Moondog Matinee
Rating: 8
Squirm factor: 3
   There's a tendency (I have it) to look down on "covers" albums because they don't contain any original material. But if the tunes are all new to the listener (and on this album, they are to me) then what's the difference, eh? There's even some advantage to be had, as picking only great songs from the past means you don't have to put up with half-baked ideas from the group members (e.g. "Daniel and the Sacred Harp".)
   Moondog Matinee contains, without exception, the finest playing The Band ever recorded, and of the 10 songs, I absolutely adore 3, and find myself grooving nicely to the rest. So I say, who cares whether the songs are original when there's such fine music to listen to?
   What makes this record stand out among the run of covers album is the time and attention paid to this material. The usual covers album suffers from either a quickie production (Choba b CCCP) or a song selection that demonstrates how little the artist understands his own influences (do you really want to hear Duran Duran's take on "Watching the Detectives"?) The Band, however, are deeply invested in the history of rock and roll, and chose 9 songs that were exceptionally well-suited to their strengths ("The Great Pretender" requires a bit more subtlety than Richard Manuel can muster), and lavished thought and care on the sound of the record.
   Moondog Matinee does not sound like The Band recreating the original records; rather it sounds like the group using songs they know and love to create their next record, entirely in their own style. Particularly notable is the instrumental prowess they bring to bear.
   Garth Hudson is the star of this record - he's absolutely amazing with the barrelhouse piano lines and one-man horn section on "Ain't Got a Home," the orchestra he conjures from his organ on "Share Your Love," the spooky clavinet (I've never before heard the clavinet played ominously - it's not that kind of instrument - but Garth does it) on "Mystery Train." The others are up to snuff as well, particularly Levon Helm, who is a past master of the New Orleans-style rhythms that dominate this album.
   Richard Manuel's singing on "Share Your Love" is a virtuoso turn. Listen to the rumble on "well" that opens the song, then the tenderness with which he delivers the verse, and the restrained agony of the bridge. It moves me to tears.
   Rick Danko gets to shine on "Holy Cow" and "A Change is Gonna Come." "Holy Cow" is a wonderful vehicle for his voice, which shares some similarities with Lee Dorsey, particularly the way he uses a nasal tone to give a bit of edge to the melody. Robbie Robertson's guitar is an understated but terrific element in this arrangement - it sounds vaguely like a Leslie organ, of all things. "A Change is Gonna Come" is surprising to me, because Danko's singing is usually a bit grating on long high notes, but here he gets a sweet tone out of his voice. It's quite moving, especially with the way the organ sweeps into the bridge.
   Levon Helm's vocal dominate the rest of the tracks, and they're mostly uptempo R&B numbers from the likes of Chuck Berry. Levon sure is good at this stuff: he handles the fast patter of "Promised Land" and the between-the-beats timing of "I'm Ready" with skill, and "Mystery Train" finds him placing little pauses in the middle of phrases that lend an out-of-breath effect which underscores the frightened narrative. This song also finds Robbie doing some terrific work, picking out an insanely complicated riff that sounds entirely smooth against the powerful shuffle and that clavinet.
   Like Stage Fright, Moondog Matinee has The Band playing their instruments with invention, skill, and passion, and it features a terrific selection of songs. It doesn't reach that mythical spot that The Band inhabits, but it's not trying to. Judged as a collection of well-written, well-played songs, it's hard to get much better than this.
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The Basement Tapes
Rating: 5
(Note: this review concerns The Band's contributions to this album. Bob Dylan's contributions are reviewed on that page.)
   Interspersed with Dylan's songs on this album are eight items by The Band. The fact that they play backup to Dylan on his numbers gives the impression that their numbers were recorded during the same sessions; in fact, they were recorded later, during pre-production for their first album. The presence of Levon Helm on drums (who was absent from the basement sessions) is a dead giveaway. Although The Band's tracks were recorded in studios, not the basement, post-production tampering reduced the sound quality so the tracks would sit more easily amongst the actual basement tapes.
   These numbers were rejected from the running order of Music from Big Pink (some at the last minute), and it's not hard to tell why. While they're mostly fine numbers, there's nothing that has the impact of the songs on that LP. A couple of the tunes are Dylan covers, but unlike "I Shall Be Released", they're in the lower echelon of his catalog. "Long Distance Operator" is a pointless 12-bar number that The Band, never particularly good at the blues, doesn't do much with. "Don't Ya Tell Henry" has a terrific mandolin line and a wonderfully evocative vocal from Levon, but doesn't even aspire to the transcendent moments of something like "The Weight."
   The third cover is a traditional chain gang song, "Ain't No More Cane." It would be a lot better if they didn't repeat the "ooh ooh ooh" part after every single line of the lyrics.
   The Band's own compositions are better. Both "Katie's Been Gone" and "Bessie Smith" are forlorn love songs with intriguing chord structures and slightly lackluster melodies. The lyrics of "Katie" contain a terrific verse: "Katie's been gone since the spring time; She wrote one time and sent her love; Katie's been gone for such a long time now, I wonder what kind of love she's thinkin' of."
