With the rare exception of a "Don't Look Back," "Gimme Shelter," or "Message to Love," rock documentaries are minor works. They are inevitably the work of fans — who else would think to give these subjects such serious, thoroughgoing treatment — and, as a result, appeal exclusively to fellow fans. They offer all the excitement of liner notes brought to life — which is either a good or bad thing depe nding upon how you feel about the band in question.

"Play It Loud: Rockdocs 2006," a nine-day, nine-film series of New York, American, and North American premieres beginning today at Lincoln Center, is representative of the genre. There's one magisterial film: "No Direction Home," Martin Scorsese's elegant — if uncritical — documentary of Bob Dylan's Icarus-like rise and crash between 1964 and 1968. Sunday will be its big-screen debut, offering the chance to see the larger-than-life Dylan of 1967 — all skinny hound's-tooth suits and backlit Jewfro hair — actually larger than life.

"Everyone Stares: The Police Inside Out" will do just the opposite: make the Police seem smaller than they are. Spliced together from Super 8 footage shot by Police drummer Stewart Copeland during the band's rise to international fame (he bought the camera with their first paycheck), it promises to be a session of tantric home-video porn for the Sting-obsessed.

A second category of film explores the various subcultures and scenes that music spawns. "Glastonbury," by director Julien Temple, includes footage from the 30-plus year history of the massive almost-annual event in Southwestern England. "Noise" offers a similar look at a smaller-scale event: 2005's determinedly avant Art Rock Festival in Saint Brieuc, which featured performances by the likes of Jim O'Rourke, Alan Licht, Thurston Moore, and Kim Deal.

"Between the Devil and the Wide Blue Sea" takes up the subject of European electronic dance music, the popularity of which continues to baffle America. "Metal: A Headbanger's Journey" travels more familiar territory. With its thin mustaches, bitchin' Camaros, and guitar histrionics, Heavy Metal galloped onto the American stage like the fifth horseman of the Apocalypse in 1986. Director Sam Dunne, a trained anthropologist and avowed metalhead, proves to be a capable Virgil as he leads the viewer through the lower circles of the scene.

For those, like me, who know heavy metal only at a safe distance — the Quiet Riot mask was enough to scare off my 11-year-old self — the film is an education.Among the facts you'll learn: the ubiquitous devil horns hand sign was popularized by hair-metal imp Ronnie James Dio, who learned it from his Italian grandmother; the chord that puts the heavy in heavy metal is the diminished fifth, a sound so timelessly evil that it was used in the Middle Ages to summon Satan; and, depending on who you ask, the first heavy metal band was either Blue Cheer, Led Zeppelin, or Black Sabbath — although Alice Cooper graciously nominates himself. But Metal also claims more distinguished forebears: Wagner and Beethoven. The classical pedigree only sounds absurd until you see Eddie Van Halen performing a virtuoso guitar solo.

Two of the best films in the series tell essentially the same story."Not A Photograph" chronicles the charmingly embarrassed return to the stage of post-punk legends Mission of Burma in 2002. (Totally gratuitous disclosure: I served as a guitar tech on the tour and appear fleetingly in the film.) "loudQUIETloud" does the same for the Pixies' reunion two years later.

The two bands have much in common. Both had short, modest careers in the American music underground — Mission of Burma's was a little more modest — and both have seen their reputations grow exponentially since breaking up. jBoth reunion tours were immensely successful, and both bands continue to play shows. Burma, in fact, has now been reunited longer than they were united the first time around.

Beyond that, however, the bands' experiences diverge sharply. Now in their mid-40s, the Burma guys are modest to a fault. (They named the reunion tour "Inexplicable.") Bassist Clint Conley smiles awkwardly as his wife and TV-news coworkers explain they had no idea that soft-spoken Clint was actually an indierock icon. Burma drummer Peter Prescott can't quite believe it, either. He's thrilled and intimidated by the constellation of minor stars who show up to pay their respects and play with the band: Mike Watt, Moby, members of Sonic Youth, Gang of Four, and Yo La Tengo. "I spent a lot of time getting way less than I thought I deserved, now I'm getting way more," Mr. Prescott says. " I don't know which is right."

Initially, the Pixies react in much the same way. After more than a decade apart, they're all nerves and grins as they play a sold-out warm-up show. But as they move from tiny clubs to sold-out theaters, old tensions threaten to tear the band apart all over again..

"loudQUIETloud" plays like an expertly cast reality TV show. Inflatable front man Charles Thompson (better known as Black Francis or Frank Black) seems totally incapable of communicating with his bandmates. In 1992, he broke up the group in an interview with the BBC. Now he lets them know he wants to record a new album through a reporter at Rolling Stone.

When his father dies midtour, drummer David Lovering (now a professional magician and amateur metal-detecting beachcomber) retreats into an iPodand-Valium haze. After a while, he has trouble keeping time during shows. Bassist Kim Deal, fresh out of rehab herself, follows the rest of the band in an RV with sister and ex-bandmate Kelly, with whom she shares a weird telepathic codependency. Stoic guitarist Joey Santiago, meanwhile, silently judges the parade of neuroses with his eyebrows. The film masterfully captures the quiet desperation that grows up between them.

On stage, neither band has lost a step. Though their new compositions don't quite live up, Burma performs classics like "That's When I Reach For My Revolver" and "Max Ernst" with the same angular intensity that made them moderately famous. The Pixies sound even better with age: They're slightly less abrasive, allowing their lyrics and internal dynamics (which are far more functional onstage) to shine through.

It's hard to imagine anyone who isn't already a fan attending either film. But it's almost too bad — even in their dotage, both bands are good enough to win converts.

Until August 10 (Walter Reade Theater, 165 W. 65th St., between Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue, 212-496-3809).