50 Years Later: Revisiting The Band’s ‘Stage Fright’

With the retrospect of fifty years, The Band’s Stage Fright may be the greatest object of fascination in the iconic group’s entire discography, this despite the fact it’s the most conventional of all their records (except perhaps for the final release by the original quintet, the execrable Islands). Their third studio album reveals more about of the iconic group than its members may have ever intended at the time and while its general level of musical excellence would elevate the oeuvre of most rank and file artists, the record nevertheless suffers in comparison with the two that preceded it.

Both Music From Big Pink and The Band are absolutely seamless, works of a piece respectively unified by a purposeful sense of mystery and history. Stage Fright, on the other hand, barely holds together, rife with paradox and contradiction. In fact, the dichotomies actually precede the music itself with the very artwork enclosing it. While The Band’s eponymous 1969 work is often referred to as ‘The Brown Album’ due to the dominant color scheme of its cover, those graphics are a marked contrast to the original design of its successor: the flat-textured and multi-colored sleeve came (partially?!) wrapped in a glossy portrait of group, the sepia tones of which were no doubt meant to evoke the image of a by-gone era upon which the group drew upon so vividly on its sophomore record.

These dualities are but a cosmetic manifestation of the cross-purposes at work within the album itself. The decided contrast between narrative and confessional material hints at some of the internal turbulence afflicting the group in the wake of the fame bestowed upon them increasingly over the prior two years. But The Band’s ambivalence about celebrity is less prevalent than the cautionary tales consciously or unconsciously submerged in certain of its songs. The self-referential import of “The Shape I’m In,” for instance, did not fully strike the group itself at the time or if it did, none of the members acted decisively upon it, neither the song’s author, guitarist Robbie Robertson, nor the lead vocalist on the track, pianist Richard Manuel (to whom it most clearly applied).

One of the most significant departures Stage Fright represents involves those two members. The last vestiges of songwriting collaborations within the fivesome appear in the form of two songs Robertson and Manuel composed, not so coincidentally, among the most revelatory numbers on the record. “Just Another Whistle Stop” speaks to the ennui of the road, albeit almost as obliquely as “Sleeping” ponders the advantages and disadvantages of escape from that monotony. Little wonder too there’s also a tune here titled “Time to Kill:” sung by both Manuel and bassist Rick Danko (himself in the early stages of personal compromise), the number spoke of the tangible downside to that abundance of freedom and independence The Band originally found in upstate New York, but which eventually compelled the group to sequester itself in California.

Within the confluence of events surrounding The Band at this time—including an ill-conceived (and subsequently canceled) plan to record this album in front of an audience at the Woodstock Playhouse–it’s little wonder so much of both the writing and playing sounds stunted. The purity of affection for young offspring is undeniable during the hushed “All La Glory,” but even that quasi-lullaby bears more evidence of mere craft than pure imagination. And while the bawdy “Strawberry Wine” is perfectly suited to the salty persona of lead vocalist and drummer Levon Helm (who, not surprisingly, co-wrote it with Robertson), there’s also an air of self-consciousness about it. Meanwhile, the biblical allegory of “Daniel and the Sacred Harp” sounds even more forced, an all too transparent attempt to recreate the burnished aura of The Band’s previous two efforts.

There they were aided in production by John Simon (who was also a musician and appears here as such on a similarly strained period piece “W.S. Walcott Medicine Show”). But in yet another distinct departure represented by Stage Fright, The Band decided to assume those responsibilities and, in doing so, the fivesome availed itself of the engineering skill of Todd Rundgren (with whom Robertson had worked previously on Jesse Winchester’s debut). Some measure of tension arose between the two parties during the course of the sessions, so, perhaps as a direct result of that friction, upon completion of the recording, separate sets of audio mixes were prepared by the man famous for “Hello It’s Me” as well as by the Glyn Johns, even then known for his work on projects by the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Led Zeppelin and the original Steve Miller Band.

As originally released (and as presented on the expanded reissue), the ten tracks formed a fairly uniform composite of both men’s audio expertise. Still, the bonus tracks on the 2006 version only serve to clarify how the tones both Rundgren and Johns applied more often than not simply reinforce a subliminal sense of being at a distance from the musicians. Foreshadowing the sonics of 1971’s Cahoots and Northern Lights, Southern Cross four years later, the somewhat faux clarity and realism doesn’t impart the sensation of being in the same room, much less right in the midst of The Band as its playing, as was the case on the previous efforts.

And yet that’s unintentionally and ironically appropriate as the sensation of distance for a listener mirrors these longtime road warriors increasing self-isolation and estrangement from each other. It’s also a reflection of their dynamic in concert during which the taciturn stage presence of The Band could sometimes leave audiences at an uncomfortably cool remove. Therein lies at least one prospective kernel of truth to this title song—often interpreted as about Bob Dylan, it might also speak to the mysterious ailment that afflicted Robertson just prior to The Band’s live debut in April of 1969 at Winterland—but regardless, its somewhat defensive attitude carries through to this final track, wherein another incongruity in keeping with the mixed messages preceding it, “The Rumor” is notable as the rare instance on Stage Fright wherein the group utilized the vocal trade-offs and transitions by Danko, Manuel and Helm so prevalent on the earlier pair of LPs.

But the absence of that idiosyncratic feature is but an overt indication of how much more predictable are the arrangements on Stage Fright (as are many of the songs themselves). There’s no question the Band still swings as a fivesome, even as its participants continue to regularly switch off their main instruments: similar to the dynamic on the rooftop concert by the Beatles in January 1969, all animosity falls to the wayside when they’re in action. But, again, in an almost glaring deviation from the two prior albums, more spontaneous yet carefully integrated ensemble playing is not the rule here. Robertson often has clearly designated guitar solo spots, while the primary instrumental colors otherwise derive from similar spotlights for Garth Hudson, who also fills the arrangements with muted textures coaxed from his customized battery of keyboards, as well as accordion and various horns.

It’s altogether tempting to wallow in the granular parsing of extenuating circumstances around Stage Fright, but such examination can overlook the relative virtues of the music itself. The fact of the matter is, this five-decade-old record is captivating despite itself, precisely because it is such a vivid snapshot of the Band’s unique chemistry, captured as that very camaraderie was beginning to fragment.

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4 Responses

  1. Meanwhile, the biblical allegory of “Daniel and the Sacred Harp” sounds even more forced, an all too transparent attempt to recreate the burnished aura of The Band’s previous two efforts.

  2. The purity of affection for young offspring is undeniable during the hushed “All La Glory,” but even that quasi-lullaby bears more evidence of mere craft than pure imagination. The changes in style as well as the deviation from the traditional style of the band are also understandable because in the process of making art, artists are always exposed to and influenced by other styles.

  3. Why try so hard to denigrate this album, rather than just enjoy the works of a unique one of a kind group and mourn their now belonging to the ages. The Band was a blessing for all R and R lovers and I only mourn the music they will never make more of!

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