When being chaotic and unstructured is more than justified

"May the world always belong to the fans!"Antònia Font used to say. Well, look, maybe not always; and not everyone, everyone, everything would be necessary either. But in the 1990s, the world of alternative music belonged to five young Californians who made their amateurism their flagship: Pavement, the group champion of philosophy slacker. That is to say: defending that the best thing you can do in this life and in art is… hanging out. Without any obligations whatsoever. In fact, the best things in life often don't have a script: a conversation that drags on after dinner, a night you were out for a while and ended up in the wee hours, a game of ribs where the result doesn't matter, or a musical career in which, without seeking it or forcing it, you suddenly become the accidental idol of an entire generation.

Pavements, the documentary that portrays them, doesn't have much of a script either. It's a tangle of images, hanging from one another, in which, in the background, a certain chronological thread can sometimes be discerned. It had been announced to us as a formally daring work that combined documentary, biopic with actors and a Broadway musical. And scattered here and there, bits of all this are there, yes. But they are part of a totum revolutum A lanky, but, when you look at it closely, very honest, if you want to explain who Pavement was: an unambitious but 100% representative group. Because seeing this hodgepodge of images of colleagues doing different, but mundane, things (sometimes, music), you realize that you and your group could have easily starred in them.