Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted toasts a singular soul survivor

“I will now sell five copies of Love, Loss, And Auto-Tune by Swamp Dogg,” whispers Rob (Zoë Kravitz) to her co-worker in the TV version of High Fidelity, recreating a great scene from the 2000 film in which John Cusack’s record-store owner—also named Rob—does the very same with The Three EPs by The Beta Band. Subbing in Swamp Dogg during this moment—one where a relatively recent(ish) song is so head-turning that it will get customers asking “who is this?” and immediately buying whatever record it’s on—was pretty good, regardless of one’s opinion of the show. If one puts on “Synthetic World,” from Swamp Dogg’s debut album, 1970’s Total Destruction To Your Mind, at an outdoor gathering or during a scenic drive, people who haven’t heard it will almost certainly give a “who’s this?” (And if they don’t, maybe think about finding some new company.) This is all to say that Swamp Dogg is known, but not really—or certainly not as much as he should be. Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted, a seven-years-in-the-making documentary by Minneapolis-based musicians and filmmakers Isaac Gale and Ryan Olson, attempts to get to the bottom of the man born Jerry Williams Jr. 

Now 82, the cult figure is a fascinating guy with an equally fascinating career, one that’s touched on many different corners of American music and history: He performed on bills with Percy Sledge; played piano with Irma Thomas; became the first Black A&R man for Atlantic Records, relocating from a cheap hotel in Midtown Manhattan to the Four Seasons in Miami (alongside drinking buddy Gary U.S. Bonds); wrote songs that became country hits for the likes of Conway Twitty and Johnny Paycheck; became part of the scenes in Macon, Georgia and Muscle Shoals; dipped his toes into hip-hop in the ’80s by managing World Class Wreckin’ Cru (which counted Dr. Dre as member); and was featured, early in his Swamp Dogg days, on Jane Fonda’s FTA tour in Vietnam, which led to, he claims, being dropped by Elektra Records and put on the F.B.I. watchlist. “Something about me ‘stealing a car,’” he reflected wryly on the latter situation. “At that time, I had nine automobiles. What am I stealing a car for?”

Swamp Dogg’s is a singular, extraordinary, wide-ranging roller coaster of career that dates back to the mid-’50s, with the musician talking openly about playing to a shocked white audience in Vermont after his first hit (they—and the booker—were surprised to learn the singer of this new song they loved was Black) as well as adopting his persona years later: “In 1970, I became Swamp Dogg. I needed an alter ego. Dogg can get away with almost anything—you know, he can try and jump in your lap while you’re eating, chew up your shoes, hump your leg. I was doing what they considered wild shit.” 

Gale and Olson cleverly keep all of that “wild shit” intimate and centered on the man himself, and avoid overcontextualizing with most of the interviews taking place in Dogg’s house in the Valley, where he’s lived for going on two decades with collaborators Guitar Shorty and Moogstar. “I like to call it the bachelor pad for aging musicians,” Dogg’s daughter, Jeri—a neurologist—says of the trio’s eccentric, sweet, and laughter-heavy roommate dynamic. The place is filled with Dogg’s past and is very much in-tune with his sensibilities: A dimly-lit hallway is lined with framed best-selling records of songs he wrote; the garage has old boxes from days when he and his wife, Yvonne, would hawk weird curiosities (like a record of dogs barking Beatles songs) via late-night infomercials; a recording room is manned by the constantly smiling, experimenting, and extra-terrestrial-like Moogstar, who also has his very own green-screen for making goofy, out-there videos; and the pool out back, around which a lot of these conversations take place—and is indeed being painted by an artist.

Also cleverly, Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted acts simultaneously as a celebration of the guy as well as a clear introduction and character sketch. That is, if you’ve never heard of Swamp Dogg, you’re good: What he’s about is beautifully and warmly presented here, with some aesthetically appropriate flourishes, like trippy title cards that pay homage to his often-nutty album covers, scenes of him reading his lyrics outdoors in a bright suit and comparing himself to Mark Twain, as well a retelling of a crazy tale that’s animated like a Scooby-Doo adventure. And if you have heard of him, Dogg is a good hang that can tell one hell of an anecdote; you’re bound to hear something new, and the documentary avoids using any famous-musician talking heads to somehow validate his work. (Admirers like Johnny Knoxville, Mike Judge, and Tom Kenny do stop by, but are there to tee up more great stores.) 

Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted does stray into some dark areas—death, anxiety attacks, suicidal ideaton—but the spirit of the documentary (and the music) is overwhelmingly joyful. When asked about his philosophy of life, the tireless musician says, “Overall, just be cool. And it’s all so fun being yourself. That’s fun like a motherfucker. But you gotta find yourself.” Wise advice. Even if you’re not able to get there, though, this film will at least make you want to buy a whole bunch of records.

Directors: Isaac Gale, Ryan Olson; David McMurry (co-director)
Writers: Andrew Broder, Isaac Gale, Paul Lovelace, Ryan Olson
Release Date: May 2, 2025