He's the one who sang “The Weight” and “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” He played Loretta Lynn's father in “Coal Miner's Daughter.” He's in rock's hall of fame, but he could easily be in Guinness World Records as the ultimate multi-tasker: a drummer who can deliver a precision beat even as he sings a rough-hewn lyric.
And now Levon Helm, once of The Band, has released “Dirt Farmer”, his first real CD in 25 years.
Will you cherish it the way you embrace The Band's first two CDs? Depends. Levon Helm was born in 1940 in Turkey Scratch, Arkansas, and all these years later, he sounds as if he never got to Little Rock. This is high-lonesome roots music. It's the howl of the poor farmer, but it's also the plaint of his cousin, the coal miner --- it's pure Americana, unlikely to be played on any radio station not run by a college. Taken together, these songs are a portrait of an America that was endangered when most of these songs were babies: a time of honest labor, Saturday night frolic and an abiding faith that there was glory on the other side of life's wide, wide river.
In short: “Dirt Farmer” is not just entertainment, it's art, worthy of close listening and deep meditation, superficially complex and musically sophisticated, easily one of the greater releases of 2007.
And I say this despite that fact that, a decade ago, Levon Helm had throat cancer, couldn't speak for years and hasn't quite regained all of his killer twang.
Before we get to the melodrama, let me just set the stage. Levon Helm is the son of a cotton farmer and sometime musician. At 6, he heard Bill Monroe and His Blue Grass Boys; at 9, he got a guitar; by 12, he and his sister were winning 4-H Club talent contests. He became what he beheld. At 15, he saw Elvis and was struck by the power of the band; he took up drums, and, at 17, found himself playing with Ronnie Hawkins.
And then, in his early 20s, he teamed up with four Canadians --- Richard Manuel, Rick Danko, Robbie Robertson and Garth Hudson. The Hawks, as they were known, played music that had pounding American rock at its heart. But it was a very roomy heart --- it also contained country, mountain-tinged bluegrass, the 19th century sound of Stephen Foster, folk and blues.
Bob Dylan chose The Hawks as his backup band. Controversy followed, then history. The Hawks became The Band, and, at the height of the Vietnam War, five bearded men who looked as if they'd stepped out of a Matthew Brady photograph made a generation of heartsick Americans forget all about Jimi Hendrix.
Fame endured. But life went on. In 1986, while Helm was in a hotel room down the hall, Richard Manuel committed suicide. In 1991, a fire ravaged Helm's home in Woodstock, New York. In 1999, Rick Danko died in his sleep.
And the most personal loss --- the three-pack-a-day smoker was diagnosed with throat cancer. Chemo killed the disease; his voice was collateral damage. But as it returned, Helm began to sing with his daughter Amy, first privately, then in concerts in his barn. These “Midnight Rambles” began attracting audiences --- and musical legends. They now command $200 a ticket. There is even a guy in a field waving a flashlight to show you where to park; naturally, he's “Helmland Security.”
“Dirt Farmer” sounds as if it's barn music. Be not fooled. It may feature songs that Helm grew up on and songs from modern masters --- Steve Earle, Buddy and Julie Miller --- that feel just as sepia-toned, but the hand-made metaphors end right there. Larry Campbell conceived, co-produced and plays guitar and violin. (For those who don't know, Campbell was the egoless center of Dylan's touring band for seven years; “awesome” was invented for him.) Helm's daughter Amy co-produced and sang harmony. The result is an all-acoustic collection that could easily be labeled as a late-life incarnation of The Band.
It's a group effort and a group triumph. And so it's easy to mistake Levon Helm for a senior citizen who has just come in from the fields and would like to sit on the porch and have a chew, but has been dragooned to play some tunes. As he writes, with considerable self-depecration, in the liner notes, “I love you all for giving us a fair hearing.”
I will do that. Many times. And, I sense, for many years.