FEATURE:
Join Us for The Last Waltz!
IN THIS PHOTO: The Band and everyone else on stage closing out The Last Waltz/PHOTO CREDIT: Ed Perlstein/Morrison Hotel Gallery
The Band's Final Performance at Fifty
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THIS is one of those anniversaries…
that might not get picked up or be written about. However, I noticed that The Band’s final performance, known as The Last Waltz, is coming up for its fiftieth anniversary. As Wikipedia state: “The Last Waltz was a concert by the Canadian-American rock group the Band, held on American Thanksgiving Day, November 25, 1976, at Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco. The Last Waltz was advertised as the Band's "farewell concert appearance", and the concert had the Band joined by more than a dozen special guests, including their previous employers Ronnie Hawkins and Bob Dylan, as well as Paul Butterfield, Bobby Charles, Eric Clapton, Neil Diamond, Emmylou Harris, Dr. John, Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison, the Staple Singers, Ringo Starr, Muddy Waters, Ronnie Wood, and Neil Young. The musical director for the concert was the Band's original record producer, John Simon”. I wrote about this five years ago, so there may be some information that repeats itself. Even so, fifty years after this incredible performance. It was sort of a farewell but not. The Band did release more albums after 1976. The Last Waltz documentary/film was released in 1978. Jericho was released in 1993, ten years after The Band reformed without guitarist and songwriter Robbie Robertson. Even so, that 1976 performance that was then made into a 1978 album is the final album from the original line-up. I will come to some reviews and features. I want to start with a 2015 feature from Ultimate Classic Rock, who looked inside a legendary farewell concert:
“A wise man once said it's better to burn out than fade away, and on Thanksgiving Day in 1976, the Robbie Robertson-era edition of Band did just that: Their final concert together was a blaze of glory called The Last Waltz.
After spending more than 15 years on the road – first as a backing band and then as a recording act in their own right – they called it quits as a touring entity by leading an all-star ensemble through an epic night of food, dancing and rock 'n' roll. Commemorated by director Martin Scorsese, the event would later serve as the grist for one of the most beloved concert films of all time, but on Nov. 25, 1976, it was simply one heck of a show.
At the time of the concert, the Band was enjoying a run of success dating back to its 1964 formation as the backing crew for rockabilly singer Ronnie Hawkins. After rising to prominence as Bob Dylan's band in the mid-'60s, the group – consisting of bassist/vocalist Rick Danko, drummer/vocalist Levon Helm, multi-instrumentalist Garth Hudson, keyboard player/vocalist Richard Manuel and guitarist/vocalist Robertson – embarked on a recording career that produced six straight Top 40 albums, including their platinum self-titled 1969 release.
In the context of the times, their music was resolutely and singularly old-fashioned, evoking a homespun Appalachian feel that was often utterly out of step with current trends. That didn't stop them from breaking the Top 40 with several singles, including 1969's "Up on Cripple Creek" and 1972's "Don't Do It." (Ironically, the song that would become arguably their trademark number, "The Weight," petered out in the lower reaches of the pop chart.)
All of which is to say that when they announced their retirement from the stage, the Band were still very much in demand – and had acquired enough famous friends over the years that The Last Waltz quickly became a star-studded affair, featuring appearances from former benefactors Hawkins and Dylan as well as a long list of guests that included Van Morrison, Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Muddy Waters, Joni Mitchell, and Dr. John. Considering that the audience was treated to a turkey dinner and ballroom dancing prior to the start of the show, the event's $25 ticket price – which was a lot of money at the time – ended up being quite a bargain.
If the music was solid, the Band's ties were already starting to fray. To begin with, the concert never would have happened in the first place if Robertson hadn't decided to leave the road, effectively making their live retirement a unilateral decision that rankled the other members of the group.
Resentment over Robertson's control of the Band's affairs extended to decisions as simple as who should join them in the lineup – such as his infamously divisive insistence that Neil Diamond be brought on to perform a cut from his recent Robertson-produced LP. (Walking offstage after his performance, Diamond supposedly challenged Bob Dylan to "follow that." Dylan was said to have issued the scathing retort, "What do I have to do, go on stage and fall asleep?")
