Can't We Have Something To Feel?: The Early Years of The Band, 1958-1969, Part Three

The way the stars aligned, it turned out that the group wouldn't tour behind Music From Big Pink. Helm had a motorcycle accident that had left his leg in bad shape and Manuel had grilled the top of his foot. Just as they were recovering, Danko had a car accident, breaking his neck rather severely and requiring him to stay in traction for three and a half months. The longer The Band made the people wait, the higher the promoters' offers got.

The group had a new album to deliver, too. Initially, they had decided to call their second album Harvest, as if the seeds planted by others and by The Band itself with the release of Music From Big Pink had flourished and grown. Again, the group would record in Los Angeles, though their set-up would be vastly different. Instead of recording in a proper studio, the group rented Sammy Davis, Jr.'s home in the Hollywood Hills. They wouldn't interact much with their west coast contemporaries, but it suited them just fine not to- they were a self-contained unit, like five brothers, each with their own distinct role in the group.

The plan was to record from late February to early April, a little more than two months' work. The group deliberately evoked the basement feel. Converting Davis' pool house into a working studio, they split the remainder of the property amongst themselves. Six bedrooms in the main house and a suite in the pool house were split between the five group members, their families and producer. Unfortunately for them, the equipment did not arrive on time and for all except Robertson (who would end up writing or co-writing most of the songs in this time), the first month was wasted. In the time since Big Pink's release, Robertson had matured as a songwriter while Manuel's pen had essentially dried up. All twelve songs would be written by Robertson, with Manuel co-credited on three and Helm on a fourth.

The Band recorded ten compositions in one month with engineering split between Robertson and returning producer John Simon. The working day was divided into three parts. The second part was devoted to working out the instruments, determining what each member of the group (plus Simon, if necessary) would play on the track, the third part to rehearsing the number and getting it to perfection. The first part of the following day, the song would be recorded. This process worked wonders and it would make The Band's second album unlike any other.

"Rag Mama Rag" was a fun little jaunt about a woman messing with her man. The arrangement featured no less than four members of the group switching off- Helm was on mandolin and overdubbed harmonica, Danko sawed away on a cheap fiddle, Hudson added some frenetic piano and Manuel a killer drum part. The bass part was from Simon, performed on the tuba. "When You Awake", a song about passing on traditions passed on to yourself, didn't feature as much switching off, Helm strummed rhythm guitar and Manuel drummed, but the song, co-written by Manuel, didn't feature his singing lead. The way the arrangement worked out, Rick Danko ended up on lead vocal.

"Get Up Jake" was a tale about a sleepy ferry operator who crosses the wrong man with Helm and Danko splitting the vocal. Like so many of the songs recorded, there are visions of Dixieland throughout it. "Jawbone", a Manuel-Robertson portrait of a roustabout not unlike the type The Band knew in their younger days touring, was a piano driven rocker full of changes in the time signature. The chorus was sung by Manuel in the bathroom, making him sound different enough to help the listener divide the two halves of the conversation. The song features an understated guitar part light years away from the rip-roaring guitar Robertson had provided to Ronnie Hawkins and Bob Dylan.

"Look Out, Cleveland", a fun rocker with emphasis on the low end and a manic piano part from Manuel, was a warning to a Tennessee town to get the hell out lest they be destroyed by oncoming disaster. I've always interpreted "Across the Great Divide" as a song at least in part about the group's leaving the barren Woodstock winter for the sunnier climes of Los Angeles. A number about a man pleading with his woman not to kill herself, The Band's horn section (Hudson on tenor saxophone, Manuel on baritone saxophone, Danko on trombone and Simon on tuba) lightened the mood considerably. "King Harvest (Has Surely Come)" had begun with Robertson messing with around with a Motown song, somehow mutating into a song about the merits of being part of a union, like so many on the album, it could easily be rooted in the past- the narrator could easily have been struggling in the '30s or the '60s. A tasteful, no-frills solo from Robertson brings the song to a close.

"Rockin' Chair", the only track free of drums on the album, is a portrait of a sailor pushing age seventy-three winding down, pining for the world he left behind so long ago, mournful he'll never get back to his beloved "Old Virginny". Hudson's accordion and Manuel's vocal are the epitome of heartbreak and when Helm and Danko move from backing to co-lead vocal, there is a definite pulling of the heartstrings. Knowing two of them wouldn't live to push seventy-three is that much more devastating. It comes across like the greatest back porch music ever. "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" comes across as a song from a timeless era, it could have just as easily have been written in 1869 as 1969. Robbie Robertson may have been from Toronto, but he wrote a very convincing song about the plight of the rebels after the American Civil War. Hudson plays a trick on your ears, that "harmonica" is really a melodica played over the accordion stop of his Lowrey organ. The fiddle at the end is Danko's, the slide trumpet Hudson's. "The Unfaithful Servant", a bit of a lugubrious number, was a tale about a transgression between a mistress and her servant. Danko nailed the vocal, proving that he could deliver as much heartbreak as Manuel if necessary. The accomplished horn players (Hudson and Simon) are well complemented by those less accomplished (Manuel and Danko).

