
him. I can try to work against it, or overcompensate for their sake, or I can
just acknowledge that because of the situation (and the fact that he and I have
been friends for a decade and a half), that Ned is going to probably end up
being the focal point. The person that leads us through this journey, and acts
as our eyes. Even if those eyes can't always be trusted to tell the truth. [
Dude, how can my eyes 'tell the truth'?] Given that, the day
became just me following him, moment to moment, as he prepared for the show.
I shot and interviewed him all day as he made CDs to sell at the show (for $6.66
each), got gear together, and made about a million phone calls.
I realize I've not taken much if any time to describe the personalities of Dave, Alyson, Michael, Donny and Robby. This is only because I'm trying to lay down with a fat, wet brush the broad strokes of the weekend. Each of them are revealed pretty nicely in their respective sections, and while relating to each other. It's going to work great in the movie. Provided that that there is a movie. But to lay it out it in a stupid, simplistic Hollywood way:
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| Dave's the Artistic One |
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Michael's the Shy One |
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Donny's the Crazy One
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| Alyson's the Passionate One |
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Robby's the Expert |
and Ned's the Mastermind.
Or they're not ... those things.
The Last Show Ever was to be a giant production for them. Bubble wrap on the club floor for the audience to jump up and down on, temporary tattoos and T-shirts and other merchandise, guest performers, some of them traveling from Georgia, Alabama, North Carolina (I came from LA), tributes, retrospectives, staged fights, a piñata filled with rotting meats and cheeses, and of course, a movie crew. This was not just any good-bye ... this was to be a Viking funeral.
In the afternoon, an interview with Dave and Ned that I thought wasn't going
to happen was suddenly on like Donkey Kong. This was something that for weeks
before coming to town I knew I'd need to get. Dave didn't want to come over
at first. He needed to take a disco nap in order to be rested for the big set
that probably wouldn't start until close to midnight. He also was awaiting the
arrival of Balzac, a performer from Montgomery who was coming to the show to
pay a special tribute to the band by setting his balls on fire. 
So
it looked like the interview was off. But then he changed his mind.I don't know
if it's because he couldn't sleep, or if he just couldn't let Ned have all the
say. Whatever it was, it ended up being the best stuff I'd recorded yet. I'm
so happy to have captured these two very sharp, funny guys talking about their
working and personal relationship in a way that they seem never to have done
before. What's great and what sucks about being in a band, which one's Lennon
and which is McCartney, and how PopCanon is a giant, elaborate building that's
always on fire. It's also a great interview because about three quarters of
the way through, we see something go wrong.
It's only the beginning.
Just a phone call.
Robby the drummer saying he's going to be a bit late tonight.
Then another call.
Then Dave has to go.
The tension starts.
Ned's running late. He's not going to be able to get all the things he wanted done. We've gotta go load up. The sun goes down. In the van, Ned is quiet. During load up I put down the camera a second to give him a hug. He's as rigid as a two-by-four. I ride to the club with Alyson, who's pretty relaxed. She sees no reason to be tense when this is their moment to shine.
The next couple of hours are a blur for me. I'm running cords all over the Common Grounds, hooking them to my belt, meeting Jeff Lotz, the guy Ned got to operate the pro camera for the master shot in the back of the house, labeling tapes, blah, blah, blah. Much too quickly, the show is upon us.
The opening act for the evening is Squeaky, PopCanon's favorite band. They've played together over twenty times in the last five years, and they blow the roof off the joint. But what's most amazing about them is how much they really care about their friends in PopCanon. Their love for each other is palpable. The Squeaky boys, Hairy, Steve, Karl and Shermy D., have purchased trophies to present each member of PopCanon in a sweet ceremony in the middle of their scorching set. They finish up by playing a tribute song aptly called 'PopCanon', written just for the occasion.
Later they'd really show how much they care.
We're here. It's time. Donny has made an announcement instructing the crowd to "get the fuck out" of the club so they can put down the bubble wrap. Robby still has not arrived. The club, which usually gets a crowd of about 30 to 50, has swollen to over two hundred. There's not going to be time for a sound check. This is it. Do or die.
What will happen?
I'll tell ya later. In cinematic form.
For now, just know that the Last Show Ever was one of the most bizarre, draining, difficult and yet exhilarating events I've ever been a part of. And I got it all on tape.
In fact, I got a lot more. From the end of the show at 3:35am (that's right, they played for nearly four hours and still didn't finish) to 10:45am of the next day, I followed Ned as he experienced what I can only term as a psychic breakdown. [Sealed in a pod of horror, wrapped in my Overcoat of Shame!]
I shot Dave's departure from Gainesville as he began a tour with his other band the very same day.
I shot Alyson saying that the weird way they went out is exactly appropriate given the history of the band.
"That's PopCanon."
I returned to G'ville on JUNE 16, 2001 (just one day shy of being exactly seven years to the day after the band had been formed) to give them a more formal and acceptable way to go out. I directed a controlled soundstage shoot of several PopCanon songs in our continued attempt to rip off 'The Last Waltz'. Another example of a little idea we were just tossing around that Ned actually brought to fruition. Also another example of me acting the part of the director who knows how to direct a multi-camera soundstage shoot, with lighting and separate audio recording. I got lucky with that one, thanks to Kristin Davy, Rachel Sandals, Jeff Lotz, Moe Rodriguez and Mike Rotolante. They did the work and I just ran the show. And the footage is beautiful. You should see it. Somebody should see it.
And to fully complete the circle, I returned for a third time to shoot the band's 'Reunification Show' with Squeaky (a mere eight months after having broken up), on FEBRUARY 2nd, 2002, exactly one year to the day after reading the PopCanon Rant & Rave that got this whole stone rolling. That's symmetry, motherfucker! [Wheels within wheels, people...]
Now that stone is a huge boulder. And it's stuck. More or less motionless.
But the guy who first started writing this entry in a panicky, depressed mood in the wee hours of the morning is gone. It's a new day now. The sun's out, and I'm reborn. The process of recounting for you, in however general a manner, the incredible experience of making this movie has been a resounding wake up call.
This film has to be finished.
Ain't nothin' to it but to do it.
I hope if anyone is still reading at this point that you'll revisit this journal, as I will attempt to update it regularly. I'll also try to fill in a few of the blanks I left empty in this already embarrassingly long confessional. In addition, Ned has uploaded a number of stills and clips from the film, and we'll be updating those constantly as well. So you can check out our progress.
That's it for now.
I'm going to sleep.
-- from 4 June 2002