History is slippery. It changes shape according the needs, desires and even the whims of those with sufficient power to broadcast the story. The Band’s farewell concert, The Last Waltz, was performed on Thanksgiving night in 1976 and released on record a year and a half later. It was offered up as a summation of their career. Now, 25 years later, that history is changing shape as the expanded set makes its lavish way to a new generation of listeners.
The original three LPs and their 30 songs have swollen to four CDs and 54 songs. Just as the concert itself was conceived and steered (some might say commandeered) by Robbie Robertson, so too is this box set, which finds him again polishing the luster on the only phase of his career that continues to matter.
The Last Waltz is not at the top of the list of albums by The Band. And that’s not a slight, given the enduring depth and beauty of their first three studio albums, portions of three others, and the superb live release Rock Of Ages. The fractured and rather dismal Islands is actually an honest work — it is the sound of a band unraveling, meeting contractual demands.
As a historical document The Last Waltz references all of The Band’s work up to that point, celebrating it with genuine flair. They put a brave face and a party hat on the internal conflicts, delivering a stellar concert. These are seasoned professionals capable of rivetingly emotional balladry, festive strutting, R&B-infused rocking, and bluesy wailing. It is a selective tour through their output, influences and compatriots.
Upon its original release, the album just didn’t look right to me, and it still doesn’t. The Band hadn’t been an outfit that would make themselves into a logo stamped in gold foil on a textured cover. However, in retrospect, it’s apt — truth in advertising. This is a celebratory souvenir that could only exist at the time of its original release in relation to the albums that preceded it.
Now, with decades under the bridge, continuity becomes ephemeral, new listeners finding their way in via whatever door they choose. (This was illustrated perfectly in the ’90s when young listeners were introduced to The Beatles via the Anthology series; whatever’s being hyped the loudest gets the most attention.)
At the outset of their career, The Band maintained a perfect balance between the twin artistries of musicianship and songwriting. Each aspect needed the other, but that balance shifted as success rewarded the writer (i.e., Robertson; contributions from Manuel and Danko dissipated and ceased soon after the debut) with considerably more financial gain than the players.
One look at post-Last Waltz endeavors reveals how vital both aspects are. Compare a Robertson solo album with one by the reformed Robertson-less Band, and it’s clear which is the more soulful.
Half of the two dozen extra tracks are additional concert performances, restoring to the massive night some of the heft that simply wasn’t possible in the vinyl era (short of adding another LP to the original set). They offer some curious glimpses into the editing choices made by Robertson in 1978. With the exception of Bob Dylan, there was originally just one song per guest. Now we get to hear a second and even a third song by some of them.
Eric Clapton fell under the spell of The Band when the austere brevity of Music From Big Pink was released as Cream was careening down the dead-end road of their extended jamming. He’s been forthright in crediting that album with causing him to rethink his own direction. For Clapton’s turn at bat, he played “All Our Past Times” and “Further On Up The Road”. The former, co-written with Rick Danko, has an economically delineated, almost churchly bearing. The latter is a guitar duel that stands in opposition to the very reason Clapton fell in love with The Band in the first place. Granted, live performance needs a different range of material for that visceral gusto; so play it in concert, and then include the song that honors the full experience. But “All Our Past Times” was left off the original release. Thankfully, it’s included this time.
Other new highlights include Bob Dylan doing his rarely performed “Hazel” and Neil Young playing Ian Tyson’s “Four Strong Winds”, as well as The Band’s own “Acadian Driftwood” and the night’s final song, “Don’t Do It”.
The set is marred by the matter-of-factly titled “Jam #1” and “Jam #2” — over fifteen minutes of the very stuff The Band were outspokenly opposed to. OK, so it’s party night and a limo full of yahoos want some spotlight time; that’s right, Stephen Stills is here and he ain’t takin’ no for an answer! Well, party on, but leave it out of the very trove that seems positioned to carry forth a legacy. Here’s the deal: the only one who can do any extended jamming is Garth Hudson. I’ll set aside a hundred bucks right now for a limited edition box set of every recording of “The Genetic Method” (his never-the-same-twice solo intro to “Chest Fever”).
There’s one thing missing that simply doesn’t exist and never did, except in my dreams: A version of “Out Of The Blue” sung by Richard Manuel. His voice would’ve given the song an emotional resonance that Robertson just doesn’t command.
The Last Waltz is a celebration, a toast to the past and a wave goodbye. With the addition of peers and mentors, it succeeds in contextualizing The Band’s position in the music of the ’60s and early ’70s. For all its faults and self-generated hyperbole, it is an exciting concert. They earned the right to be sprawling on their last night out.