Sadly, the Band would quickly disintegrate into rancor in the years following The Last Waltz, with the film itself proving a persistent sore spot between former members – particularly Levon Helm, who openly resented the way he felt Martin Scorsese focused on Robertson. For all the bad blood surrounding the show, however, Waltz remains a high point of '70s rock, as well as the arguable apex of each of the members' respective careers.
Even as they were falling apart behind the scenes, they managed to demonstrate the strength of their musical bond – and the result remains a powerful example of just what can happen when talented artists are able to set aside their differences long enough to give in to the power of song”.
Prior to ending with a 2023 feature that marked forty-five years of The Last Waltz album, I did want to bring in a review from Toronto Star that reacted to the somewhat iconic and much-storied final performance from The Band. I can only imagine what the atmosphere was like at San Francisco’s Winterland Ballroom on 25th November, 1976:
“SAN FRANCISCO - "Any day now / Any day now / I shall be released."
They were looking at one another as they sang these words early yesterday morning. There was Eric Clapton on one side of the stage, grinning lazily at Ron Wood, Paul Butterfield, and Muddy Waters. There were Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Neil Diamond and Van Morrison on the other side of the stage.
Bob Dylan, a broad-brimmed hat hiding his eyes, stood with his legs apart. Behind him, swaying like a friendly bear, stood Ronnie Hawkins. At the very back Ringo Starr pumped away methodically with his drum sticks.
And at the very centre of it all was the Band - guitarist Robbie Robertson soaked with sweat; bassist Rick Danko; drummer Levon Helm and pianist Richard Manuel all laughing, organist Garth Hudson with his eyes closed.
It was the end of five hours of almost non-stop playing for the Band. It was also the group's last stop after 16 years on the road. The Last Waltz, as they called their farewell concert at the old Winterland ballroom, was just that.
"You can go home now folks", said an usher as the crowd filed past him into the damp foggy streets of the Fillmore district. "It's all over."
This was more than just a farewell concert for the Band. It was in many ways a swan song for an entire generation of rock. The Last Waltz was the last of the true '60s events - one that will eventually seem as important as the Beatles' first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show, or Woodstock, or Altamonte.
The Last Waltz was a compacted musical experience of varied threads woven tightly together into a consistent pattern. It was a concert by and for a single generation - those who grew up in the 1960s. It was, in short, a rock concert for adults. Most of its performers were people who are in their 30s, who have gone through the publicity mills and now guard their privacy, who are cautious about their careers. What they do is done with careful consideration.
"That's why we want to make sure everything is done correctly," said Robbie Robertson before the show. "That's why it was important to have it on (the American) Thanksgiving Day. We wanted to show our thanks in the best way possible."
For the Band, this meant spending $200,000 to decorate the hall and feed a crowd of more than 5,000, and another $100,000 as an advance on a movie of the concert, directed by Martin Scorsese (Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, etc.). For the crowd this meant paying $25 a ticket for a complete turkey or smoked salmon dinner and, as one girl explained, "more stars than you can find on the entire hit parade."
Faded grandeur
Using props from the San Francisco Opera Company, Bill Graham's crew of 500 workers turned the worn Winterland interior into something out of La Boheme. The setting was of faded grandeur. The stage was surrounded by an elegant backdrop. Six enormous chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling.
Shortly after the doors opened at 4 p.m. Thursday, a full-sized orchestra played zesty waltzes in an artificial garden setting complete with two hedges and fake statuary. Banquet tables, later removed for the concert, were covered in white linen. Funky elegance was the tone. Some bikers turned up in crumpled tuxedos while other fans in jeans and T-shirts swept around the dance floor to the strains of Strauss.
Despite all the paraphernalia and despite the complexity of the operation, nothing seemed rushed. An enormous about of food was consumed - 220 turkeys weighing a total of 5,600 pounds, 400 gallons of apple juice, 300 pounds of Nova Scotia smoked salmon brought from New York by Bob Dylan, 6,000 bread rolls, 2,000 pounds of peeled yams. Using walkie-talkies to keep the food supply coming regularly, the caterers fed everyone in the five hours before the Band went on.
