THE BAND: MUSIC FROM BIG PINK (1968)
1) Tears Of Rage; 2) To
Kingdom Come; 3) In A Station; 4) Caledonia Mission; 5) The Weight; 6) We Can
Talk; 7) Long Black Veil; 8) Chest Fever; 9) Lonesome Suzie; 10) This Wheel's
On Fire; 11) I Shall Be Released.
As the elder prophets of the whole wide world
of «roots rock», it is only fair, I
guess, that The Band was, if not born, then at least definitively baptized in
The Basement — with Dylan as parent, priest, and godfather all at once. Before
1967, «The Hawks» were basically just a faceless (and, apparently, not very
good) rock'n'roll outfit. But much of Bob's spirit rubbed off on them while
they served as his backing band in 1966 and especially while recording together
in Woodstock a year later, during Bob's recuperation period.
From that point of view, The Band — even their
name is really just a truncated version of «Bob Dylan and the Band» — are
essentially a «daughter branch» of Mr. Zimmerman's enterprise. Ponderous
lyrics whose «meaning» should be extracted from keywords and intonations rather
than wholesale analysis, guruistic attitudes, blues/folk/country chord
sequences, hybridization of traditional «Americana» with modernistic
approaches — all these things they have in common, even if Robbie Robertson and
his pals may not have directly acquired all of them from Bob and Bob only.
Still, behind all that they managed to stake a claim all their own already on
their first (and, in my humble opinion, their best) album — even despite the
fact that it opens with a Dylan cover, and closes with two more Dylan covers.
The obvious factological difference is that The
Band is, after all, a band, and places heavy emphasis on musical arrangements
and «technicality» — not «virtuosity», which none of its members ever had or
ever even strived to achieve, but the utmost care is given to the issues of
putting every instrument in its rightful place, and getting exactly as much
from that instrument as is required for each song. Not to mention that almost
every member is an accomplished singer, and, although they were never big on
harmonies, the collective range of Richard Manuel, Rick Danko, and Levon Helm
should be angelic balm on the wounds of those who failed the task of stomaching
the resonations of their teacher.
But that's just technical, after all. Where The
Band really went their own way was heaviness,
and if you are dead set against it from the start, do not even think of
listening to their records. The Band took themselves and their attitude
seriously — very seriously — from the
very start, they implicitly claimed to have shouldered The Rock of Ages, and if
you deny them that right, chances are that you will never get along. Unlike
Dylan, The Band never ever had a true sense of humor, never showed a single
glimpse of a tongue-in-cheek attitude. This is a dangerous way of conducting
things — it leaves you no space to retreat when pressed against the wall, and
total failure is very easy: all it takes is a lack of talent, or just no sense
of direction.
The good news is that, as it turned out, The
Band had more than enough talent to burn, and the two years spent with Bob made
the direction as precise and easy to follow as possible. On their first album,
there is no filler — more than that, there are no real highlights and
lowlights, no matter how much one could single out ʽThe Weightʼ on the
strength of its ubiquitous "take a load off, Fanny" chorus. In fact,
today I am more and more inclined to take all the eleven songs on Big Pink as separate movements of a
lengthy, coherent, conceptual, single-minded, single-mooded suite — and also
one, may I add, that sounds just as fresh and relevant today as it did in 1968.
Maybe even more relevant (depending
on whether humanity has indeed gotten dumber over the years or if that's just a
statistical illusion).
The suite is, of course, heavily dependent on a
sort of «Bible Spirit» that these guys nurture, although nobody is inviting us
to interpret the album as a straightforward celebration of Christian or even
Judaistic values (not any more than ʽThe Night They Drove Old Dixie Downʼ a
year later would be intended to stimulate us to whip out the Confederation
flag). Mostly slow, stately, emotional tunes, with Garth Hudson's
classically-influenced organ and Richard Manuel's blues-and-jazz-influenced
piano dominating over Robbie Robertson's rock'n'rollish guitar licks, with
«pleading» and «weeping» as the dominant vocal intonations and catharsis as the
generally intended effect. And how does it work?
Well, if it does not work over the first thirty
seconds — first, with Robertson's «throaty» guitar, run through a «black box»
for plaintive effect, and then with Manuel's tragic ring of "we carried
you in our arms on Independence Day...", then it just doesn't work,
period. But for me, it does. Richard may be overdoing it — he is almost
overstepping his regular physical boundaries — but there is no sense of a
theatrical or, God forbid, «commercial» exaggeration in his singing. On ʽTears
Of Rageʼ and on every other song, The Band are self-appointed prophets fresh
from the pages of the Old Testament, a pack of Jeremiahs weeping into their
beards over [insert your own favorite of humanity's cardinal sins], and they do
mean it and they do believe it, and, in the end, I catch myself believing them,
too.
