Do you like rock ’n’ roll? Like no-holds-barred rock and roll full of snarl, attitude, and working-class moxie? Than you need to see this film documenting the snarkiest, smartest rock magazine of the 1970s, Creem. Started by entrepreneur Barry Kramer in 1969, it included among its alumni rock critic Dave Marsh, the irrepressible Lester Banks, and Lisa Robinson. It was a slap in the face of convention and a haven for disaffected teens before the emergence of punk rock.

Produced by Kramer’s son, JJ, this may be the most flat-out entertaining film I’ve seen this year. Filled with eccentric personalities and wild stories, it vividly captures the counterculture of the ’70s at a time when some very smart kids decided to kick the staid music culture in the ass during the decade of National Lampoon and Saturday Night Live. What they had in common with Creem were whip-smart writing, hedonism, and the elevation of pop culture and drugs—so many drugs.

The magazine figured out that the typical teen wanted to think rock stars were “just like them,” which meant they liked to party as much as the readers did. A parade of rock stars past and present extol the virtues of Creem, but most of the film is focused on the staff, particularly the tensions between Kramer, Marsh, and Bangs. All three came from philosophically different places, and that clash gave the magazine its punch.

What’s also interesting is that the most of this profile is narrated by the female writers and editors of Creem, giving them a platform and pushing them in front of some of the more currently well-known writers. Of course, many of those male writers are dead, but it feels like not only an attempt at parity but a reflection of the magazine’s culture. According to the women, they were treated with respect, which is not to say they were not immersed in ’70s rock culture, which was notoriously sexist.

There is a long discussion, spearheaded by the great journalist Jaan Uhelszki (a writer and producer of the film), who explains that the women were indeed immersed in the culture and surprised and somewhat ashamed at some of the things they’ve done and written. She acknowledges that this is also what made the magazine unique. It’s a complicated and nuanced take on gender politics. She’s also central to one of the film’s best stories: she went onstage and performed with Kiss in full makeup, with the band’s blessing and assistance.

And then there is Bangs, possibly one of the greatest of rock critics, and definitely the most extroverted. He was a master wordsmith who doubled as court jester and ego piercer. Nothing pretentious got past his radar. As one of the editors described Creem, “Either you were in on the joke or you are the joke,” and Bangs practiced that philosophy to perfection.

Eventually, after a revved up, whizbang beginning and middle, we get to the dissolution of the publication and the death of too many people, and the movie starts sliding into Behind the Music territory, but that makes perfect sense, because as one of the editors says, Creem was “a rock and roll band putting out a magazine.” And what a damn good rock and roll band it was.