Levon Helm died today, and I feel a huge
sense of loss. I also feel a huge sense of appreciation—for a magnificent life
lived fully and shared to an equally full extent. I’ve held Levon Helm in great
reverence for many years, but I’m feeling that respect and admiration even more
intensely today now that he’s gone. Life is strange.
A fascinating aspect of life (and being a
human being in general) for me is just how profoundly another human being who I’ve
never met or spoken with or shared any manner of personal communication with can
influence and positively impact my life. It’s one of the great mysteries of
life how human beings look to other human beings for their lead, for their
lessons, for their inspiration. It’s beautiful to me that time and space don’t
have to form barriers to being able to recognize the traits that reside within someone
else that we find attractive and enticing, that motivate and propel to be better,
that drive to do good.
I never spoke a word to Levon Helm
personally, nor he to me. I never saw him play the drums, guitar, or mandolin in
person, and I never had the chance to hear his sweet, sweet voice fill the same
room that I happened to be standing in. But Levon Helm did speak to me. He spoke
to me in so many ways, and most of those ways transcend music.
From the moment I heard Levon Helm’s
deliciously odd thumping on “Up On Cripple Creek” I was hooked on what Levon
was selling. I was hooked on his funky drumming and how it followed its own
groove. I was hooked on the infectious harmonies he formed with Rick Danko and
Richard Manuel. I was hooked on the conviction and truth that his voice relayed
in every note. I was hooked on Levon Helm’s authenticity and genuine presence.
From my first viewing of “The Last Waltz”
decades ago on through the most recent one about a month or so back, I’ve only
grown to find myself more in awe and wonder of Levon Helm’s musical gift each
time. I’ve been in awe of how he carries himself, exudes confidence and joy,
and demands respect with his mere presence. Levon Helm was America personified.
Still, I truly believe Levon Helm taught
me just as many things about being a man as he did about music, about how to willingly
seek out an appreciation for life and how to partake in the simple pleasures that
everyday life have to offer. Levon Helm was a man of the earth. A man of his
homeland. A man of his people.
Levon Helm was a man’s man, and I might
respect him most for this fact. Bob Dylan handpicked him to be the drummer in his
touring band at a time when Dylan was on top of the world in the mid-1960s. Anyone
would have killed for the gig. When Levon Helm got fed up, though, he quit and
walked away. Walked away from Dylan? Damn right. Not only that, he quit and went
to work on damn oil rig. Man’s man.
Watch “The Last Waltz” and you’ll witness
Robbie Robertson try to con the world into believing that it was he who was the
heart of soul of The Band, which is not only one of my favorite musical
entities ever but one of the best and most important to American music period. Robertson
wasn’t. Levon Helm was, and he always will be. Levon Helm called Robertson’s bluff.
He didn’t hesitate to say bullshit. I imagine when the camera’s turn off, he went
right on living his life the same he always had. I can’t say the same for
Robertson. Man’s man.
I realize that Levon Helm means a hell
of lot more to me than probably 99% of the people I know, and pretty much
everything I’ve written here means little to nothing to those people. I’d wager
a good majority of my friends and family have no idea who Levon Helm even is. They’ve
probably sang along with Levon during “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” or “The
Weight,” but they don’t know the importance of Levon Helm to American music.
That’s OK. I doubt very much Levon Helm
would care. He was all about the music. He was all about letting the music stir
the soul. Letting the music fill the soul. Letting the music encompass the
soul. I can’t be certain, but I don’t think Levon Helm cared one bit that he
wasn’t nearly as recognized or credited as he deserved to be for his contributions
to American music. I think what he cared about was playing another song. I
think what he cared about was dropping down a beat that could get asses
shaking, hip swaying, and bodies moving.
Levon Helm had his priorities in check. Man’s
man.
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