Friday Night Jukebox, Vol. DLXXIII--The Band: Acadian Driftwood

 There's something happening here, but what it is ain't exactly clear, there's a man with a gun over there, telling me...I'm (only one day!) late again....

My introduction to this week's tune, amazingly enough, did not occur with my viewing of their classic rockumentary The Last Waltz.  For whatever reason, though The Band did play the song on that magical night of their final concert (of sorts), director Martin Scorsese chose to not include the song on his film, as did those who assembled the soundtrack album.  Nope, I first heard it on an early greatest hits package of theirs, and while I wouldn't say it was love at first listen, as time wore on it became one of my favorites....

I wrote about The Band in Vol. CLXXXVI, and if I do say so myself, it was a hell of a bio paragraph so I won't be adding much here.  I also wrote about them backing Bob Dylan in Vol. CDLXIX, which means I've written about the songs of one of my favorite bands of all-time only twice (though they've been referenced in nine posts).  Yikes, I've a little work to do.  Sadly, The Band's career was permanently closed last year with the death of Garth Hudson, their only remaining survivor.  Luckily for me, their music lives on forever.

"Acadian Driftwood" was the fourth song on what would be their originals incatnation's final studio album, the rather polar oppositely named Northern Lights-Southern Cross.  The song was released as the B-side of their track "Twilight," which did not chart.  The album peaked at #26 on the Billboard 200.

Fun Fact:  "Acadian Driftwood" is an historical account (songwriter Robbie Robertson had a few inaccuracies) of the Expulsion of the Acadians, an ethnic cleansing by Great Britain from 1755 to 1764 from what is now known as Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and the state of Maine.  Robertson drew from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's epic poem, Evangeline (itself an account of the Acadian expulsion), for inspiration.

One of the (many) musical elements The Band excelled at was illuminating the exquisite vocals of Rick Danko, Levon Helm, and Ricard Manuel, and "Acadian Driftwood" is an example par excellence of that ability.  Each gives his vocal take on the tragedy of the Acadians and propels the deep emotion behind the song.  Lyrically, Robertson captures the sorrow and perseverance of the Acadians with a soft eloquence.  Finally, musically the band plays with an understated ambiance, except for the fiddling of Byron Berline which carries the song from beginning to end.  The song closes with some singsong lyrics sung in French, akin to a lullaby.  A masterwork from one of America's finest bands ever, says the guy who's been worshipping them for the last fifty-some-odd years....

Lyric Sheet:  "We had kin livin' south of the border/They're a little older and they been around/They wrote in a letter life is a whole lot better/So pull up your stakes, children, and come on down..."

Enjoy:

Fuck Donald Trump

Peace,

emaycee

What a way to ride, oh what a way to go

One of the greatest nights in rock and roll history

Late one night in 1979 I was watching a newfangled movie channel called HBO and a concert by a band that I'd heard of, but had never heard any of their music, came on and within the first couple of songs I was mesmerized.  It was, as I've mentioned a time or two here, The Last Waltz and it was the beginning of a love affair with The Band that's now forty-four years running strong (and even captured my youngest son, as well).  I could not overstate how much that concert changed the way I looked at music, how much it influenced my future listening to music, and how much joy, even to this day, it has given me.

Sadly, it seems that far too many of my original posts these days are for the deaths of my rock and roll icons, and today is no different.  After a yearlong battle with prostate cancer, Robbie Robertson, The Band's lead guitarist and songwriter, passed away today.  There are many, many people who are historians of rock and roll and/or have written about music professionally who could do much more justice to Robertson's career than I.  What little I can say, can be summed up with what I feel each time one of my heroes heads for the Great Rock and Roll Concert on the Other Side--that a small piece of me has gone with them.

"Acadian Driftwood" wasn't featured in the original release of The Last Waltz, but as I explored their catalog it became one of my favorite songs of theirs, and it seems a fitting tribute to Robertson (lyrics here).  Enjoy:  

Republicans = Nazis

Peace,

emaycee

Friday Night Jukebox, Vol. CLXXXVI--The Band: It Makes No Difference

Like many folks, my introduction to The Band came from Martin Scorsese's seminal rockumentary, The Last Waltz.  I've watched it as much as I've listened to any album by any artist (helped along by the fact that my youngest son loves it as well and when he was younger he could watch it on an endless loop), and lo, these forty some odd years since I first saw it on HBO when HBO was some newfangled TV oddity, I enjoy it--and The Band--as much as ever.  Much like I noted last week with Johnny Cash and other solo artists, there are few bands (The Beatles, The Who, The Replacements, The Jam) whose music I admire as much as The Band's.

