Perhaps the vital importance of music has never been seen more clearly than in prison. It becomes, rather than a means of artistic expression, part of yourself that is totally free, even if you are in captivity. In Ben Harbert’s new documentary, “Follow Me Down: Portraits of Louisiana Prison Musicians,” in which he examines a variety of Louisiana Prisons, he aims to “show that work that music does.”
Maybe the performances do not each show specifically what that work is, but each song certainly conveys the strength of that work. Just as the music in the film interrupts a person’s sense of imprisonment, Harbert seeks to interrupt what he calls the pornography of prison imagery present in our media with his film.
And indeed, every moment of the film effectively subverts the viewer’s preconceptions of prison — ideas that have been ingrained in a society’s consciousness not by actual knowledge of prison, but largely through prison movies. Harbert’s focus on unseen aspects of prison is so effective that when a piece of recognizable prison imagery is seen, it is almost shocking.
The shock doesn’t merely suggest that one’s ideas of prison are incomplete, but rather that they are entirely misconceived. Even those images left intact — such as the occasional presence of guards, firearms, and things like solitary confinement — are seen in a different context, and as a jolting reminder that, even if you can escape briefly through music, this is still prison.
The imagery is done with creative intention, Harbert presented “Follow Me Down,” as a concert film, and intends it to be received as one. But most of the film’s power comes from the music.
Gospel is the most prevalent genre in the film. But jazz, blues, country, rock (even some wonderful rap/metal fusion), R&B and rap also appear in the film’s wide range of performances. Though the styles, and perhaps talent, vary from prison to prison, person to person or group to group, all the music is personal, and it is powerful.
But Harbert’s ability to find such powerful music is not his only success. You get the sense from watching the film that Harbert is filming people who happen to be prisoners, whereas in most other depictions, they are prisoners who also happen to be people.
The viewer gets to know the performers, not only through their songs, but through personal interviews, for which you might guess they were asked, rather than to talk about prison or their reason for being incarcerated, to just talk about themselves. The intimacy achieved with some of the performers — many of whom are convicted murderers — forces the viewer to struggle with their opinions about incarceration.
When the audience finds out certain people were convicted, it’s of secondary importance to their personality, and to their artistry. When it is not revealed, it is inconsequential, as well. They are more than the crimes they committed or the sentences they received. They are people, and they are performers. Their music is a vehicle for their individuality, and a piece of freedom that can’t be taken away.
“Follow Me Down: Portraits of Louisiana Prison Musicians,” is the first in a yearlong series focusing on issues of prison, and the second event in this season’s DePaul Humanities Center programs. The season will continue next week with “The Horror of the Humanities 2,” at which the film “Kill List” will be screened, with director Ben Wheatley in attendance.