In mid-April, The Band finally made their live debut at the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco. It was not without its problems. Robertson had come down with a rather acute case of stage fright and the first night of their three-night stand was a bust, the group only making it through seven songs before being forced to quit. They recovered for the second and third nights. Two shows at the Fillmore East in New York City were also well received. In addition to material from their debut, they had added the basement chestnut "Don't Ya Tell Henry", "Little Birds", a traditional song that Helm's father had taught them and two tracks that showcased all four vocalists- the traditional "Ain't No More Cane" and a version of Little Richard's "Slippin' and Slidin'" to their set lists. Excepting the truncated first show at Winterland, the crowds didn't boo for the first time in four years.

After the Winterland and Fillmore East shows, the group returned to their task at hand, following up their debut album. Richard Manuel wrote the music for "Whispering Pines" on an old piano with one key way out of tune. Unable to write a lyric himself, Manuel turned to Robertson, who wrote a set of Manuel-esque lyrics about loneliness. The song became one of a handful in The Band's canon to feature three keyboardists- Simon contributed an electric piano part. The funky growl of "Jemima Surrender", bolstered by dual guitars from songwriters Robertson and Helm was a slightly off-kilter ode to trying to get with a woman of color. Manuel flails behind the drum kit and the blowsy Band horns are in full force. "Up On Cripple Creek" was a song about a woman bringing joy to a man, I don't know exactly what role Little Bessie provides the narrator, but you can bet they have a lot of fun. It's probably not a very serious relationship. A fine example of hillbilly funk, it was a track that the group had unsuccessfully attempted in California. The "Jaw harp" on the verses is more trickery from Hudson- it's a clavinet run through a wah-wah pedal, a funk trademark years ahead of its time.

The group remained a vague entity in the minds of people. Even though they had all recovered from the calamities that had precluded touring in 1968, they remained off the road. The group laid low, there were no interviews, no publicity. Over the summer, they played just four shows. In June, they played the Toronto Pop Festival to a crowd full of people disappointed at the metamorphosis of the long-gone Hawks. In July, they appeared at the Mississippi River Rock Festival in Edwardsville, Illinois joined by Bob Dylan. In August, they famously played Woodstock, recording a decent set somewhat marred by Robertson's live microphone. Within days, they were headed for England to back Dylan at the Isle of Wight Festival.

Owing to confusion as to what the name of the group was (whether "Big Pink", "The Band from Big Pink" or "The Band"), Harvest would be dropped as a title. To clear up the matter, the second album would be eponymous. The group had twelve slots for The Band and thirteen tracks to fill them with. Over the objections of John Simon, "Get Up Jake" was dropped, the track remaining unreleased until its inclusion as a live track on 1972's Rock of Ages. The original 1969 version came out the next year on the back of "Ain't Got No Home", the first single from Moondog Matinee. The Band came out in September, a little less than a month after they had backed Dylan at the Isle of Wight Festival. Its stark brown cover said a lot for them, once again, photographer Elliott Landy helped to convey an image that The Band was a band like no other, 180 degrees from their contemporaries. Shortly thereafter, the group commenced touring behind their second album. Unlike Music From Big Pink, The Band resonated with the public, climbing to #9 on the Billboard album charts, while the single, "Up On Cripple Creek", hit #25. Eventually going gold, its success served as validation for six years of hard work and relative obscurity. The Band even made the cover of Time in January 1970.

There were an additional five studio albums and two live albums, all with their own merits but unable to capture the magic of the either Music From Big Pink or The Band. The classic quintet disbanded shortly after Thanksgiving 1976, when they had performed a farewell concert with a cast of thousands. With their subsequent solo careers either having stalled or having never got off the ground, Danko, Helm, Hudson and Manuel reformed the group in 1983. The four-piece Cate Brothers Band replaced Robertson, soon enough the octet was joined by guitarist Jim Weider. Like others from the far off '60s who had fallen off the radar, the reformed group was largely confined to the grind of the oldies circuit. With greatly reduced pay being split nine ways, the Cates left after two years. Manuel, never particularly happy about playing to dozens when he had once played to thousands, committed suicide in 1986. After years of instability and rotating line-ups, the group finally coalesced by 1992 with pianist Richard Bell (alumnus of the Full Tilt Boogie Band) and drummer/vocalist Randy Ciarlante joining Helm, Danko, Hudson and Weider. This group recorded two records for Rhino-distributed Pyramid Records and a third for the independent River North Records after that. But by 1998, Helm's voice, damaged by decades worth of cigarettes, had been reduced to a mere whisper. Danko, overworked and overweight, was growing weaker himself. Though they recorded one final song for a Bob Dylan tribute compilation in 1999, The Band was largely inactive in what would be their final year. With Rick Danko's death at the end of 1999, the Band ended once and for all.

Levon Helm's voice came back rather miraculously and he's released two albums on Vanguard. He's back out there playing shows, singing music directly influenced by his youth and by the group he played with so long ago. He's an American treasure and he puts on a great show. Garth Hudson's out there, too, playing shows with his vocalist wife Maud. He's put out two albums in the past decade, both are showcases for his immense talent. If you want to hear what a brilliant keyboardist and horn player sounds like, look no farther.

Robbie Robertson's career has been vastly different from his former mates. After ten years spent working on films and with other musicians as a producer and guitarist, he finally started a solo career. Four solo albums, two on Geffen and two on Capitol, came out ages ago, he's spent the last few years as an executive for Dreamworks. Supposedly there's a new album in the works, time will tell if number five as much of a departure from The Band as its four predecessors.