In the early 1960's, four Canadians (Rick Danko, Garth Hudson, Richard Manuel, and Robbie Robertson) got together with one American (Levon Helm) and worked around Toronto as the backup musicians for Ronnie Hawkins.  Eventually they tired of both Hawkins and playing cover versions and broke away on their own.  They became Bob Dylan's backing band for a few albums and tours before becoming The Band in 1969 and setting the critical world on fire. Over the next eight years, The Band would release seven albums (their first two show up on many best of all time lists), tour incessantly, have some decent commercial success (but nothing like some of their peers), and become critical darlings.  Tired of touring, Robbie Robertson conceived of The Last Waltz in 1976 as a farewell concert and stepped away from the group.  The Band would reunite sans Robertson and resume touring in 1983, eventually releasing three more albums.  Sadly, Richard Manuel committed suicide in 1986, and Rick Danko would die in his sleep in 1999 (after many years of hard living), and The Band ceased to exist.  Through the years, there was much vitriol aimed at Robertson over songwriting credits (see also, money), so much so that Levon Helm refused to reunite with him at their Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction in 1994 (in fairness, some of what Robertson did does sound just a tad hinky).  In the end, I think The Band ranks with the Beach Boys as American's greatest rock and roll band (actually they would be the greatest in my estimation), but time has not been as kind to them (at least to your average music fan) as bands such as the Beatles, the Stones, the Who, and the aforementioned Beach Boys.  Which is a damn shame--they were really a hell of a group.

Released in 1975 on their Northern Lights--Southern Cross LP, "It Makes No Difference" was never released as a single, so there's no shout out to Billboard magazine this week.  Many consider it to be Robertson's magnum song opus (just trying to keep it interesting), and I wouldn't necessarily disagree with that claim, though "Acadian Driftwood" from the same album would stand right alongside it as far as best song he's ever written.

I've noted often here on FNJ that there are few things rock and roll does better than create songs for the brokenhearted (and you only need one broken heart over the course of your lifetime--and how many of us haven't had at least one of those?--to appreciate such songs), and "It Makes No Difference" is a fine addition to the pantheon of songs devoted to a broken heart.  The song is also a testament to the greatness that can emerge when there is a confluence of all the musical elements--from Robertson's heartfelt lyrics to the backing vocals of Helm and Manuel, from Robertson's subtle yet mimicking guitar to Hudson's saxophone solo.  But truly the wonder of this song is Rick Danko's vocals--Danko captures the heartache of lost love without becoming maudlin and probably delivers the performance of his career. 

Lyric Sheet:  "Without your love, I'm nothing at all/Like an empty hall, it's a lonely fall/Since you've gone it's a losing battle/Stampeding cattle, they rattle the walls..."

Enjoy:

Fuck Donald Trump,
emaycee

A Legendary Heart

"And you've got to fight to make what's right...."  Lou Reed, "Legendary Hearts"

I titled my second novel (unpublished, and deservedly so--suffered the same fate as my first, also unpublished, that of its being overwrought horseshit) from a lyric in the above noted song.  There are probably millions of people today--most of whom can wax much more poetically than I can about his career--writing about him and like them I mourn Reed's passing.  While I've read today of people who started bands because of him (mostly because of the Velvet Underground), learned how to to be a rebel from him, or took art to heretofore never done before heights because of him, I myself took from his music that a sort of happiness comes to you as you get older and that's okay.  It's a lesson I've learned over and over again as I've aged.

The last few years have not been kind to many of those I've admired and whose work I've enjoyed.  John Updike.  Kurt Vonnegut.  George Carlin.  Levon Helm.  And now Lou Reed.

All of whom have left me with one irrefutable fact.

I'm getting old.

Peace,
emaycee

Aha!

I'm fifty-three years old, and for the most part, The Grammy Awards are lost on me--anymore I don't know most of the nominees or their songs, and I'm constantly amazed at the mediocrity that passes for "talent" (Justin Timberlake, Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson, et al).  This from a man who spent 18 years in the music industry making peanuts because, for God's sake, I loved the music.

But on tonight's show, when they paid tribute to those in the music industry who had passed away over the past year by having an all star band of sorts perform The Band's "The Weight" (Levon Helm, their drummer and singer passed this year), I actually got out of my chair, stood right in front of the T.V., and smiled like I don't nearly often enough.

It was a joy to behold, and one of those musical moments that make you think, "Yup, this is exactly why I devoted so much of my life to pop music."

Peace,
emaycee

And I do believe it's time...

In 1978, I was flipping channels one night when I came across Martin Scorsese's "The Last Waltz"  on HBO and it began a love affair with The Band that lasts to this day.   The Band is probably one of the most under appreciated groups in musical history--the Beautiful Boy once told my brother and sister that his favorite guitarist was Robbie Robertson and in unison they both said "Who?"  Their two best known songs are "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" because it was an unlikely hit for Joan Baez, and "The Weight" because it was featured in the movie "The Big Chill."  They were critically adored and popularly ignored, and I would bet few people younger than myself (outside of the Beautiful Boy) even know of them.

I mention this only because Levon Helm, their drummer and often lead-vocalist passed away last week at age 71, the third member of five to have passed.  Helm was the only American (the other four were Canadians) and his influence on The Band was huge--many of their roots rock influenced songs came directly from Helm's experiences in life.  He may or may not have been the brains of the group, but he was certainly its heart and soul.

I grew up on top 40 radio (and still have quite the affinity for a good pop hit), but The Band was the first group I discovered that showed me there was a lot more of interest out there musically than just what the radio was playing.

And for that, I'd just like to say, "Thank you, Mr. Helm."

Peace,
emaycee