The Cinematography of Blind Joe Death

I remember the first time I heard John Fahey. It was on a compilation of experimental artists, and sounded like a man barely able to string together a simple melody. The hesitancy in the playing, the tension in the silences between two notes that would eventually seem to be an obvious progression: I decided that either this musician was a genius or another cheeky chancer fooling people like me who posture as "open-minded."

Setting it alongside a recording of The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death, it was pretty clear that the tentative plucking was deliberate. I spent the next five years collecting whatever I could find by Fahey, mostly in the racks at Glasgow's Monorail Music.

In Search of Blind Joe Death does not do justice to Fahey's career. Very much an introduction to the man and his music - and being very generous about his later experiments in making tuneless noise - it arranges some impressive talking heads (his ex-wife, Pete Townshend) to make the claim that he is far too obscure for a man of such talent. While that is certainly true - Fahey was responsible for re-invigorating both bluegrass and the blues, filtering them through an Indian sensitivity to improvisation, and literally rediscovered a few great lost bluesmen by sending hopeful postcards to their last known address - the narrative takes the predictable path.

The young man of such talent is displaced by the battles against substance abuse (alcohol, sleeping pills and soft drinks that gave him diabetes) before retreating into an old age of isolation: just like in that documentary about Hunter S Thompson, the mythical tale of the artist who showed such promise interrupts any serious attempt to consider their legacy.

The film is a primer on Fahey's life, allusive but not analytical. Reading from Fahey's writings give biographical details, without illuminating the character of a man whom his ex-wife calls "a spiritual detective," a phrase suggesting that his ideas and music were interlinked. Despite the Big Words splashed over his album titles (Time, Causality, Epiphany, Live in Tasmania), there's little sense of Fahey's intelligence - a problem made worse by interview footage of his last years.

Fortunately, there is plenty of Fahey's music to enjoy, and extracts from interviews with those who knew him. As a fan, I enjoyed hearing how Thurston Moore recognised a kindred spirit in Fahey, or Townshend's description of him as a sort of William Burroughs of the guitar is a splendid tribute. The ending is depressing - no beautiful early sides can make up for an old age spent naked in bed in a grotty hotel room.

In Search of Blind Joe Death: The Saga of John Fahey

Tuesday 19 February