BRINGIN' IT ALL BACK HOME
I've been hoping for
some kind of rejuvenation; a sliver of light cutting through the murk. The
news lately seems to go from sad to sadder, crazy to crazier. If it's not
the war in Iraq, the continuing paralysis in New Orleans, North Korea, the
endless chatter of cable news, a young boy in Massachusetts dies from Triple
E....then it's something else. When younger, we escape through various
means. One of mine used to be music. However, even that, as I get older,
seems to leave me cold. I don't hear much that’s new that interests me. It's
all too slick, the big production, pretty faces, big sound...little talent.
I used to marvel at how my parents stayed stuck to the music of their youth,
dismissing anything current as lard. Now, in a cruel twist of fate, I find
myself following that trend...trying to interest my children in the stuff I
listened to, and presenting a generally curmudgeon-like attitude to their
likes. Insisting that they don't understand, people used to play music for
the sake of playing, because they had to. It wasn't about fame and fortune
or the trappings of rock-star status. I firmly believed that it was all
gone, all upside down.
A few months ago I stumbled across an article about The Band. In my day, I
was an ardent fan of this eclectic group of musicians. Dressed in shambles
with a sound so distinct that you knew it was them after just a measure or
two. Eventually becoming Dylan's band and touring with him, they became
world famous and were riding high. As with so many artists of that era, they
never saw much money and the surviving members live like the rest of us,
trying to make ends meet. So came to life, The Midnight Ramble Sessions.
Levon Helm, the famed drummer and folk icon, decided to open up his studio
in Woodstock, New York to the public; one Saturday night each month. They
would sell just one hundred tickets for each night, a hundred bucks a head.
As I read the article, my imagination swung into high-gear, trying to figure
how soon I could get up there. Like so many things, I put it on the back
burner. This will require a babysitter, overnight trip...I'll think about
it.
Last week a chance phone call to an old friend and fellow maniacal Band fan
got me an insider’s view of what I missed. This friend had read about the
sessions in the NY Times about six months ago and order two tickets
immediately. The next thing he knew, he and his grown son were puling into
Levon's driveway in Woodstock. The night they spent he described as the
premier musical event of his life. Guests bring a dish and the evening
begins with a potluck supper in Levon's home. Volunteers, leftover hippies
from the Big Pink Woodstock days, help out with the serving and cleaning up.
He described it as a meeting with family, a dinner amongst friends, kindred
spirits. About 7:30 the music starts with a few warm-up bands. Later Levon
comes out with his twelve-piece band and they bring the place down. The
music continues until after 1:00 a.m. He describes the whole evening as
dreamlike.
The studio where the sessions are held is a fairly new, beautiful barn,
built for music. A big fireplace, the crowd sits on the floor, on oriental
rugs. The event is remarkable if only for Levon's surviving throat cancer,
having lost his voice for nearly two years, and then regaining it. In his
inimitable, humble style, he explains the precious nature of having lost
something, and getting it back. The folks who help out there describe him as
"the nicest person you'll ever meet. I've always suspected that, now it's
been confirmed. And, you never know who is going to turn up at one of the
ramble sessions. Alicia Keyes one night...Elvis Costello the next…and an
ongoing train of old-school bluesmen; folkies and players from every corner
of the country. My friend describes the warmth of the evening...sitting ten
feet from one of his musical heroes. An evening well-spent.
So, I have promised myself that I will get my self to Woodstock. The shows
are now being held every other Saturday night but are booked through the end
of the year. You can check it out yourself at www.levonhelm.com. And I found
my rejuvenation, that in this day and age, where we nearly drown each day in
the mire of dire news, an insipid culture where happiness is marketed in a
shiny package but nothing seems to have real depth...that tucked away in the
Adirondacks of Upstate New York, one man continues his quest to keep it
real. Where strangers can meet on a Saturday night and break bread and enjoy
an evening of music from our past, and leave as friends. That for those few
hours...the world can keep spinning with all her travails, and another
hundred people find their rejuvenation...and a smile.