As writers and photographers, we’re easing our pain over the loss of Levon Helm by putting our thoughts and memories about The Band drummer and Midnight Ramble host down “on paper.” Thursday night HT founder Slade Sohmer eulogized Helm and yesterday two pairs of three contributors shared their memories for our Love For Levon series, which continues now.
“Honey you know, I’d die for you.” When I first heard Levon Helm sing that line from Ophelia I was hooked. It was the authenticity of his voice and the sincerity of his delivery that instantly drew me in. Levon may have been singing the verse to a crazed woman named Ophelia, but he made you feel like he was addressing you personally and that he truly would die for me to get to hear him play.
[Photo by Fred Harrington]
It was the Arkansas twang in his voice and the deep pocket his drum beats lived in that welcomed listeners into the world of The Band, with Mr. Helm comfortably sitting at the helm. He was a ‘sanger’ and a backwoods drummer. The lone American in a group of Canucks, it was Helm’s genuineness and unbridled musicianship that made The Band the definitive American band. Helm was, for me, The Band. Sure I love Robbie Robertson’s songwriting and guitar playing and Rick Danko’s vocals on songs like It Makes No Difference, Richard Manuel’s delicate falsetto and Garth Hudson’s organ work, but Helm was the heart of The Band and it seemed of American music.
As time went on, Levon went from being your brother, to your dad, to your kick ass grandpa. His Midnight Rambles at his barn in Woodstock, New York proved at least to me that for him it was always sharply about the music. I never was lucky enough to attend one, but I’d pay to see him play music every night of the week. The one time I did see him live, when The Band opened for the Grateful Dead in 1995, I was admittedly too young and hadn’t yet truly discovered their greatness. Since then, Helm’s music has had a profound influence on me, with his honest approach and heartfelt delivery becoming the mark by which I compare all others. Simply put he was a legend, his musicianship unparalleled and his passing leaves me incredibly sad. Rest in peace, Levon, ramble on.
PAGE TWO = Chad Berndtson PAGE THREE = Parker Harrington
I’ve always questioned any music fan who isn’t seriously moved watching The Last Waltz, and I’ve continued to think that way even after reading all of the literature — all of the feedback that suggests just how little Levon Helm thought of that whole dog ‘n’ pony show — because The Band had something you find once a generation, if that. Even with the undeniable sadness captured in the concert film, those five guys, playing together, just couldn’t help but share that something and bring along musicians that loved and respected them to share that something. I don’t know that anyone’s every quite captured what that is in words. Something…simpatico, but whatever it was, it yielded so much greater than the some of its parts — so much music that was deeply felt, majestic, down-home, passionate, you name it. Levon Helm was the core of that. It wasn’t just the playing or the vocals, either, because he seemed to bring that to every single ensemble — every single guest sit-in or one-off, too — he played with. HE had something.
[Photo by Parker Harrington]
It’s hard to add to everything that’s been said already in the wake of Levon’s passing, but every show I saw in the last five or six years, with the Ramble band and in other contexts, felt honest. Levon didn’t play any other way. Even with the setlist predictable, you were always surprised how much you were moved, how nourishing hearing a song like The Weight for the 9,000th time could be because you could see Levon grinning that good-god-I’m-a-lucky-man grin and making it fresh for time 9,001. I remember a show in Boston in 2008 when Phoebe Snow sat in with the band and blew the doors off the place singing lead on the most gorgeously transcendent version of Into the Mystic. When it ended, the crowd roared, and she and Levon shared a smile and basked in it for a second — a million road miles and hard times between them, but all of that somehow worth it because they could still get to moments like that. Both are now gone in body, here in spirit.
I’ll miss hearing Levon sing and hearing a rasp where a howl should be because he still wanted to howl and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t push the envelope every now and again. I’ll miss that wonderful moment in every Levon show when the band is relaxed and ready for hootenanny, the strummings pick up, Levon cracks another golden smile, and they all burst into Rag Mama Rag. I’ll miss it all a lot. We all will.
My wife and I had planned to go to a Ramble as recently as November and life got in the way, as it tends to do when you think you’ll have more time to do it later. Doubt the Rambles will go away, but they’ll be different now. Don’t postpone joy. A lesson — one of many — from Levon.
PAGE THREE = Parker Harrington
Thump. Thump. Thump.
There’s scant few drum notes that are as instantly recognizable as the beats that begin The Weight. If the percussion alone doesn’t instantly reel you in, the incredibly distinct, timeless and soulful sound of Levon Helm’s voice surely will. There was something intangible that mesmerized me listening to The Band. Music From Big Pink was one of the handful of albums that was in heavy rotation as a teenager and through college. It became one of those comforting albums that felt like an old friend. Such was the case the first time I saw The Last Waltz. It felt like I had seen it one hundred times before. And over the years, perhaps I’ve come close to viewing it just that many times.
[Photo by Parker Harrington]
It was with extraordinary excitement that I anticipated attending one of Levon’s Rambles. As I reflected in my account of the evening, it felt nothing short of sitting in a friend’s living room. The amiable smile, the welcoming gestures and overall joy that he exuded made everyone feel at ease. There’s not many people that can, on the one hand, put you in awe of his musical history and impact on American culture and at the same time, put you at ease. Levon Helm had that special ability.
At this past fall’s Life is good Festival, I had the pleasure of hearing the Levon Helm Band one last time. “It was magical” was my sentiment reflecting on the performance with Ray LaMontagne. Americana and folk songs get passed from generation to generation. It was fascinating listening to LaMontagne sing with the familiar drum beats behind, envisioning a time when a young Helm performed with the legends before him. And so too will this cycle likely repeat someday when an older LaMontagne takes the stage with someone from the next generation. Yet there are some songs that will forever be indelibly etched with Levon Helm and The Band. I’ve seen literally dozens of takes on The Weight from the Grateful Dead to Joan Osborne to The Black Crowes and scores of other bands. Yet, for me, that is one of several songs that will be impossible to fully pass down to the next generation as such a big piece of it resides within the heart and soul of Levon Helm.
In a wistful few moments at Life is good, Levon closed his eyes as he often does when playing the drums, paused, then lifted his head and briefly looked to the Heavens with his signature magical smile. Who knows what he was thinking but it’s impossible not to imagine the flood of stories, memories, and history that could come to his mind at any moment. I am thankful that I have some of my very own memories experiencing this American legend and musical hero.
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