12 Days of Music Movies

Before we get into the list, we want to say a big thank you for sticking with us this year. We’ve had a blast, and we hope you have too. This is our final newsletter for 2025, and we’ll be back with a bang in January.

We’re working on big plans to deliver more content, including reviews, and we might have a few physical surprises up our sleeves (make sure your profile details are up to date).

In the meantime, we hope you have a peaceful end to 2025, and we cannot wait to get started on 2026.

We hope December has been kind as we slide (or skid at high speed, either way) into the holidays. There are relatively few times throughout the year that you have time to just dedicate to the stuff you love, and with no work commitments pulling your attention.

Unless you’re a dedicated movie buff, and that is your big hobby, in which case any time is movie time, and you’ve probably seen all of these.

Rather than roll out the usual Xmas movies, we’re going with music movies, docu-style, artist-led, and fictional too. A nice mix of everything, so when you are done eating your roast (nut or meat), and sick of looking at Santa, here are 12 options. 

We’ve done our best to identify platforms where they are available, but availability varies by region, as does rental or purchase price. (Most can be found on YouTube in full).

It is so easy to take the skill of real musicians in front of real instruments for granted. We know they spent years, and we know they are excellent when we hear it. But there is something so primal about watching sweat and blood make their way down a stick onto a snare. The nights, the days, the hours, the paid and unpaid tutoring, the countless auditions, the calluses, the self-doubt, and the lack of support from other places…

The movie itself has a fantastic soundtrack, and J.K. Simmons is in some of the finest form you’ll see. Miles Teller, for many, will be this kid, this protege, and not the shoulder-shaking rookie in Top Gun. 

It’s not a documentary, but it is a fantastic watch, even if you don’t like jazz. Maybe it's even better if you don’t like jazz, because it highlights the skill in it. And you might find a new appreciation. 

You might not like Lewis or his music, but the movie offers something deeply personal. For anyone who casually follows pop-ish music, you’ll probably already know about his health struggles, and since this movie was out in 2023, the diagnosis of tourettes isn’t surprising. 

Throughout the documentary, you can feel an intense pressure building: calls from labels seeking the next big song, parents who call it as they see it (in a very Scottish way), and a constant stream of songwriters coming and going while touring. The pressure mounts, Lewis breaks - and in the end, you can do nothing but appreciate his latest album just that little bit more. 

Including The Pretender, which has that extra piece of context, making the writing all the more powerful. 

New to Netflix, but potentially one of the best documentaries in a while. Footage that’s never been seen before shines new light on one of the most infamous murders - information from people who weren’t in a position previously to come forward. There is a lot going on over this four-parter. 

It is impossible to say the footage isn’t cut in a way that is biased and designed to give you the impression that Sean Combs is responsible for a lot more than just his latest disgusting crimes - because it is. But that doesn’t take away from the detectives, other gang members, and co-workers all painting the same picture, and sometimes the pictures get very clear. If you haven’t watched it, you should. 

And, by the end you’ll be screaming at the jurors and asking a lot of questions. 

Back in the land of fiction, but no less potent, opens nice and heavy, so if you’re into screaming guitars, screaming vocals, and fat drums, you’ll appreciate this one from the outset. Riz Ahmed plays Ruben, a touring metal drummer whose entire life is built around volume, movement, and routine. Olivia Cooke plays Lou, his bandmate and partner, sharp-edged and quietly exhausted by the lifestyle they’ve locked themselves into.

But we quickly slide into periods of dulled, muffled sounds. Anyone with hearing loss will find these all too familiar, but for those who don’t, it will give a sharp introduction.

Now, there are deaf musicians across all genres who work through vibrations and visual cues. No less talented. But that doesn’t detract from the palpable upset of going from 100% to 24% and 28% for a drummer, the timekeeper of the music. He’s told to avoid loud sound entirely. As viewers, we experience the hearing loss with him, as sound drops in and out, and he desperately tries to hold on to the thing that defines him.

Add sobriety to the mix, implants that cost more than most people earn in a year, and the constant threat of relapse, and it becomes quietly devastating. A solid reminder to wear earplugs.

Shot in black and white, which already tells you this won’t be romantic, but then some of the best movies you’ll ever see are not warm and fuzzy. Black and white feels right as a choice; for those who’ve listened to Joy Division, you’ll probably understand the bleakness and appreciate it. 

Sam Riley plays Ian Curtis with a kind of restraint that makes everything heavier. He isn’t a caricature, he’s awkward, fragile, and (very) often frustrating. Samantha Morton plays Deborah Curtis, watching the situation unravel from close range, with very little power to stop it.

The film sits with the weight of illness, marriage, touring, and sudden attention all piling up at once. No one is equipped to deal with it, least of all someone in their early twenties.

It doesn’t ask you to idolise anyone. It just shows you how quickly momentum can outrun support, and what gets lost when that happens. 

