Before I knew Brett Dillon, I only knew OF Brett Dillon. I heard often about this fixture of Dallas radio, his enthusiasm about this particular artist or that particular album, about his pitching in on someone’s project or guiding someone else through career changes. And I never, ever heard anything but glowing, glowing words used about Brett. No catty detractions about his taste or his show, or his pets or grudges ever. Even other radio people spoke well of him in the same, “he’s above and beyond” kind of way.

After I met him, I understood how he earns such loyal and ardent friends and fans. Brett is kind, patient, hilarious and utterly committed to music and radio. I often tell people that radio promotion is one of my favorite parts of my job, and it’s true: Radio people are a great part of any day. They’re utterly tied up in the business of finding and playing good music, and are possessed of encyclopedic memories, fun, interesting quirks and GREAT phone voices.  So when I heard a documentary about Brett was afoot, I thought, “oh, cool,” and pretty much knew what to expect: A valentine to the nice guy we all know, with some snapshots from hectic life inside the booth.

But when I viewed “Hey Dillon!” at its premiere at the Granada Theatre in Dallas, I was utterly surprised. What emerged was a much more complex portrait of who Dillon is and, more interestingly, what radio can do when it’s done right.

I’m a huge documentary fan. I’ve watched the great, the good and the awful, plotted my own in my head and even consulted on one on a certain deceased music legend whose will and thus cinematic legacy will be tied up in the courts for another decade, sadly. So I’m pretty picky. And “Hey Dillon!” did what a documentary is supposed to do: It neutrally portrayed actual scenes and allowed viewers to come to firm and real conclusions. They were conclusions I was moved to find.

A device used throughout the film is an unseen caller hectoring Dillon over the phone. The gravelly-voiced villain harangues Dillon, “stick to the LIST, man, play the LIST.” The voice represents, I guess, the Industry, or the Machine, and also the grumbly masses who think that the music the Machine wants is good music (Dillon hilariously remarks at one point, “I’m not sure I get that blonde Australian guy.”). And as the caller , in voiceover, criticizes Dillon and gripes about what he’s not doing, Dillon repeatedly appears in truly absurd Fellini-esque B-roll, dancing inanely in an alley, waiting a little impatiently for a film cue, being Dillon. Hilariously, this really works. Every time the nay-saying caller starts working, you cheer harder and harder for the dandelion-headed Dillon and his “not gonna do it your way” attitude. And as great Americana artist after artist appears onscreen, you realize how many great careers have Dillon as a cornerstone.

Dillon at work is a truly amazing thing to behold, too. From his busy booth at KHYI, he’s multitasking rabidly throughout the movie. And one thing I am REALLY glad the film showed, something that makes me sorry radio isn’t visual, was Dillon’s bright-eyed enthusiasm. As the film captures callers checking in to say, “hey, man, can you play a song? I don’t remember it but it goes like this —“ the camera catches Dillon truly listening, truly engaged, truly present and truly helpful. He isn’t lazily scrolling through a database or pushing buttons to cue a setlist written by someone in an office time zones away. He’s talking to a guy in a car (and, the film shows us, increasingly talking to internet listeners, as when he takes a request from Connecticut) trying to find a song someone likes and a song, no doubt, he likes. He wants to play what you want to hear. It was shockingly clear in the movie, and beautifully surprising. I know he’s a dedicated, great programmer of his show and a font of knowledge, but the “let’s find it” look in his eye shows such a level of dedication to needs of the listener and the art musicians make that I was truly moved.

Americana is a fairly big community so it might surprise one when Dillon reveals that  KHYI is one of the very few 24 hour Americana stations in the country. Credit also goes to station head Joshua Jones for realizing the value of Americana and for taking on what some see as risky, but he sees as right, in the extremely competitive field of major market radio. Dillon’s dedication to the music helps one understand how and why that format works. It’s not programmed to a demographic, mixed by a machine. It’s for listeners. Each and every one. I think most fans of Americana feels that it really speaks to them, and I’ve also found that Americana listeners have some of the best and pickiest musical tastes there are. One learns, watching Dillon talk about music (I was going to say “talking about his job” but he never makes it seem like a job) exactly how effective a champion of this music can be at getting good songs and good artists the attention they need and how his ear helps shape our musical tastes. He knows what’s good, He gets it to us, enthusiastically.

“Hey Dillon!” also shows how Dillon’s passion for good music registers off air. Songwriting great Austin Cunningham’s interview segments run through the film and Austin talks candidly about what a difference Dillon makes to artists. Cunningham’s own homage to Dillon, “The Last Great DJ” is the film’s theme song, and one learns that Dillon co-wrote the song. It says everything about Dillon’s musical chops if he can co-write with a guy who writes with Chris Knight.

Dillon is also shown at Dallas’s home to good music, Bill’s Records, hosting live performances. A couple of really great songs you’ll never hear anywhere else catch your ear as you get to see how Dillon finds music (including a songsmith’s heartfelt love song to Johnson City and Highway 281 that I’ve got to get – anyone know who it was?) and you get that Dillon finds these guys and nurtures them, and that they find in him a champion, a listener and a friend. As Darryl Lee Rush said at the concert following the film, “Brett, I used to be that guy calling you from my car, and now here I am on this stage.” That’s the simple magic of what Brett Dillon is and does.

The film also shows Dillon the person: creatively gifted, wildly inventive. Who knew he shot his own horror movie segments? We meet Brett the son, Brett the brother and Brett and dad, through the eyes of family members. A fully rounded portrait emerges of one really cool human being. And when Dillon, in the weird, black-and-white B roll, walks by a brick wall with a “No Smoking” sing, pauses, and casually lights up, the crowd at the Granada premiere – chock full of Americana superstars and KHYI regulars – erupted in an ovation.

The movie shows a humble side of the music scene that is incredibly evocative, but it fails to show the larger effects of what Dillon does and what these artists do, and that’s the only place I’d find fault. There’s little fanfare blowing for Austin Cunningham, despite his great credentials. If you didn’t know him or his work, it might be lost on you  that this is – AUSTIN CUNNINGHAM! I fear that to outsiders, much of the subtle power of what Dillon does will be lost. How does one understand the difference between a good song discovered at an open mike and a good song that landed its singer a major record deal (as with Darryl Lee Rush)? Susan Gibson’s “Wide Open Spaces” is mentioned very few other artists are attended by their industry creds. These accolades aren’t present in the movie, which is great, the humility is part of who Brett is, but it may diminish the film’s impact to those sadly lacking in Americana smarts.

I loved “Hey Dillon!” and I’m buying a copy. Ten years from now, if The Voice and The List win, I think we’re all afraid, this film and much of it will be a complete anachronism. A bricks and mortar music store? A radio station with someone you can TALK to? Radio employees who go to performances and meet songwriters??? But right now, it’s a time capsule containing artifacts from today – Austin Cunningham’s song from the movie is on the charts right now — and that’s great to see. And it’s a sorely needed portrait of everything that’s right with Brett Dillon, with Americana radio and with Americana itself: We care, we listen, we love, and we keep getting it out there. He shows us how it’s done: It’s done real. I was grateful this film reminded me of that, and I, too, salute Brett Dillon, and hope that we learn from this film the value of what he does so that he is not, in fact, the Last Great DJ but, instead, one of the first.

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