"Something like this is only made possible when you can afford to not make a profit," explained Graham, who started his career as a concert promoter in 1965 with a benefit for the San Francisco Mime Troupe. It's likely, though, that the Band will make a profit aside from the $125,000 taken in from ticket sales. The concert was recorded and a spokesman for the Band explained that "everyone played for the minimum union scale and they all want to see an album come out of this."
There's the movie, too. Martin Scorsese became involved with the Band when he was shooting Mean Streets in New York and went to Woodstock, where the Band was living, for a break from work. They became friends. "So he knows exactly what they want," explained the spokesman. "If this doesn't become the best rock movie ever made, it will become the most expensive home movie ever made."
The choice of the Winterland ballroom was important. The Band made its concert debut here in 1969 - a year after its first album, Music From Big Pink, and the year before the group appeared on the cover of Time. Even in 1969 the group represented the culmination of a lot that had happened to rock - from '50s rock, which they had churned out for eight years with Ronnie Hawkins, to country, blues and Bob Dylan, with whom they worked in the mid-'60s.
The Last Waltz was the crystallization of all these influences. The crowd, jammed on the floor, reacted to each song as if greeting a long-lost friend. Backstage things were no less enthusiastic. Ronee Blakley, who had appeared with Rolling Thunder, couldn't even get close to the stage. "This is unbelievable," she mumbled.
David Bromberg, Dylan's former accompanist, almost backed into Ringo Starr, who had flown in from Los Angeles in the private jet rented by Neil Diamond.
"I'm taking it very easy," said Ringo. Bromberg was otherwise inclined. "On a scale from 10 to 10," he said to no one in particular, "this concert rates a 15."
Walking almost unnoticed was Albert Grossman, Dylan's first manager. He ended up managing the Band when Dylan left him in 1967 and wasn't about to admit the group had quit performing together for good. "It is just not going to happen," he said shaking his head.
The big time
Certainly the Band acted on stage as if they would never quit. First Ronnie Hawkins joined them. "This is the big time, the big time," he kept saying as he and his former sidemen snapped briskly to one of their old hits, Who Do You Love?
Dr. John cooled things down a bit with some rolling gospel piano, but Paul Butterfield and Muddy Waters teamed up with the Band for an intense, almost overpowering version of Mannish Boy. Then Eric Clapton took things even further by swapping guitar solos with Robbie Robertson in Farther On Up The Road.
The peak seemed to have passed when Neil Young appeared. With Joni Mitchell singing behind him backstage, he and the Band tried a tentative version of Helpless. This was followed by Four Strong Winds, a song "written by a friend of ours, Ian Tyson," said Robertson. But Young was barely halfway through it when he forgot the words of one of the verses.
The Canadian connection wasn't left there, however. After Joni Mitchell offered three songs and after Neil Diamond and Van Morrison had appeared, Mitchell and Young teamed up with the Band for Acadian Driftwood. "They call my home the land of snow," they sang. The hall seemed strangely quiet.
Final chords
Outside limousines were lining up. Inside, the Band had just finished the final chords of The Weight. "Now," said Robbie Robertson quietly, "Bob Dylan."
Dylan's appearance was no surprise. Much of the line-up had been made public in the month since the Band announced its retirement. Dylan's performance was a surprise though. This was not the mellow folkie of Rolling Thunder. This was the Dylan of 1966, raw and uninhibited.
"Baby let me follow you down," he sang as the Band freewheeled behind him. Slowly people started walking out on stage - Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Ringo Starr, Ron Wood. Robbie Robertson, looking around, nodded and gave the downbeat for I Shall Be Released.
The show was over. But "just because we're not going to tour anymore doesn't mean the music stops," Robertson had said before the show. "We've been going so long we'll never stop completely”.
