Basement Symphony

Basement Symphony is an observational documentary that offers a glimpse into a live jam session on a Friday night. It begins with the camera descending into a basement, then cuts to various close-up shots of instruments. The film gradually introduces each instrument, allowing the viewer to distinguish their individual sounds throughout the session. In a way, it celebrates the essence of music, and jazz in particular, by drawing attention to each unique sonic layer.

Often, music can blur individual sounds together, making us overlook the distinct voices of different instruments. I wanted to capture the emotion I felt witnessing this moment. I’m not a musical person, so I was genuinely surprised to see how naturally each member of the band synchronized their playing and contributed to one another’s sound.

Initially, I had planned to make a documentary on a completely different topic. But on a Friday afternoon, we were spontaneously invited by a group of strangers to their basement. We were hesitant at first, but they seemed friendly, and we thought it would be interesting to see what was going on. When we arrived and headed downstairs, a small studio-like playroom was revealed. That experience became the heart of this film.

I wanted to translate that feeling into the structure of the documentary. That’s why we start upstairs, slowly making our way down, eventually unveiling the full band. It creates a sense of curiosity and surprise, as if the viewer is intruding, yet welcomed at the same time. I didn’t want to throw the audience right into the action. Instead, I wanted to preserve that sense of exploration, something observational documentaries often excel at. They mirror our own experience as filmmakers.

My goal was to recreate what it felt like to be a stranger in that basement. I used techniques that made the camera feel like just another person in the room. One of my favorite parts of the documentary is observing everyone's facial expressions. The singer, for example, is effortlessly going with the flow, her laid-back vibe mirroring her voice, which ties everything together. The drummer’s face is expressive and dynamic, just like the rhythms he creates. The guitarists smile at each other and join in on the singing, showing how fluid and unstructured the melody is. One of the most special moments is seeing my friend Avery on the piano. She hadn’t expected to play that night, but when we arrived, they invited her to join in. Watching her excitement and joy reminded me of the notes she was playing, it was as if her emotions flowed directly into the keys. The music itself felt like a character, reflecting and amplifying everyone’s emotions. It was the thing that connected everyone into one evolving symphony.

Observational documentaries aim to record life without interference, and I appreciated how my presence didn’t seem to disturb the music or the interactions between band members. They were in their own worlds, and I was just a fly on the wall.

Watching this scene unfold reminded me of Grey Gardens (1975), especially the moments where the two women are singing and dancing. In those scenes, the filmmaker becomes almost invisible, allowing the subjects to simply exist. In Grey Gardens, we gain insight into the women’s personalities through their speech, behavior, and environment. Similarly, in my film, there is little to no dialogue, but we get to know each person through their music and expressions. Like in Grey Gardens, the setting also tells a story. I included still shots of objects and details around the house; a Lego sunflower in the window, lava lamps scattered throughout, cozy rugs hanging in the basement. These personal touches make it clear that the space is lived-in and shared, just like the music being played. It’s a space built through collective presence.

Musical documentaries like Jazz (2001), Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool (2019), Blue Note Records: Beyond the Notes (2018), and The Wrecking Crew (2008) also give space to the instruments. In those films, studio sessions and jams become protagonists in their own right. Most of the time, these documentaries blend multiple modes; observational, expository, reflexive, and performative.

My documentary, Basement Symphony, uses the observational approach to create a candid, immersive experience. I didn’t want it to focus on personal backstories. I wanted the viewer to feel as unaware as I was in that moment, where all that mattered was the present and the music being created. The instruments take center stage; everything else like where the musicians are from, how old they are, their backgrounds, becomes irrelevant.

I intentionally avoided the performative mode. I wanted the film to remain simple, letting the sounds themselves bring meaning and depth. What I love about observational documentaries is how they don’t tell you what to think. They simply place you in a moment and let you observe, as if you’re having a private experience with the subject. That’s the kind of documentary I aimed to make, one that offers something new with every viewing. With every watch you are able to notice and appreciate different things. There’s no narration to guide you, like in expository docs. It’s all about what you see, hear, and feel in real time.