Leonard Cohen: Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)

Often when buying something like an album or a book, it’s not unusual to think to yourself, I hope I enjoy this, because if I don’t I will have wasted my money. However, as I looked into the eyes of Leonard Cohen on the front cover of his first album, Songs of Leonard Cohen, I knew without any doubt that if I bought it I would enjoy it. I have no idea why this was – I was not familiar with Leonard Cohen’s music at all, the only song of his I knew being the frequently-covered ‘Hallelujah’. I did know that he had recently passed away, and that I had been sad to hear of his death, again despite not knowing a thing about the man or his music. And yet here I was, buying his album, certain that I would enjoy it. Happily, I did.

Since then I have learned that Leonard Cohen was already established as a poet and author before embarking on his musical career; his poetic skill carried over into his lyrics, which are filled with rich imagery and deft turns of phrase. His voice is intense and deep and rarely rises above a whisper, forcing you to ignore whatever else you are doing to devote all of your attention to the songs (this probably isn’t the best album to listen to while driving). The instrumentation on the album is also fantastic, and credit must go to producer John Simon for garnishing Cohen’s vocals and superb acoustic guitar playing with minimalist snatches of unusual instruments that perfectly compliment both the singer and the songs.

Despite all of that, it’s the songs that really make the album. The standard is consistently high, but my favourites would have to be ‘So Long, Marianne’, with its happy female backing vocals during the chorus; the austere ‘Master’s Song’; and the lilting, lullaby-like ‘Sisters of Mercy’, which has a lovely melody of the kind you might find yourself humming absent-mindedly days later.

I don’t know what compelled me to pick up this album, but I am really glad I did; it’s hypnotically beautiful. I am glad to have made Leonard Cohen’s acquaintance and look forward to getting to know him more. 

The Last Waltz (1978)

Concert films are tricky to pull off, maybe even more so than a standard movie. Rather than having weeks or months of shooting to work with, the film crew has to capture an event that lasts just a few hours. On top of that, the director has to give the audience the sense of actually being at the event in question, rather than at home or in the cinema. A tough job indeed, but one that was gladly accepted by Martin Scorsese when he set out to film the final concert of The Band.

The Band was comprised of Rick Danko (bass, fiddle, vocals), Levon Helm (drums, mandolin, guitar, vocals), Garth Hudson (organ, piano, accordion, saxophone), Richard Manuel (piano, drums, vocals) and Robbie Robertson (guitar and primary songwriter), and by 1976 they had been together for roughly 16 years. Starting out as members of Ronnie Hawkins’ backing group, The Hawks, the group eventually struck out on their own before falling into the employ of one Bob Dylan, whom they backed on his infamous tour of 1966. When Dylan was injured in a motorcycle accident and retired to Woodstock, New York, the Hawks followed him.

Recording informally with Bob in the basement of their house, Big Pink, the Hawks hit upon what would become their signature sound: the intertwining voices of their three vocalists – Danko emotive and tearful, Helm fierce and loud, and Manuel ethereal and soulful – garnished with Hudson’s inventive organ flourishes and Robertson’s wiry lead guitar. They also began writing their own songs, which were rich with the many musical styles that America had given birth to over the years. In 1968 they released their first album, Music from Big Pink, under the new name of The Band. It was an appropriate name, symbolic of the equality amongst the members and the lack of a traditional frontman. In the ensuing years they would release five more albums and tour extensively, before finally deciding to call it a day with a concert dubbed ‘The Last Waltz’.

It would have been very hard to cram the entire history of The Band into The Last Waltz, and Scorsese wisely does not attempt to do so. Instead, we meet The Band exactly as they were in 1976: exhausted, burned-out and in serious need of a long break. The concert footage is interspersed with interview segments, where we hear the group reminisce and tell stories about life on the road. Manuel comes across as witty but vulnerable; Danko tired but chirpy and upbeat; Garth an eccentric professor and fountain of musical knowledge. A lot of the interview time goes to Robertson who, although frequently engaging and charming, often coomes across as aloof and haughty. My favourite interview moments come courtesy of Levon; when Scorsese engages him in a discussion about rock & roll, his eyes light up like a child at Christmas. He reminds me of Keith Richards in that respect.

As for the concert itself? Great! The Band clearly wanted to go out with a bang, and everyone pours their hearts and souls into the songs. One aspect of the film I do have mixed feelings about, however, is the amount of guest stars featured, including (but not limited to) Neil Young, Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Neil Diamond, Paul Butterfield, Ronnie Hawkins, Bob Dylan, and Muddy Waters, all of whom perform their own songs. I would have preferred Scorsese to omit some of these performances to make way for more Band songs (like 'Acadian Driftwood'), but it must be said that everyone performs well, and it is interesting to see The Band (who, of course, began as a backing group) supporting artists from such a vast array of musical styles. The guest that stood out the most to me were The Staple Singers, who join The Band for a gospel-style rendition of 'The Weight'.

Scorsese keeps track of the action incredibly well, and has a knack for catching those fleeting interactions between the musicians that are often missed in concert films. The lighting and choice of colour tones is fantastic; you can tell that a lot of thought and preparation went into the film and how it should look.

At one point Robertson refers to The Last Waltz as a celebration, and it is, but the film is also bittersweet; the members of The Band would endure numerous tragedies and hardships in the years after the concert, including the deaths of Richard Manuel in 1986 and Rick Danko in 1999. Levon Helm was diagnosed with throat cancer in 1998, cruelly robbing him of his singing voice. It remains a testament to Levon’s character that he was able to regain his voice and sing again on two wonderful albums, Dirt Farmer and Electric Dirt, before the disease finally claimed him in 2012. Garth Hudson remains in demand as a session musician, while Robbie Robertson works as a music executive for DreamWorks.

The Last Waltz remains a tribute to The Band. It doesn’t tell you everything about who they were and what they were about (you would have to listen to their albums for that), but it shows you what they were; a band, bound by brotherhood, friendship and wonderful music.