It helps a lot that, at this stage, The Band
was still very much a collective force and did not particularly suffer from
the domination of one single person — Robbie Robertson does claim credit for
the record's biggest hit and three other songs, but he does not sing much, allows
others to come up with their own ideas as well, and, in the end, Music From Big Pink is this stately-solemn
keyboard-fuelled dirge to the goodness of humanity, rather than the jerkier,
rockier guitar-centered music that The Band switched on to after Robertson
became their unofficial director / dictator and chief songwriter. This gives Pink an even more respectable — and,
the way I have always felt it, much less forgettable — face than whatever
followed.
The three Dylan covers (well, two are actually co-credited
to Bob and members of The Band) are the obvious highlights — particularly ʽI
Shall Be Releasedʼ, sung by Manuel entirely in a mega-vulnerable,
breaking-point falsetto that has managed to take my breath away every time I
heard it. It is also extremely well-placed at the very end of the record, a
drop of spiritual optimism / redemption after all the self-tormenting and
obscure confessions, and Manuel's interpretation of the lyrics — he delivers
them like an opera hero on the brink of expiring from consumption — is one of
the best, I think, in Dylan history, right up there with the Byrds' ʽMr.
Tambourine Manʼ and other cases of people taking the implicit beauty in Bob's
work and making it explicit.
But even without Dylan, Big Pink would still be just as big. ʽThe Weightʼ is nonsense when
taken literally, but apparently, neither Aretha Franklin nor the rest of the
armies of soul performers who took it up were intent on taking it literally —
all they heard was a swing between the suffering vibe (verse, relayed from one
member to the other) and the redemption vibe (chorus, shared by all the
members), and they took it as authentic, and so should everyone because it is: this is no fake preaching shit à la mode, this is The Band's signature
song for spiritual relief, and I do feel that relief when singing along —
although mostly, it probably has to do with those lilting, powerful piano chords that build a little stairway up
to each chorus.
But there are plenty of other «elegant prayers»
on the record — ʽIn A Stationʼ melancholically slides along, meditating about
life, love, and the essential uselessness of both; ʽCaledonia Missionʼ
epitomizes the sadness of the universe ("hear me if you're near me, can I
just rearrange it?" is one of the most sadly intoned lines I've ever heard
in a pop song); ʽLong Black Veilʼ, yanked out of the popular traditional
repertoire because its words and mood fit in with the purposes of Big Pink to a tee, is quickly echoed by
The Band's own ʽLonesome Suzieʼ. Only ʽChest Feverʼ, with its grinding
harshness, stands somewhat apart and does not have a lot of sense — many people
must have subconsciously felt that the whole song was like a long outro to
Garth Hudson's passionate, Bach-derived solo in the intro, and The Band would
later play up to that feeling by allowing Garth to really stretch out on that
intro in concert, turning it into a full-fledged instrumental showcase of
baroque solemnity and sternness.
Still, I do not want to concentrate much on
individual songs: the more I try to, the tougher Big Pink sticks together as one inseparable entity. A pretentious
entity, yes, and maybe even an insult to those who think that traditionally
oriented music should not be spoiled with the arsenal of beat poetry (but why
not?), or that it should not be «sanctified» and «sacralized» by an overtly
intellectualized approach (but what's the harm?). Like any influential album, Music From Big Pink is indirectly
responsible for much evil in this world, including, among other things, the
artistic meltdown of Eric Clapton, but that is also an indication of its
greatness — it ought to have taken a really strong record to make a tough guy
like Eric start seriously thinking about a change in his musical direction. In
a way, Music From Big Pink really
was that first record which started to turn «rock» into an institution — it certainly
was one of the first rock records that sounded like it was made by old, wisened, experienced people, rather
than fresh, hot, sizzling body-and -soul grub for the young ones. And just look
at how much facial hair was shared between all the band members, too — most
rockers still preferred a clean shave in 1968.
All this might make it kinda hard to get a real
hard kick out of Big Pink when you
are still mostly driven by instincts, gut reactions, and usually prefer to
increase your collection with hardcore and power pop rather than somebody
sounding like a mix of Woody Guthrie, Alan Ginsberg, Moses, and Aharon. Once
you get older, though, or go through some decelerating experience (losing a
leg, for instance, or a loved one), Music
From Big Pink — and I guarantee this with a 90% certainty — is one of
those relatively few truly beautiful
pieces of music that will offer a good dose of spiritual healing. Thumbs up
for one of the best albums of 1968.
