The event held Thanksgiving day, 1976, was set up by the
legendary Bill Graham. It was held at the Winterland ballroom in SF, and was
attended by 5,000 lucky stiffs who-- according to what one reads-- in addition
the concert were fed a Thanksgiving feast
that can’t be beat with turkey and trimmings.
The Last Waltz movie came out in 1978. I remember watching it
in a theatre in New York, and to this day have sort of a faint recollection of
thinking back then how weary and worn the members of The Band looked. I had
just arrived on the New York shores then, and
I was much younger than everyone on the screen, younger than Robbie
Robertson, and crazy old Rick Danko, and judging by the movie the even nuttier Richard
Manuel. From my spot melted into my recliner Garth Hudson looked suitably old I
guess, and Levon Helm looked suitably timeless. He sounded fantastic even
though he seems to be pulling on a cig every time you seem him offstage. But in
1978 from my seat in a Manhattan movie theatre they all looked hardened by the
road.
Yet, watching last night I kept thinking how they all looked
so young. That is a strange dynamic. The Last Waltz locks the members of the
Band, as well as Dylan, Eric Clapton, Neil
Young and even Neil Diamond in a celluloid permanence that I am not protected by.
When was Doctor John ever that young? Such a Night…While I once perceived The
Last Waltz as a film capturing battle worn roadsters that never grew up, I now
watched as someone who is a bit more nicked up by life himself. You know I guess I don’t want to grow up
either or at least don’t want to get any old(er), and so I found myself with my
fist metaphorically raised, albeit reclining in my leather lounger.
As I watched the images on the TV screen I remembered the
allure of the powder always just out of Scorsese’s camera shot, but obviously
prevalent. It is rumored that the director himself had a problem with it. The smokey
trails of hemp so much a part of my youth and so far in my rear view mirror
now, seem in the movie at least to shade every corner. Back when the movie was made, I used to love
those summer nights when Up on Cripple Creek crashed through the Sear’s
speakers across the oddly shaped yard to the Forrest Preserve beyond. I don’t know what it is about the band that
reminds of nothing so much as summer.
If the members of the band and the other male performers looked
young to me, the women looked positively exquisite. Mavis Staples, Joni
Mitchell, and especially Emmy Lou Harris were enthralling, all beautiful and at
the peak of their artistic powers. I was happy with Morrison’s Caravan (… Turn
up your radio…), and thrilled with a jumping Muddy Waters tearing Mannish Boy
apart, but Joni and Emily Lou left me longing for more. Joni Mitchell is a pure
artist in the mold of Neil Young, a challenging writer, a transcendent performer.
As with Neil I could not follow Joni everywhere she has gone musically since
the Last Waltz, but as the years flow by the more I am in awe at the scope of the
artist and artistry. Coyote is just a great song. And though she also writes
her own songs, to me Emmy Lou is in that great and rare categories of interpreters
of the words and music of others. Like Sinatra, she sings a song and inhabits
every emotional bend in the creation until there is not singer and song. There
is just art that is almost shockingly beautiful.
So the Last Waltz goes on and one great Band song after
another rolls across the screen. It
Makes No Difference, The Weight (with Pop Staples, as well as Mavis). Every
Levon Helm song gets me. (Note to self: I have got to get up to one of those
Midnight Rambles in Woodstock.) But
where I was always a Levon Helm guy first, last night I remembered how much I
liked Rick Danko’s raw bluster. He leads on Stage Fright, but adds an edge to
Cripple Creek and several others, as well as splendid howls to Mannish Boy. Didn’t
give enough credit back then I guess. Robertson’s backing seems great though,
though today I read he was singing into a mic that had been turned off. Whatever…
And then, and this is the best part, Devi my beautiful wife
suggested we go upstairs. It was getting
late and she was getting tired. My blood was flowing so I thought the danger of
missing anything to slumber was low. We switched rooms just before Dylan
dropped his jewels on the night. Goddamn Forever Young always gets me. Loved
it. But then, within minutes I was asleep. Devi tells me I turned off the
cable, but left the TV monitor on so she had to get up out of bed, walk all the
way around, an shut it off sometime after 1 in the morning. That is the beauty
of me. It was a great Last Waltz, but I guess I am at the point that I don’t
always stay for the last dance.
No comments:
Post a Comment