The recent deaths of rock stars Jeff Beck and David Crosby left music fans mourning not only those two legends, but also the acceleration of an inevitable, tragic trend. Beck, who died at 78, and Crosby, 81, constitute the trailing edge of the cohort that preceded the Baby Boomers. Those Silent Generation rockers still with us are reaching the age – especially having lived the hard lifestyle – where they can’t look forward to many more birthday cakes. Jagger is 79, McCartney 80, and Dylan 81. None of them seem to be in imminent danger of leaving us, but odds are they won’t be entertaining us long into the next decade. Next, we’ll start to lose the oldest of the Baby Boom rockers – Neil Young and Clapton are both 77; Elton John, Santana, and Bobby Weir are all 75; hell, Springsteen is 73.
But they’re all still with us and still playing. We still have a chance to see them – maybe for the first time, maybe one more time, maybe for the last time. I’m sure some of those appearances will be painful to watch and listen to. But some will be inspiring, like 78-year-old Joni Mitchell’s triumphant return to the stage at Newport last summer. (Thanks, Brandi Carlile.)
And that’s what led me to write tonight. Many, many highly talented performers died way too young and before I had grown into an avid concert-goer. From September 1970 to just October 1971, 13 months, we lost Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Duane Allman. Average age, 27. And I never saw many others who left us a bit later, but also too soon, like John Lennon, Keith Moon, and Bob Marley.
I’ve been to hundreds of concerts over the past 50 years, seen many artists in their prime and some well past that zenith. I’ve also been lucky enough to catch some musicians at or near the very end of their careers, knowing I’d probably never be able to see them again. Some of those have been disappointing (Jack Bruce standing like a shriveled statue at a steamy late-night show at Bonnaroo 2012; Leon Russell with almost no energy).
Some, like Art Neville struggling to keep up with his old bandmates at a Funky Meters show in Austin, were sad and touching. I think, though, I prefer the memory of Art, full-strength, at a snowy New Year’s Eve Neville Brothers show in Park City.
I saw BB King the same night I saw Leon in 2011, at Austin’s ACL Moody Theater. BB’s guitar playing was limited to delightful licks here and there, decorating the songs and the stories. But those stories were fantastic and he laughed so hard at his own jokes. (I just looked it up, and BB maintained his intense concert schedule – 3-5 shows a week for months on end – for the next four years, almost until the day he died in November 2015.)
Dr. John was a hoot replaying his appearance at The Last Waltz as part of a 40th anniversary celebration of that event organized by Warren Haynes in 2017. The Night Tripper had a bit of trouble navigating the stage, but once he reached the piano bench his voice and playing were strong. He sang “Such a Night,” and it really was. Garth Hudson, then-80 and one of the two surviving members of The Band, was even more impressive that night. He needed a whole lot of help making it to the organ as he joined Haynes and friends for the encore. Then the diminutive Hudson presented us with an extended, maniacal solo on “Genetic Method” before leading the ensemble on a rollicking “Chest Fever.” Garth is still with us, but from what I can tell, he hasn’t made many more public appearances since that 2017 show and is in pretty poor health these days somewhere in upstate New York.
My favorite almost-at-the-end show also involved someone from The Band. It was a hot – make that very hot – and muggy July day in Bridgeport, CT, for the 2011 Gathering of the Vibes festival. Levon Helm was frail but mighty. His once muscular arms were so thin I was afraid he’d drop his drumsticks. (He didn’t.) Levon’s voice didn’t have the power it once did, but his singing was somehow powerful. He didn’t hit the drums as forcefully as he once did, but his drumming still had the force of his exquisite touch. He never stopped smiling. Nor did his (extremely pregnant but not wilting in the heat) daughter and musical partner Amy Helm. Nor did any of Levon’s big band. Nor did any of us in the audience. It was obviously going to be one of his last performances. We appreciated the gift he was giving us.
Levon closed his set at the Gathering with a rousing “The Weight.” The “feeling ‘bout half past dead” line was kind of a kick in the gut, but that’s in the song’s first verse and was long forgotten by the time Levon and Amy and the rest of the band and the whole audience shared the last wonderful refrain, “And, and, and ... you put the load right on me.”
Thanks for taking the load off Miss Fanny for all these years, Levon. Your singing and playing and joyous approach to life took a load off a lot of your fans, too. I’d seen you with The Band (sharing the bill with Crosby, Stills, and Nash) on a hot August evening in Austin (out in a big old field that’s now a sprawling shopping center) some 30 years earlier. That show was fun. This one, because we knew we’d never see you again but also because you were loving your craft up until the very end, was special.
(Levon’s last album, a live show from his Woodstock, NY, studio with the great Mavis Staples, was recorded about a month before his appearance at the Gathering. Check out Carry Me Home if you want to hear the final vintage from a rock legend.)
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