PS. The CD reissue is essential for all the
remastering jobs and informative liner notes, but not necessarily for the bonus
tracks — most are just alternate takes with minor variations or versions of
songs that should rather be heard on Bob Dylan & The Band's Basement Tapes. Although, of course, a
song like ʽKatie's Been Goneʼ completely belongs, in form and spirit, on Big Pink proper, no question about it.
Check "Music From Big Pink" (MP3) on Amazon
"then it just doesn't work, period."
ReplyDeleteIt doesn't for me, definitely.
"Once you get older,"
I am from 1963.
"go through some decelerating experience"
Happened to me a few times.
"a good dose of spiritual healing"
Nope. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake and Shostakovitch' Viola Sonata do - in the meaning of offering comfort. I never have been hmpf, spiritual. Such an ugly word. I obviously belong to the 10%.
"self-appointed prophets fresh from the pages of the Old Testament"
It certainly doesn't help that I actively dislike that collection of books.
"Garth Hudson's passionate, Bach-derived solo"
Fortunately for me there is also Speed King from In Rock. And of course the famous guitar solo on Highway Star is set on a Bach progression of chords. Neither should I forget the intro of You're Time is gonna come. That's the setting it works for me.
But yeah, I enjoy the intro of Chest Fever highly too. Pity it's so short. I guess I'll have to check some live version.
I always welcome alternative points of view, but how come Deep Purple Mark II is your benchmark for judging everything? Is this just to confirm the 10%? (More like 0.01%, in this case).
DeleteMNb, Jimmy Page said in an interview that the use of pedal steel in "Your Time Is Gonna Come" came about when Led Zeppelin was doing a version of "Chest Fever" in which Jimmy used it. After that comment I realised that probably the use of a solo organ intro was suggested by Chest Fever as well.
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DeleteYes!! I was lost in a sea of modernity, but the Brothers of Big Pink have taken me home to a harbor of Americana, full of swirling organs, plunking pianos, and whisper-throated sages. When I first heard this album in my 20s, it was lost on me. I HATED (much like most of the members of the band) opening the album with that dirge-like march, Tears of Rage. But it sets the tone for this whole experience. Nothing is easy, nothing is fancy, nothing is wasted--and everything is delivered. I'm old enough to get the spirit of this one, finally. Thanks for saying in words what the spirit whispers in riddles and moans.
ReplyDeleteP.S. Do I sound like a pot-smoking hippie or what? (I don't smoke but I do like the hippie vibe)
Well I've lost both my legs and everyone I've ever loved, and, other than The Weight, this album does absolutely nothing for me.
ReplyDeleteI've loved this album since I was 16. I guess maybe that's a bad sign? On the other hand, I still have both my legs.
ReplyDeleteI will say, on my less ponderous days I prefer "Stage Fright". I think it's their most finely textured work, such instrumental beauty!
Finally, after years of that nagging "where did I hear this before" question in the back of my brain, I found the answer. The chords in the verses of Springsteen's "Tunnel Of Love" IS the main riff of "Chest Fever" with a slightly different rhythm.
ReplyDeleteI remember hearing this album and it absolutely shook me in a way few albums have. Screw the haters, this is one of the greatest albums ever made. Each and every song on here is beautiful. I agree about the instrument part, each member just tries to squeeze out as much emotion and meaning from each note, and because of that, even the weak songs have a new sense of meaning.
ReplyDeleteI don’t 100% agree with George’s thing about this album being pretentious. To me, it is like mistaking Quadrophenia for pretentiousness. Both albums seem like that on the surface, but once you start peeling the layers, you realize both are, in fact, cathartic but humble prayers. And there is humor on the album, “We Can Talk” and “Long Black Veil” are supposed to be lighthearted and entertaining. And the Band weren’t always serious like George says. They were on The Band, but on Stage Fright and Northern Lights, they had some lighter songs to cool the mood.
But I totally agree about the democracy aspect. Robbie was too dictatorial and steered the band in a direction that was much less beautiful. Honestly, the decline of the band came because Manuel lost power. Manuel always was the one who wanted to take the mind-opening spiritual path, but he got very little songwriting credits on the later albums. Well, too bad for Robbie. But who cares when you have this album?