And not a minute too soon

WORKING-CLASS ACT The late D. Boon, Mike Watt and George Hurley, from left, in the days before documentarians could peddle their stories on the film-fest circuit.

With its intricate, miniaturized songs, impressionistically political lyrics and funky, off-kilter rhythms, San Pedro, California's Minutemen created its own universe to help fend off the conformity of the '80s. No other American punk band from that era remains as perpetually endearing and inspirational.

One fan, 32-year-old Keith Schieron, was inspired to make a Minutemen documentary—a project he'd talked about for about half his life, ever since first reading about the band in his older brother's Spin magazines in 1989.

The dream of the Seattle-based first-time filmmaker started to become a reality in 2001, when Schieron visited his high school buddy Tim Irwin in Utah. Irwin had found success as a filmmaker, crafting BMX and dirt-bike documentaries, shooting sporting events such as the Tour de France, and teaching film at his other alma mater, Brigham Young University.Schieron left his friend a cryptic note: "Minute by Minute—the story of the Minutemen, a story by Tim Irwin. Do this."

Irwin, who shared the same formative impressions of the band, assented. But he challenged Schieron, who majored in music at Santa Clara University, to produce the project they'd both had in the back of their minds since taking video-production classes in high school. Schieron decided he'd let someone else decide whether the duo was worthy of the challenge: Minutemen bassist Mike Watt.

Schieron says he told Watt, "'It's gonna look really good.' I was trying to communicate that we weren't clowns. He said, 'I don't care how it looks, just as long as the idea and the inspiration behind the band is communicated.'" Schieron was shocked when Watt gave him the thumbs up in 2002. "When he said yes, it was like, 'Geez, we kinda have to do it,' and there was no turning back. The next thing we knew, we were rolling."

Shooting began in 2003, and the result—52 "tell us about the Minutemen" interviews later—is We Jam Econo: The Story of theMinutemen, which makes its Chicago debut at the Chicago Underground Film Festival (CUFF) on Saturday 20.

The Minutemen were influential for young punks across America, yes, but the trio's legend and rep with skaters and arty, political punks only grew after the death of its guitarist-singer D. (Dennes) Boon on December 22, 1985, in a car accident. But its story has never been told satisfactorily, its secrets rarely delved into, and few of the band's younger but fervent fans (including the filmmakers) saw the group perform live on the hard-core punk circuit of the mid-'80s.

We Jam Econo (that's Minutemenspeak for "we do what we do with minimal flourish") features 25 songs performed by the group (more will be included on a forthcoming DVD), culled from amateur videos and professional shoots that recorded such events as the band's first-paying gig at the Starwood in Hollywood in 1980 and an acoustic set for an L.A. public-access station.

There are excerpts from a Bard College interview with the band just before its final tour, opening for R.E.M., in which Boon pricelessly and un-self-consciously refers to R.E.M.'s frontman as "Michael Snipe." A procession of seminal punk-rock talking heads, from Henry Rollins to Thurston Moore to Circle Jerks singer Keith Morris, weighs in on the band's unique character and overall cosmic importance. Watt's mom, Jean, also chimes in.

The interview process revealed to Schieron just how highly regarded the trio remains today. "I was so impressed," he says. "People were actually excited to meet us, which blew us away. If you had told me when I was 14 or 15, and buying Minutemen and Saccharine Trust and Minor Threat records, that I was gonna someday meet these guys and they'd be interested in me, I would have never believed it."

We Jam Econo, inspired by the Minutemen's DIY ethic, was a self-funded effort, made by friends with a shared dream that enveloped their lives. "All along, people kept telling us, 'We hope you finish,'" Schieron says, "and I couldn't understand what they meant. Not finishing wasn't even an option."

Schieron initially planned to distribute DVDs by mail order from his home. But since selling out the 1,500-seat Warner Grand Theatre in San Pedro for the film's February 25 premiere, he's had no shortage of offers for screenings in the States and Europe. The film played in Portland for a month, and in London, New York and Los Angeles for a week at a time. Schieron picked up distribution before the film was completed and a DVD deal is being inked, so he doesn't need to work the festivals to drum up interest. But he's screening the film at a few (such as CUFF), where he's made a personal connection with the organizers. After CUFF, the film will be shown at the Gene Siskel Film Center from August 26 to September 1.

The film's warm reception should come as no surprise: The flannel-wearing Watt remains an honest-to-goodness punk hero throughout Econo—the kind of hardworking, accessible rocker to whom a teen fan can hand a demo tape and end up getting taken out to dinner. And likewise, Watt frames the narrative by taking the filmmakers (and us) on a tour of San Pedro, recounting mishaps from the band's early days, his friendship with Boon and the role that Boon's mother, a guitarist, played in the direction of the band. His "no one got it" explanation of some of the meaning behind the insular Minutemen's cover art and lyrics will have fans talking for years. And Watt, through a number of allusions, almost fills in a gap the film makes little attempt to address: historical context.

The polarization of American culture and politics in the '80s—El Salvador and the onslaught of Reaganomics and the moral majority—are practically nowhere to be found in Econo, which almost regards Boon's manifestos as curiosities. But Schieron has an explanation: "The reason we didn't [include the political and cultural context] is because, as amazing and magical as the time and place was, and how the stars aligned for this band to come out of the harbor town of San Pedro, at the same time we wanted [to show] that anybody could do this."

Schieron remembers seeing Watt having a chat with the audience, at the end of many of the 30-plus shows he saw by Watt and drummer George Hurley's post-Minutemen band fIREHOSE. "Watt would get up there and go, 'Come on in, the water's fine: Go start your own band, go paint your own painting, go write your own book,'—[that] type of thing. 'This isn't some exclusive club.' "

We Jam Econo: The Story of the Minutemen screens at the Chicago Underground Film Fest Saturday 20 and at the Gene Siskel Film Center August 26 to September 1. See www.cuff.org and Film for more on the fest.