The survivor
Levon lives to ramble on
Woodstock Times -  Features 7/02/08

by Brian Hollander

"Every now and then I feel like my voice is as good as it's ever been," says Levon Helm, a survivor in almost every sense of the word. "Every now and then it'll go south on me, but most of the time it serves a purpose and I'm happy about that."

He's a little raspy in conversation, but it gets better as the day goes on and the vocal cords have a chance to limber up some.

He's survived fame; lived through a harrowing throat cancer that could have killed him - that tried to rob him of the voice that provided the grit and emotion that charged the music that's now shoved into a niche called Americana, but was then just rock and roll and rhythm and blues; he survived the obscurity that followed the fame, when the world forgot just how good the music was (though most musicians remembered); and with the help of a dedicated local cadre of friends and volunteers who have helped him revive his career through the innovative Midnight Rambles in his studio living room, he has, for now at least, survived a crushing financial hole.

Maybe your voice is better than ever. Maybe you know how to sing better, even if the voice itself has limitations.

"I wish it was that way," he says. "I know that with Ray Charles and Ralph Stanley and B.B. King, singers I admire, they seem to get better every time I hear them."

You can judge for yourself on the road this summer, at the Woodstock Playhouse on the Fourth of July, or at the Ramble itself. You can hear the Levon Helm band, led by the amazingly versatile Larry Campbell's Stratocaster virtuosity, start with a blues number, then on to the R&B classic "Rain Down Tears," with the three-piece horn section wailing, and by the time they swing into the Band rocker "Ophelia," the audience, a mere five feet from the band, has been stoked and you'll find there is no doubt that Levon can still sing, maybe better than ever.

My fingers twitch. It's a reflex prompted by, I don't know what. Then I see it on a guitar stand in a study off the kitchen at Levon's, looking kind of like a cubist Fender, angles where there ought to be curves, nine tuners, the strings raised up from the neck. It's a Mellobar, a hybrid of electric guitar and lap steel.

"It was Richard's," says Levon, the keepsake of his long passed colleague occupying a prominent spot in the much used room.

The Mellobar takes the conversation around to guitar players, and slide guitar in particular.

"The first guy I knew was Thurlow Brown, down in Arkansas, he played an Esquire, before the Telecaster, it was really plain, stripped down," he says. "He was the first guy I heard stretch the strings. Robert Nighthawk, people like that. They were the people who caught my ear. We had the King Biscuit Flour Hour on the radio, that's where I heard them. I didn't know the difference between playing slide and picking guitar. There was this guitar player, Jimmy Ray Paulman, played with Conway Twitty; I guess John Hammond was one of the first that I knew, really knew what he was doing. Then I got to know Cindy [Cashdollar] and she took a lot of the mystery out of it. For the right tune, it's great. It's got more heart, the acoustic."

We don't speak of The Band. It's a closed chapter, and in truth, there's not much more to tell. Instead, we talk of a different era in Woodstock, the post-Band years, when Levon began his RCO studio with a band of all-stars.

"Fred Carter [one of his earliest influences] came up to play with us in Woodstock, [Memphis bassist] Duck Dunn came up...Howard Johnson, Lou Marini, Alan Rubin, the Saturday Night Live horn guys. And Butterfield was playing in the days. I remember...he brought a lot of the great players to town for the first time, [saxophonist] Gene Dinwiddie, [guitarist] Buzzy Feiten, those guys came in and made the town a more musical place. What a great band he had...Buzzy Feiten, that big, tall kid, Dennis, what was his name, he had that Corvette...In those days you could go out in Woodstock and see three or four bands in the middle of the week, groups like Stuff...

"We're trying the same kind of thing...music really needs a place to play. We've got our best equipment here and can sound better here than anywhere..."

The Ramble, at its best, is a revue, and when the horns, led by saxophonist Eric Lawrence, get their chance to be featured on an instrumental of Ode To Billy Joe, it does remind you of the great instrumental bands, a cross between the Meters and Stuff.

The best seats in the house are along the wall, just off stage left. They're right behind Levon, but the guys in the Helmland Security T-shirts keep it free for invited guests and assorted family. From there, you get a great stage mix of the sound and are, so to speak, in Levon's hip pocket. And for a frail appearing, 68-year-old guy, his drumming - his artistry on the instrument - is as solid an underpinning as any big band could want, commanding the beat, teasing the musicians with patterns that appear simple but are intricate, the big bass drum elemental as the beating of a musical heart.

Little Sammy Davis, sartorially resplendent usually in a plum colored suit or maybe one in electric blue with a matching hat, will take his turn, blowing harp and singing the blues.

"He's the best dressed, yes sir, and he can walk the walk and talk the talk..."

And then Levon will come out from behind the drums and pick up a mandolin, while Campbell grabs an acoustic guitar and Teresa Williams and Levon's daughter Amy join in for a few country tunes, including one or two from his 2008 Grammy-winning entry Dirt Farmer. On "Got Me A Woman," Amy takes a turn at the drums, keeping it all in the family, and curiously, sounds a little like Richard Manuel did when he would take up the kit.

Levon starts the Springsteen song "Atlantic City" alone, strumming the mandolin, a poignant evocation, stripped to its bare essentials, just before the gorgeous harmonies join in, propelled by Mike Merritt's booming upright bass and Brian Mitchell's accordion.

"I don't have any plans to retire. I want to play and record. I'd like to have Amy record as soon as she gets over having my grandson," he says. "And I want more young people in here to record. The worst thing in the world is if you can't get in the studio. Them companies got the keys."

For a musician, the Ramble is one sweet gig. You are treated with the utmost care, food is in the dressing room, the sound check is meticulous and by the time the levels are set, you can hear every note, even the soft strum of an acoustic guitar. The audience is right in front of you, unable to be unaffected, so you play your absolute best.

"The mortgage stuff is gone for a while, the bankruptcy is off my back. Now I can invite all my friends in to record. We've finally got enough good mics and can make a decent record."

There's a couple of dogs lounging in the room with us.

"That's Lucy and Muddy. Muddy is a Staffordshire, Lucy is a hound dog, maybe three different mixes, part Cattahoola...a town in Louisiana, they raise them to hunt wild hogs, yeah, they're bad dogs, boy," says Levon. "I found her when I was working on Tommy Lee's last movie...she and Muddy fell in love, so we brought her on home with us...they had a litter in the spring and she's expecting another..."

Part of the process has been getting out of town, out on to the road. The Levon Helm Band has been traveling with Phil Lesh, and is also out on its own.

"It's been OK. We played a couple of times out. We're playing Atlanta, Baltimore, Philadelphia...I loved Merlefest, we saw Doc Watson there. That was one of the best festivals, it should go on up to the top of your list. We've been going out for about two or three shows at a time.

He's also become a grandfather, as daughter Amy recently gave birth.

"I'm still new at it, but I think I'm going to really enjoy it."

Levon, back at the drums, brings the show to a roaring climax, Campbell providing the wild intro to Chest Fever, and a horn driven version of The Weight bringing the Ramble crowd to its feet after nearly two and a half hours (not including the opening band). The encore is an unaccompanied vocal featuring Levon, Amy, Teresa Williams and Campbell. It's a stirring finish.

"I do enjoy it more. We're just trying to make music now," says Levon, the survivor. "Having it taken away from me has made it more so. This many years later, that's the most peaceful time in my day, when I'm playing. There's nothing to worry about, I don't owe anybody anything, just play the songs and try to make them good. As musicians, we're just not ourselves unless we're doing that. The way we feel is just not as good.

After the show's over the other things can come back."
 

back to articles