CONCERT REVIEW
Levon Helm keeps it alive at the Studio
by Seth Rogovoy(PITTSFIELD, Mass., Jan. 18, 1998) -- There was a moment about three- quarters of the way through his set at The Studio on Saturday night when Levon Helm looked like the happiest man alive.
Oddly enough -- or perhaps significantly -- this glimpse of rock 'n' roll bliss occurred not on one of Helm's tunes, but during "Crazy 'Bout You, Baby," with lead vocals by Randy Ciarlante, the other drummer for Helm's band, the Crowmatix, as well as with his former group, The Band.
With Ciarlante handling the vocals on that number, Helm was just left to bang away on his drum kit. Momentarily freed of the leader's role, Helm's craggy and at times pained visage was transformed, assuming an aspect of gleeful, youthful exuberance that said "I'm just happy to be playing in a band."
It's moments like these that you learn to look for and cherish in performances by rock 'n' roll legends like Helm. They open a window on a whole other level, where fleeting matters of style, fame and money are meaningless -- indeed, where the study of pop culture breaks down entirely, and where all one is left with is the existentialist joy and heartbreak of the blues.
Such was the mood created and maintained by Helm and his cohorts from the ringing mandolin opening of "Don't You Tell Henry" to the last cymbal smash of "Willie and the Hand Jive" that brought the curtain down on the Crowmatix' set.
The Crowmatix, a loose assemblage of Band-related personnel and Woodstock hangers-on -- including keyboardist Aaron Hurwitz, who produced The Band's last two albums, and his wife, vocalist Marie Spinosa -- provided just the right touch of Band-like country-funk without fully attempting to replicate that group's signature sound.
Hurwitz's Hammond organ drove the ensemble, with guitarist Jimmy Eppard taking a much lower profile than The Band's Jim Weider, and bassist Mike Dunn proving virtually invisible.
On a dozen-and-a-half tunes, including Band favorites and blues and R&B chestnuts, Helm shared vocals with nearly every member of the ensemble, and split his instrumental duties among mandolin, drums and harmonica.
The rail-thin Helm was apparently afflicted by a cold -- a box of tissues was never beyond his reach -- and he seemed to struggle with hoarseness throughout the night. But frankly, Helm's gritty Arkansas twang isn't much hurt by hoarseness, and by calling on whatever inner reserves he has learned to hoard over the years, he was able to power hard-driving numbers like "Rag Mama Rag" and "Ophelia" over the top in spite of whatever ailed him.
A good crowd heavily comprised of young fans there to hear Max Creek, which opened and closed the show, grooved happily to familiar Band hits like "The Weight" and "(I Don't Want To) Hang Up My Rock and Roll Shoes," as well as more obscure cover tunes including "Poor Little Fool," "I Finally Got You" and a jaunty version of Bruce Springsteen's "Atlantic City," given a Cajun two-step feeling courtesy of Hurwitz's accordion.
Two members of Max Creek sat in on drums and percussion on the last two numbers by the Crowmatix, turning "Willie and the Hand Jive" into a jungle-beat fest and uniting the disparate audiences of the two groups in a common bond.
The Band is decades past its peak -- indeed, it may finally have been put to rest. But like the old, great bluesmen who keep on playing until the end, Helm shows no signs of giving up his profession. On a night when the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan and Van Morrison -- all artists with whom Helm has been variously associated -- were all playing before sold-out crowds at New York City's Madison Square Garden complex, there was a certain poignancy in seeing Helm in downtown Pittsfield in a converted department store. But there was also something much more real about Helm's gig than the others.
This reviewer missed Max Creek's post-midnight electric set, which closed out the long evening of music at The Studio. The Connecticut-based jam- rock band warmed up the crowd, however, with an opening "unplugged" set of rootsy, acoustic country-folk and ragtime that lacked distinction or personality but which provided the soundtrack necessary for the Creek's fans to do their Deadhead-style, tie-dye shuffle. In between sets they even entertained the crowd with their own drum circle.
[This review originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on Jan. 19, 1998. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 1998. All rights reserved.]
Seth Rogovoy
rogovoy@berkshire.net
music news, interviews, reviews, et al.
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