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Every city’s music scene is stuck with a guy like Ryan Avery. He’s not especially talented, but he’s got a boatload of ideas in his head, he’s fearless about presenting them onstage, and though his antics can be annoying, his enthusiasm is the glue that keeps the scene together. The opening minutes of Paul Eagleston’s and Stephen Rose’s documentary are a run-through of Avery’s many projects in the Phoenix art and music underground, among them noise-rock acts (Night Wolf, Iggy Pop), an a cappella duo (the Best Friends), solo performances (Silverchair), improv comedy (Catorce), and an old-school hardcore band called Fathers Day. That last act is slightly more important than the rest: Various interviewees keep suggesting that Avery’s dad did serious psychic damage to Ryan and his brothers, but though dad does appear on camera, nobody, including the filmmakers, addresses the issue head-on. (According to a Phoenix New Times story, Ryan’s mom filed divorce papers saying the kids were “subjected to prolonged emotional abuse” by his dad.) It’s impossible to dislike Avery, a cheery and cherubic young man without an ounce of poseur in him, and the film has an interesting turn at the end, but between the storytelling holes and the frivolity of his projects, his story ultimately feels lightweight. —MA