ALL ROADS LEAD TO WILLIAMSBURG: Sufjan Stevens with trucks, sans trucker hat.

Never has it been cheaper and easier to make a music documentary. This fact has led to some fantastic projects and a boatload of awful crap—much of it bankrolled by the artists being documented (or, worse yet, their record labels). So it is with a dose of childlike glee that we greet the documentaries and concert films presented by the NW Film Center’s 27th Reel Music festival. Here’s a rundown of some of the flicks selected this year.

Ashes of American Flags

Does the world need another Wilco documentary? After 2002’s bleak I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, with its label drama and dissolution of a songwriting duo, the answer is most definitely no. But the Chicago rock band’s legacy stretches beyond Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and Ashes is a fine document of one of the best live acts on the planet. A concert film first, the best thing Ashes does is completely distance itself from Break Your Heart; instead of shooting for a grand narrative about the pitfalls of touring, it simply showcases a tight, dynamic outfit that’s become the 21st-century version of the Grateful Dead. Wilco has gone through countless phases (alt-country, studio experimentation, dad rock), and here we see the professional road-warrior outfit, led by a cleaned-up Jeff Tweedy. MM. 9:15 pm Friday-Saturday, Jan. 8-9.

Mighty Uke

It’s time we gave this plinky, four-stringed Hawaiian novelty some respect. Members of the global “uke revolution,” from Palestinian-Israeli string groups and Swedish goth-metal harlots to Canadian schoolkids and Santa Cruz retirees, demand it. Tony Coleman’s winsome documentary juggles interviews with the wee guitar’s modern day partisans (including ukelele master Jake Shimabukuro) with scenes from its history as an island king’s party entertainment. Filled with smiles and trilling finger work, Mighty Uke’s an ode to a low-expectation instrument that brings people together, inspiring devotion, and occasionally virtuosity, with every sing-along of “Aloha ‘Oe.” KC. 7 pm Saturday, Jan. 9. Followed by performances by the Portland Ukulele Project.

The Agony and the Ecstasy of Phil Spector

Phil Spector tends to freak people out. He’s a loner, a megalomaniac, a convicted murderer and just kind of an asshole. The Agony and the Ecstasy of Phil Spector—a mesmerizing and dense film that builds on interviews with the legendary rock producer that took place just before his first murder trial—confirms all of those notions. As happens in any great biography, director Vikram Jayanti humanizes his subject, too. Spector is an emotionally stunted man-child, but he’s also a wealth of pop-history knowledge. And sure, he compares himself to da Vinci a lot, but hearing the Crystals’ “Then He Kissed Me,” it’s kind of hard to argue the point. What’s surprising is that, after years in self-imposed exile in his L.A. mansion, Spector seems surprisingly sane. Sure, he says crazy shit—his famous murder-trial ’fro was “a tribute to Ben Wallace, the Detroit Pistons forward”—but he’s with it enough to think other people are crazy. “Ask Brian Wilson what it’s like to get the Spector sound,” an animated Spector asks Jayanti. “He’s still, at age 65, going through craziness, playing ‘Be My Baby’ every morning…he’s a little cuckoo over it.” Fascinating. CJ. 7 pm Friday, Jan. 15.

The BQE

Oh, Sufjan Stevens, you cruel man. It’s now been four years since the talented singer-songwriter dropped his last proper record, Illinois. In the meantime, Stevens has been consumed with releasing instrumental drivel like The BQE, a mixed-media ode to the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Originally performed live at the Brooklyn Academy of Music 2007 with costumed female hula-hoop dancers, it’s now being packaged as a CD and DVD of the 16-mm video projections of traffic congestion that accompanied the performance. As a 40-minute piece of sub-Gershwin schmaltz, it’s OK; as something to watch in theaters or at home, it’s incredibly boring. Stevens is still a talent—check the sudden shift to a buzzing electronic number at the halfway point—but The BQE does nothing to dispel the notion that he’s also a self-absorbed prick who’s afraid to follow up his finest moment. MM. 9 pm Saturday, Jan. 16.