   "Ruben Remus" follows up on some of Dylan's basement tape impulses toward character sketches, but the details don't quite come together in an evocative way. "Yazoo Street Scandal" is easily the most rocking number here, but a terrible mix makes the vocals indecipherable and the guitar alternately muddy and screeching.
   That leaves as the crowning glory of this collection Richard Manuel's "Orange Juice Blues", a non-12-bar number that nonetheless is melodically reminiscent of the blues, played with great swinging verve on an electric piano (shades of Ray Charles), sung with gusto and complemented with a sax solo that is equal parts "Yakety Yak" and Glenn Miller.
   It's nice to have these numbers collected along with Dylan's basement tapes, but you'll find yourself turning to The Band's other releases much more often.
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Northern Lights - Southern Cross
Rating: 6
Squirm factor: 5
   This is a fine, tasty album that bears little resemblance to the classic Band sound we know and love. I'm rating it pretty highly because it has some beautiful music, but it certainly is a far cry from those early records.
   There are three exquisite compositions here. "Hobo Jungle" and "Rags and Bones" are both mid-tempo numbers featuring Richard Manuel. While it's true he had lost some of the top end of his range, he makes up for it with a rich, knowing baritone here. I believe his voice on this two numbers sounds the best it ever did. The lyrics have changed from the rural focus that was an early characteristic to an urban setting, yet they are no less detailed and moving.
   There's a famous story Robbie Robertson tells, of sitting down with Bob Dylan in the sixties and playing him some classic soul 45's. He told Dylan, "You're writing reams and reams of words, yet your songs don't move me like these simple records." Despite this feeling, he tended to write more like Dylan than Redding for most of The Band's career. He finally pulls out his soul number on "It Makes No Difference." The rhythms are smoother than on a Stax-Volt record, but the chord changes and the melody are pure Memphis. Rick Danko sings the hell out of it, too, topped with a beautiful restrained guitar/soprano sax duet at the end. This is probably The Band's single finest moment of music making.
   Another song that is beautifully performed, particularly in the harmonies, is "Acadian Driftwood." Unfortunately, Robbie is trying to create an "epic" but winds up in "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" territory. How's this grab you: "Fifteen under zero when the day became a threat/ My clothes were wet and I was drenched to the bone/ Been out ice fishing, too much repetition/ Make a man wanna leave the only home he's known." This in a song decrying the fact that people had to leave Canada? It makes leaving sound like a positive blessing.
   There are three fast numbers. "Ophelia" draws on the strengths of Levon Helm and Rick Danko to use a wonderful New Orleans-style rhythm, but falls a little flat in the lyrics department. Garth Hudson overdubs a horn section a little sloppily, but the arrangement is great. "Forbidden Fruit" and "Ring Your Bell" show that The Band were tight enough to master that 70s white funk groove, but then so were the Average White Band. Otherwise, they don't generate much interest.
   Throughout the record, The Band are in top form musically. Robbie Robertson decides to stretch out a little on guitar and drops some amazing lead work throughout. Garth Hudson is all over, playing numerous overdubbed keyboards, enriching the sound immeasurably.
   Northern Lights - Southern Cross is the sound of The Band making a typical mid-Seventies record. Why they chose to do so is beyond me, but it sounds fantastic, and the songwriting has its moments.
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Islands
Rating: 4
Squirm factor: 2
   There's a lot of discussion among music critics about whose vision it was that led The Band to create The Band. People like Dave Marsh argue that while Robbie Robertson got the songwriting royalties, Levon Helm and the others deserve some credit for informing him of the rural tradition. I think the argument can be decisively settled with Islands.
   This album is the sound of a group running on empty. Robertson seems out of ideas, so his contributions are listless soft-rock, except for "The Saga of Pepote Rouge" and "Knockin' Lost John," both of which capture the great ensemble sound of the early albums but have first-draft lyrics that could tell a story with a little help.
   Robertson's ennui left the door open for the other group members to contribute their ideas; what resulted is a far cry from The Band and shows just how much Robertson was responsible for that idea. Richard Manuel chooses a soul classic, "Georgia on My Mind" (in the Ray Charles arrangement) but doesn't hit all the notes, while Helm turns in a fine rendition of a faintly idiotic boogie number. Danko and Hudson each contribute original compositions, but "Islands" is an uncharacteristic calypso instrumental (nice enough melody, but not what you buy a Band record for) and "Street Walker" has a powerful arrangement with some terrific horn parts (dig the clarinet) but sloppy lyrics.
   All in all, the accumulated ideas from the rest of the Band amount to about the same breadth of vision as your average Edgar Winter record. The last contract-fulfilling record from a band that's breaking up is not necessarily the best place to make this kind of judgement, but it sure sounds like we owe Robbie Robertson some big kudos for the music we love most from this group.
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