When Sam Jones began filming a portrait of a rock band practically at the zenith of their career, he had no idea that his film would tell another story: about major record labels whose market philosophy sometimes veers outside the creative world they promote. The band Wilco writes, rehearses, records (in the black-and-white images of its native Chicago) and speaks through the lips of song-writer Jeff Tweedy of the desire “to somewhat destroy what we create ourselves, to hack open the casing and see what mechanism is ticking away inside”. A series of effective, melodic beat songs, veiled here and there in psychedelic clusters (perhaps related to Beatles songs during the era of the “Revolver” album) are to be recorded for the Reprisa label, however, the company decides this isn’t the kind of music they’re looking for – considering them too complex for today’s pop music – so it withdraws from the contract. The album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot does eventually come out, however. Not only is it hailed by the critics (The Village Voice, Rolling Stone) as one of the greatest albums of 2002, but it also adds an unexpected punchline to the film and, indeed, the band. A story about a band which, confronted by illusions of independence, finally discovers itself.