As Jay Bulger, the director of this biographical documentary on drummer Ginger Baker, having spent days interviewing his subject, is assaulted by Baker on his way out of his remote South African compound, you realise that the sign by the gate is not a warning. It's a threat. And those of us who need to prepare ourselves for Mr. Baker, to beware, are the only ones at fault, and he's gonna make sure we know it. There ought to be more people like him. And he's not giving us a helpful heads up, he's just showing off. What else do you want a man so revered by his peers to do? The story of Baker's career, from band to band, country to country, from jazz to rock to polo and back, isn't particularly remarkable, although it is engaging. What makes it compelling is craggy-faced, shaggy-haired Ginger, higher than an angel on amphetamines and blazing his way through drumkits and musicians and friends and families. The only constant for this man, described by one former wife as being unable to stay rather than needing to move on, is his cantankerousness, his brutish disregard for human beings. His respect for music and his love of animals? Now there's a man with his head screwed on right. On the verge of bankruptcy, estranged from members (and former members) of his family, reliant on medication, he hasn't even touched the drums for months, and yet what is there to do but marvel at the guy? All the money, drugs and people he abused because it was there to be abused, because his heart was only in his music, and all the damage he's done - the old bastard's still alive, and as volatile as he ever was.
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