Jimmy Page has a stronghold on the '70s, The Edge has the '80s cornered, and Jack White holds the title of the 21st century's definitive guitar god? Oscar-winning director Davis Guggenheim's (An Inconvenient Truth) latest doc, It Might Get Loud, chronicles each musician's work and climaxes in a perfect storm of guitar masters on a Warner Bros. soundstage, shredding and talking shop. (Via RollingStone.com) The film, set to be released August 14, received a standing ovation at the Los Angeles Film Festival on June 19.

I wasn't conscious for any of the '80s or much of the '90s, so I can't speak to the Edge's inclusion. But White? Now, I love everything about Jack White—his twist on Bo Diddley, the Stripes' dirty Detroit grooves, and most recently his backbeats for the Dead Weather. And after watching the film's trailer, I especially love the insouciant saltiness that the heretofore laconic axman lends the otherwise sappy nostalgiafest. Affirmations like "Technology is the big destroyer of emotion and truth" get my Twitterview-hating panties in a twist.

But is White really this generation's guitar god? The documentary exhibits White holding his own among the greats, but still...how did Guggenheim single out the sometime Stripe? According to Rolling Stone:

"You could find other guitarists that were virtuosos, and you could find other guitarists that are legends, but you may not find three that are all searchers," Guggenheim said of his subjects. "Each one of them is still searching and still trying to figure out what it means to make music."

Right, well then. I agree White is certainly searching for something with his various side projects. But there are also plenty of other guitarists toiling under a similar burden, without the help of constant trumpeting by Rolling Stone, Pitchfork, and now Guggenheim. Marnie Stern and PJ Harvey come to mind. And the fact that women are never honored with "Guitar God" status.

So, BPB readers, a modest appeal for an informal poll: Who do you consider this generation's guitar god? And why no love for the female virtuosos?

The Sundance Film festival is as much a showcase for documentaries as it is a venue for edgy independent fare. Hoop Dreams, Supersize Me, and An Inconvenient Truth all captured initial buzz from the mountain town festival. The director of Oscar winning Truth, Davis Guggenheim, brought a new film to this year's festival. It Might Get Loud chronicles the genesis and subsequent evolution of three of rock's premiere electric guitarists.

The film begins with an appropriately old-timey-clad Jack White building a rudimentary guitar on his front porch in five minutes. He uses blocks of misshapen wood, nails, and one thick strand of heavy gauge wire stretched over the bridge. After extracting several notes that could find a home on any White Stripes album, White wryly asks "Who says you need to buy a guitar?"

It Might Get Loud then travels to the musical developmental landmarks of White, U2's the Edge, and Alister Crowley's fiddle player—Jimmy Page. The film weaves interviews with each of the artists in their homes talking about how they achieved success and a particular sound with the three guitarists meeting on a comfy set to jam and discuss axe wielding. We see Jimmy Page visit the Welsh countryside house where Led Zeppelin IV was born; Jack White parents a 7-year-old version of himself by showing the boy the best way to kick out a piano bench to impress the ladies; the Edge's guitar tech explains the precision physics behind his live performances.

Also:

Jack White explains the motive behind the Stripes' manufactured back-story and how much of his inspiration comes from working in upholstery stores in rundown Detroit and listening to Son House.

Jimmy Page plays the elder statesman, wearing a mane of silver hair and the same impish smile he must have used to seduce throngs of teenage groupies. My favorite moments were all about Page, from the Edge and White joining him in the opening riff to "Whole Lotta Love" to his reticence for singing the movie’s closing number, an acoustic version of "The Weight".

It is the Edge who is the most revealing, however. There’s the howling hypocrisy of trashing the pre-U2 Dublin music scene as something from Spinal Tap, and then pointing out landmarks around your old high school from whence the legend of U2 sprang. He also strips away the layers of effects to illustrate his playing style and technique. The revelation actually generates respect for the man by demonstrating his total dominance over advanced guitar sonics.

Interestingly, during the post-screening Q & A, Guggenheim stated implicitly that the three guitarists were the filmmaker’s first choices. Which begs the question: in what is an otherwise enjoyable twist on the music doc, why include only one American guitarist in a film about the world’s Lords of the Strings?