Song Sung Blue: From Barstool to Big Screen
A filmmaker's decade-long journey to document the lives of Lightning & Thunder, a Neil Diamond tribute duo from Milwaukee, unfolds amid personal and professional challenges, evolving from a dream of a scripted Hollywood film to a self-financed documentary. Despite setbacks—including difficulty securing music rights, editorial hurdles, and a life-threatening health crisis—the project becomes a deeply personal exploration of love, resilience, and artistic integrity. The filmmaker ultimately embraces a fly-on-the-wall approach, capturing intimate moments leading up to a pivotal, emotional final scene. The documentary, Song Sung Blue, stands as a testament to perseverance and the power of authentic storytelling.
- ▪The filmmaker initially tried to pitch a scripted Hollywood film about Lightning & Thunder but was advised to make a documentary instead due to the story's implausible nature and lack of financing.
- ▪Neil Diamond's music rights were not secured at the start, with the filmmaker betting that approval would come only after Neil saw and felt the completed film.
- ▪After an editor quit over concerns about audience reception and music rights, the filmmaker found a new editor through Craigslist who worked from a barn in rural Virginia.
- ▪The documentary's final chapter was reshaped when Lightning fell into a coma, leading the filmmaker to temporarily set aside his observational stance to support Thunder and her family.
- ▪The ICU scene, including Thunder saying goodbye to Lightning while he wore a purple Do Not Resuscitate wristband, became a crucial and emotionally powerful moment in the film.
Full article excerpt tap to expand
From Barstool to Big ScreenIt was a hot August night in 1977 when my parents took me to my first rock concert—Neil Diamond. A week later, I remember feeling a sense of pride as I donned my "Diamond" concert t-shirt for the first day of sixth grade. This was truly a rite of passage and, perhaps, the seed that would later sprout into my Song Sung Blue journey nearly two decades later. I first encountered Lightning & Thunder in the early '90s while directing a documentary for Harley-Davidson. There they were, perched atop a sticky outdoor bar at the Wisconsin State Fair grounds, belting out Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" to a crowd of leather-clad bikers dancing their chaps off. It gave me goosebumps, and I felt compelled to share them with others.My filmmaking journey kicked off after college when I got the chance to work with the legendary Steve Sabol at NFL Films. During my job interview, Steve asked, "Why do you want to work here, kid?" I replied, "I want to learn to make goosebumps." As a young filmmaker, my dream was to direct dramatic Hollywood movies, but I had no clue how I would get there. Learning to capture and create goosebump moments felt like a solid skill that could help me on my filmmaking journey. While working at NFL Films, I kept tabs on Lightning & Thunder back in Milwaukee. I discovered that a bizarre gardening accident had turned their lives upside down, but despite the struggle, they kept their eyes on the prize, determined to one day entertain folks in Vegas, Branson, or somewhere in between. I wanted to help them out.I figured maybe I could help them chase their dream while going after my own. So, I pieced together old VHS footage of Lightning and Thunder's bar gigs, along with newsreel recordings from the gardening accident, and created a proof-of-concept reel for a scripted "Hollywood" feature film. I shared the reel with some industry producers, but they thought I was crazy for pursuing a scripted Hollywood version of this story. They said that Lightning & Thunder's story was stranger-than-fiction, and nobody would believe it. Plus, even if they did, no one would finance it because I was a first-time director. They suggested making a documentary instead, though they warned that Neil Diamond would likely never allow the rights to his music for this bizarre story by an unknown filmmaker. At the time, my wife and I lived near Philadelphia with our three young kids. The idea of traveling back and forth to Milwaukee to film Lightning & Thunder, on top of spending every weekend filming NFL games across the country, seemed completely unfeasible. Then, my phone rang— a gruff, grumpy old man's voice said, "Greeeeg Kooooooohs!" It was Adam Sandler. I had recently directed a music video for his Springsteen-esque song called "The Lonesome Kicker," which poked fun at NFL kickers. Adam and I hit it off, and he was calling because he thought I'd be perfect to direct a film he was producing for his friend David. He would send me the script overnight and wanted me to fly to Los Angeles as soon as possible to meet the studio heads. I was psyched when the FedEx guy handed me the script. But by page three, my hopes of directing my first Hollywood feature film went up in smoke. Deep down, I knew I couldn't bring myself to direct a film where the main character lights a cow's flatulence on fire. So, after reading the entire script for Joe Dirt, I politely turned down the offer—a decision my now-adult children still tease me…
This excerpt is published under fair use for community discussion. Read the full article at Official Site of Filmmaker Greg Kohs.