Built almost entirely from archive footage, which makes it land a little harder than most music documentaries. You hear Amy Winehouse mostly in her own words, through voicemails, interviews, and studio moments. 

The talent is undeniable, even now, this is a vinyl everyone should own. But as big and bold as her voice was, the glaring and horrific spotlight on the lack of protection she had from others and herself, is painful to see. The people around her shift constantly, but the pressure never lets up. You watch her grow into a global artist while visibly shrinking as a person. Going from light-hearted moments singing with family, to teetering next to the mic with little control. 

By the end, her music feels heavier. Not ruined, just weighted with context you can’t unhear or unlearn. 

Hard to watch, but important, and rich in history and context. 

Following the Rolling Stones on tour, the film captures Altamont unfolding without commentary, smoothing the edges that hurt the viewer with ease. Mick Jagger is visibly shaken watching the footage back, which somehow makes it worse. That’s the point, though, isn’t it? 

You don’t need an explanation. The footage does enough. A reminder that music doesn’t exist in isolation, and crowds have their own momentum. Realistically, you’ll be hard-pressed to find something so heavy and so tragic. Still, it is worth your time. 

Eminem plays Jimmy “B-Rabbit” Smith, which is close enough to himself that it never feels like acting in the traditional sense. There’s no glamour here. He’s broke, living in a trailer with his mum, stuck in a factory job, and constantly told he isn’t good enough. Brittany Murphy plays Alex with a mix of warmth and volatility, while Kim Basinger’s mother character is exhausted, messy, and, since we all know their relationship thanks to the tabloids, it’s an easy character to hate. But then, so is Alex. 

The film understands and shows battle rap as a pressure cooker. You either land your words in the moment or you don’t, and everyone is watching, and the crowds are unforgiving (as they should be). The battles feel physical, the words are heavy and thick.

What makes the film work is that it isn’t really about winning. It’s about voice. About saying the thing you’re most afraid to say and owning it before someone else uses it against you. Class, race, geography, and shame all sit just under the surface. The music doesn’t rescue him, it just gives him a way out, one line at a time.

And, with the added context of how Eminem grew up and what he raps about, the movie becomes even richer. 

Pick your version, but the Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga one lands hardest for modern audiences. Gaga plays Ally and keeps her sharp. Cooper plays Jackson Maine as quietly unraveling from the first frame.

This is less about fame and more about imbalance. One person rising, one person sinking, and love not being enough to stabilise either direction. Some of the scenes, long before the final moments, are foreshadowing at its finest, so a second watch will help fill in any blanks or questions you have. 

The music works because it’s tied to character, not because it’s trying to be a soundtrack moment. Is it monumental and life-changing? No, but it is entertaining in the way that only a sad musician can be. 

This one has mixed reviews; Dylan fans feel it was too caricatured, too much of a fictional injection, and left too much room for speculation. For non-Dylan fans, you’ll be entertained and introduced to music you may not have heard. There is a front-and-center highlight of sheer determination: when artists love what they do but aren’t allowed to do it the way they need and want. 

Does it try to cover too much on a surface level? Maybe. You’ll get a sense of Bob Dylan, but most fans will recommend that you watch Inside Llewyn Davis for the context you’re missing. Bringing us neatly to: 

Fiction, but painfully close to real life. Oscar Isaac (always excellent) plays Llewyn as tired, talented, and just abrasive enough that you understand why nothing quite works out. Carey Mulligan is sharp and unforgiving, Justin Timberlake irritatingly competent (and generally irritating), which feels intentional (but maybe part of his natural charm).

This isn’t a rise story. It’s a loop. Bad gigs, borrowed couches, missed timing, and the quiet realisation that talent doesn’t guarantee traction. The music is beautiful, but it never saves him, which is kind of the point. And sometimes, he’s a selfish, unthinking do-er.

If you’ve ever wondered how many good artists simply get stuck, this will shed some light on it. And, it might even serve as a warning for artists trying to break right now.

Bradley Cooper plays Leonard Bernstein, and it’s very much a performance-led film rather than a straight music biopic. Cooper leans hard into the physicality, the conducting, the intensity, the charisma. Carey Mulligan plays Felicia Montealegre and ends up grounding the entire thing, especially when the film drifts toward self-mythologising (which it does). They make it easy to see the walls forming around her and his personal life and stage life. 

It’s less about the music itself and more about ambition, ego, marriage, and what it costs to be that consumed by your work. Some people found it indulgent, others found it intimate. It’s not a film so much about music, but the person creating it. It doesn’t make it less interesting, just not what people expected. 

It could probably be distilled to a great creator and a ‘flawed’ human. And what it cost him to be his version of great. 

Once you are down the rabbit hole, you’ll probably need a couple more options to keep you going:

Enjoy the list, and we’ll see you again in January 2026!

Until next time,