I’ve never seen such an incredible combination of confidence and awkwardness in one place. Half the band is absolutely killing it while the other half is just quietly, purposefully locked in the pocket.
Also, Dr. Bill Cosby.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Neil Young - The Bridge.
You know this story.
In 1973, Neil was ten years into his career in the middle of the largest tour. In retrospect, this was a huge year for music. Greetings From Asbury Park, GP, Billion Dollar Babies, Raw Power, Dark Side of the Moon, Houses of the Holy, Closing Time, Catch a Fire, Call Me, Ooh la la, There Goes Rhymin Simon, Berlin, Innervisions, Goats Head Soup, Lets Get it On, Ol Blue Eyes is Back, Abandoned Luncheonette, Piano Man, Don’t Shoot Me I’m Just the Piano Player and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Band on the Run, and Sabbath Bloody Sabbath were all released that year — just to name a few.
Towards the end of that year, amidst all that platinum and gold, Neil released this quiet live album recorded at various faceless halls and arenas around the country. It being the mid-’70s, everything was overblown, excessive, drug-fueled and sour. Squabbles over money curdled the whole affair for Neil, who later decided to release the album anyway because releasing it speaks to his idea of truth in music. Regardless of the circumstances behind the recordings, in spite of those circumstances, and because of those circumstances, the album is an honest statement and worth hearing.
In a year that would give us hit after hit, give birth to punk and glam and atmosphere (Eno and Fripp’s first record!), Neil Young took a quiet time out in the middle of the Memorial Auditorium in Sacramento to break out hearts with his piano ballad that no one in the audience had heard before. Time Fades Away is an album about, written on, performed on, and recorded on the road. It is one and the same with his isolation, with him famously introduction “Journey Through the Past” as “a song without a home.” A historical document of Neil Young’s isolation in 1973, I can’t help but respect his decision to never reissue it.
Levon Helm wasn’t a flashy player, merely a perfect one. The best musicians often give the impression that they make music conform to their own rules rather than the other way around, bending it to their will and converting the counterintuitive into the suddenly obvious. Watch this incredible performance of Van Morrison’s “Caravan” and pay attention to what happens at around 0:17: The Band start the song just a bit too fast, and three bars in Levon slows the entire thing down, in the blink of an eye, like an expert jockey atop a world-class thoroughbred. By conventional rule, spontaneously slowing down or speeding up a song is a cliché of bad music-making, but here it works. And of course the tempo he slows it to is exquisitely, achingly right.
It wasn’t all mysticism, of course. He was a technically monstrous player of unsurpassed versatility, one who could turn challenging music into something that sounded effortless. Other great bands have played difficult material, but on Steely Dan records the music sounds hard, wearing complexity on its sleeve with a sort of punk defiance. The Band’s “Jawbone” goes through more meters than Con Edison but sounds utterly natural: The Carter Family at a cookout with mid-’60s Miles Davis, everyone getting along, Levon working the grill.
He could sing a little, too. For all of his prowess at the drums, most of the world will remember Levon Helm as the voice of “Ophelia,” “Up On Cripple Creek,” “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” The Band boasted an embarrassment of vocal riches, and while Levon lacked the extraordinary expressive range of Rick Danko and Richard Manuel, his may have been the most indelible sound of the three. Listening to that worn and cozy voice was like being told a story around a campfire, after the humidity has broken and the mosquitoes have gone to sleep. Come upon “The Weight” on the radio at the right moment, and the entire world stands still.
After I heard the news about Levon yesterday, Dave and I cooked dinner and played all my Band records. We also agreed that drunk Van Morrison’s set in The Last Waltz was probably our favorite, the expressions on Danko’s face always kills me. But also yes, there is this sweet Levon moment…..
I don’t know… that sweaty little leprechaun has serious, serious chops, but I think the night belongs to Danko on Stage Fright and the Staples on the Weight. Personal Opinion!
Also, if you’ve never seen the back cover of his 1978 self-titled solo LP (recorded by Donald Dunn and with the Muscle Shoals horns), you’re missing out.
Things my dog has eaten / tried to eat recently:
- raw sweet potato (2)
- raw purple potato (1)
- raw red onion (3)
- bottle of dayquil (1)
- empty ziploc bags (too many to count)