Let’s end with Albumism and their feature from 1st April, 2023. Looking ahead to the forty-fifth anniversary of The Last Waltz album of 7th April, 1978. It is one of those musical moments where I’d like to go back in time and see, just to feel and sense the emotions in that space. Whether it truly lives up to the legend and hype that surrounds it. It truly was a big moment in music history:
“The amazing thing about this four-hour tour de force, which chronicles the band’s supposed final concert, is that it functions like a Shakespeare play: an audience member can find whatever they’re looking for if they spend enough time turning it over. (It is also Shakespearean in the sense that there’s one character who dresses weird, doesn’t have much to do with the plot, does silly things, and everyone likes it. In Shakespeare’s case it’s usually a clown; in ours, it’s Van Morrison).
Across this incredible night of music, The Band span the full range of human emotion. You can say it’s about goodbyes, you can say it’s about the history of rock & roll, or about drugs, or good, old-fashioned fun, and all of these things would be right. But when I hear Garth Hudson play the saxophone, I know that The Last Waltz is about the necessity and fragility of friendship.
First, there’s the onslaught of guest musicians. The Band got as good as they were because they spent years backing up the likes of Ronnie Hawkins and Bob Dylan before they ever put pen to paper. This is how you get a crew that can credibly back up Joni Mitchell (on tunes from 1978’s Hejira, mind you) and Muddy Waters on the same night. Their decision to put themselves in the background for more than half the songs played at their final show obviously demonstrates that they feel gratitude toward people who have helped their career, but there’s something deeper going on.
The guests give the night its geography. They divide up the soundtrack in ways that The Band might not have done on their own; there’s the blues section in the beginning, the folk section in the middle, and the hard rock near the end. This feels like the arc of a life—there are moments of incredible, uplifting joy, and moments of searing, don’t-know-what-to-do-with-myself anger. The Band lean on the guests to pull these different sensations out of them, sometimes rollicking, sometimes mournful, to say: “wherever you are, we have been there too, and we got through it because of what we have done for one another.”
But of course, The Last Waltz was not all sunshine and rainbows. Famously, the evening itself was a point of contention for the group, with Robertson advocating for the group becoming a studio-only outfit and the rest of the members wanting to continue. If Hudson, Helm, Danko, and Manuel had their way, we wouldn’t have this album.
This is the part that burns me up. I’m not here to adjudicate who was right and who was wrong—I’m just pointing out that The Last Waltz reminds us that every great friendship somehow comes to an end. Someone moves away, mean things get said, bands break up, people die. Maybe you stay in touch, and maybe you don’t, but most friendships don’t get a swan song—they don’t get a four-hour stretch to celebrate everything that these people have done for you. If you’re lucky, there’s a hug goodbye, a long overdue letter, or a speech at a wedding.
But the ideal is The Last Waltz. The ideal is a chance to do what you’ve always done together, one last try, a victory lap, celebrating everything that you have done for one another.
There are two ways to listen to this record, and they’re both right: the first way is as the last time the group did something. If you’re looking for this, listen to the yearning in the voices on “Forever Young,” or the special-occasion filthiness of “The Shape I’m In,” the joy of “Life Is a Carnival” or the ominous tenor of “Chest Fever.”
The other way to listen is as every time a group did something: a lightning-in-a-bottle distillation of years of music. If you want this version, look for the carefree romp of “Such a Night” or, yes, Hudson’s practiced entry into “It Makes No Difference.” This is dwelling in the history; not looking in the bleakness of the future without these people and leaving everything you have on the stage. It’s finding delight in what these friendships have given you.
The Last Waltz is a night of incredible musicianship, yes. The versions of “The Weight” and “Helpless,” on their own, are worth writing a tribute about. But in its sprawl and lack of artifice, I also see so many things I’ve wanted to say, or so many things that I’m yet to say to the people who I love. Any time I watch it, I’m reminded of a new dimension of the human story—making it one of the most necessary albums I know”.
Even if some see the album as self-serving and too slick, it is clear that the 1976 performance by Rick Danko, Levon Helm, Garth Hudson, Richard Manuel, and Robbie Robertson, who were joined by guests including Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison, Muddy Waters, Neil Diamond, Ringo Starr, Dr. John, and Ronnie Hawkins, was something special. Martin Scorsese’s documentary one of the greatest that has ever been made. You can read more about it here. On 25th November, it will be fifty years since that incredible concert. If few people will write about it, I thought it only right to give it…
THE weight it deserves.
