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Making a documentary is a labor of love, just like making a record. It's no coincidence that documentarian Chris Surchorsky, whose first independent film, Failure, documents--you guessed it--his failure to make a film, was compelled to capture the long, generally boring, sporadically productive days a band spends in the recording studio. His latest film, Golden Days, a feature-length profile of the Brooklyn band The Damnwells, is currently making the festival rounds, and I was lucky enough to catch a January 2 screening at New York's Anthology Film Archives (as part of their New Filmmakers Series).

The story goes something like this. Back in 2001, when major labels still kind of mattered (try to remember a world without iPods, MySpace, or GarageBand) and The Strokes were the biggest thing since--in lieu of "sliced bread", let's use the musical equivalent--Oasis, every indie rock band in Brooklyn was being snapped up by major labels in the hopes that one of them may be another group of scruffy-haired superstars (think every punk band from Seattle, circa the early 1990s). The Damnwells, who kind of look like The Strokes, were one of those indie bands. In 2004, after pressing and packaging (by hand) their own debut EP, a small label started courting them, to their surprise. That's when Epic Records swooped with an offer they couldn't refuse. The boys signed contracts, spent a year making a record, then were dropped before it was released.

According to Suchorsky, he became interested in The Damnwells when he saw them at Maxwell's, in Hoboken, New Jersey, four years ago. He wondered why such a good band was virtually unknown. Through a mutual friend he contacted frontman/songwriter Alex Dezen, and the rest, as they say, is history. Suchorsky stumbled upon some great subjects in Dezen and aging-Chicago-punk-scenester-cum-band-manager, Wes Kidd (who regularly spews aphorisms like, "If you sign with the Devil, you gotta pay the game"). Dezen's earnest, intelligent, and funny commentary throughout the film is nearly annoying but never quite gets there. The kid is too smart and charming and talented to come off as anything other than a good guy and a hard worker who deserves any accolades he receives.

Suchorsky, through his well-rendered portrait of The Damnwells' indie rock/major label struggle--a struggle that's now all but disappearing--explores the concepts of artistry, musicianship, intra-band communication, songwriting, fame, dreams, and success. The "American Dream"-like rise and fall of a Little Band That Could provides an excellent tension that pushes Golden Days out of the dustbin of live music documentaries and into the realm of art. Over the course of the film, as we fall in love with the band, with Alex, as we start rooting for them, we wonder how anyone sells records anymore, how musicians stay focused, how and why they may or may not sell out, how it is that a guy like Alex and a band like The Damnwells--talented and smart but with a mainstream appeal--don't "make it" in the record business.

Proving its appeal, The Damnwells brand of palatable alt-rock (think Wilco; in fact, Golden Days is pretty much a mini I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, the wonderful 2003 documentary about the recording of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot) provides a perfect score for the ups and downs of the band's career. And Surchorsky captures the recording of these songs with admirable skill and instinct, at once showing the hard work and time commitment (the boys seems to age as they sit on the studio couch, aimlessly plucking guitars or flipping through Rolling Stone) and the sheer ridiculousness of playing drums in an isolation booth.

Golden Days is not released, and may never have a theatrical release, according to Suchorsky. So you'll have to catch it on the festival circuit. (Montanans: you're in luck. Golden Days will be shown at the Big Sky Documentary Film Festival in Missoula in February.) Or you can just watch the trailer over and over again until the film is released on DVD.