Whenever a young musician or artist dies, fans speculate for years about what might have been. In watching the excellent documentary "Joy Division" in my Madison living room, that sense of what might have been hit home even harder.

The camera pans through what would have been the band's short U.S. debut tour in 1980, and there it is, right between tour stops in Chicago and Minneapolis:

"Day off or play Madison."

Of course, that never happened. The day before Joy Division left its native England for the tour, lead singer Ian Curtis hanged himself in his home near Manchester. He was 23 years old.

That's been behind much legend and lore about the post-punk band, and two new DVD releases complement each other to tell the story all these years later.

Given that backstory, "Joy Division" isn't a depressing film. (That's the job of the bleak but affecting biopic "Control.") Nearly all the significant players give their time, including the surviving band members, Curtis' mistress Annik Honore and TV presenter and record label head Tony Wilson, who died shortly after the documentary was filmed.

The missing piece is Curtis' widow Deborah, but "Control" is her project; it's based on her book, "Touching From a Distance."

Both are strong films, but ironically it's the documentary that seems to have more heart, soul and spirit. That's in no small part because "Joy Division" is the story of the band and its city while "Control" is the story of Curtis. While Curtis' life story came to an end, the band has lived on in many ways.

Yet here in the United States, we almost need both pieces of the puzzle to tell the complete story. (Throw in "24 Hour Party People," which deals with Wilson and the Manchester music scene, and you've pretty much got the whole shebang.)

Joy Division hit much bigger in the U.K. than here, and the documentary seems to take for granted what the audience knows about the band and the people involved. "Control" makes no such assumptions and serves as a good primer.

"Joy Division," the documentary, combines band footage with interviews, standard rockumentary stuff. But the musical footage is a revelation, likely since most U.S. fans have never seen it before. There's Curtis, young and skinny enough to look as if he should be taking your Big Mac order. Then the music kicks in, his oddly deep voice booms, his pale eyes gleam and his body moves in the strange jerky, marching dance of his.

"People thought he was off his head with drugs," one of his bandmates says. "But he wasn't. Never, ever, ever. The music put him in a trance."

The documentary is aided by the surviving members of Joy Division, who went on to form New Order, one of Britain's biggest bands of the '80s and '90s. They tell wonderful stories, and seem to show genuine regret for the young men they were, so young they didn't recognize all the warning signs that telegraphed their friend's demise.

In "Control," actor Sam Riley channels Curtis in touching and kind of creepy ways. Director Anton Corbijn stays clear of idolizing Curtis, presenting him as a regular but talented guy, troubled with physical challenges and the challenges that fame and adulthood present.

He couldn't survive it, and that's a tragedy. Many around him survived to tell the tale, and that's a gift.

Get to know him

A rockumentary with a much happier ending also was released last week.

"You Think You Really Know Me: The Gary Wilson Story" tracks the odd story of an odd artist who has been living out of the mainstream his entire life.

In 1977, Gary Wilson released an album called "You Think You Really Know Me" that was recorded in his father's basement in Endicott, N.Y. The music defies description; Spin magazine calls it "lounge-funk" and a record executive calls it "James Brown meets David Lynch's 'Eraserhead' and the backing band just sounds like Steely Dan on crack."

Few copies were sold and it became a collector's Holy Grail, even earning a shout-out on Beck's song, "Where It's At." One collector, former child star Ross Harris (the kid Peter Graves chats up in "Airplane!"), loaned it to friends who own a record company and they became obsessed with finding Wilson and re-releasing the album on CD.

The DVD, which comes with that elusive album on CD, traces the search for Wilson and what happened once the filmmakers found him. Turns out he wasn't dead, just working the night shift at an adult book store. That's why this makes a fine documentary -- you just couldn't make this stuff up.