He had it in
his head to record one of our original songs with us, us being the Moses band he discovered in his later years. He wanted Levon
to play the drums on the track. Those two,
of course, knew each other forever from the glory days of the Woodstock, NY
scene, also in the 60s. We had all planned to go together up to Levon’s rustic
lake and pad [“house” in 60s lingo], but Al was sick. Not to be thwarted, he
gave us Levon’s number and sent us on our way. “Just go and meet him. Talk to
him.” SURE! We could do that!
So off we
went to legendary Woodstock. Just a tad bit nervous. Once in town, we stopped
at a little grocery store and bought some snacks and a package of organic
blueberries. Regroup with food, I say. A phone booth leaned slightly into one
corner of the parking lot. The nerves weren’t going anywhere, so we called.
“MOSES!" he
said. He obviously knew we were coming. “Where ya been? Come on up!” It was very strange to hear
such familiarity from one so famous. So we wound our way through the trees and
up the mountain till we came to a very plain country mailbox sporting the correct
number. There was no house to be seen. Just a dirt driveway zigzagging its way
down through the brush. One must catch one’s breath before turning down a lane
to such a meeting. So we did. We caught our breath, then headed down the lane.
We broke
through the trees into a huge open area with a large non-descript post and beam
house (or was it a barn) with attached garage sitting back to the right, a summer garden to the left, and a
mountain lake beyond it all. We parked, got out of the car and looked around. This
was Levon Helm’s place. How did I get here?
No one
greeted us.
So we
walked. We passed the house and made our way toward a bustle of activity on the
nearest shore. And there he stood. Thin. Too
thin. Tanned. And wearing nothing but a pair of gray shorts. A dozen or so
young Levon devotees surrounded him. A dirt and gravel project was
underway. They were shoring up the
beach. Some of them were. The rest
were scattered about in the grass or at the picnic table. It needed painting. The table sat under the huge shade tree drooping over the shore.
“Hey there!
Welcome. How are ya?” or something
like that. I don’t even remember. What I remember is what I felt as I stood there, not three feet
away from the The Band’s drumming legend. I tell people that my body went
electric. Not with mere fan adoration. It was deep. Like I was in the presence
of someone beyond this dimension. It surprised me. But the thought that came to
me as we stood there was that, like Jesus, I could tell this man anything. I
could confess to him any wrong I had ever done. I could try to invoke some judgment
from him. But no. He would love me just the same – no matter what. Was this love
I felt? Devotion? Not my love for him, but his love for me. He didn’t know me
but it was there. It was real and spiritual and I will never forget it.
He pushed us
out of our reverie and into the row boat. “Check out the pond,” he drawled. “We’ll
talk business later.” He gave us a push and a nod. “Watch for the bears,” he called
out. One of the young devotees later told us that “Levon knows all of the bears
in the area. He has names for them. One of them has triplets!” Ok. We saw no
bears. A family of turtles sunning themselves on a log jumped in as we passed.
There were birds overhead. But no bears. Yet.
Back on the
shore we joined the motley crew of young drummers, budding poets and
philosophers who made up Levon’s tribe. We listened to tales of gigs and venues and
drumming lessons; looked at faces and at notebooks of prose and lyrics; listened to their thoughts on the ideals of Emerson. This was their school and Levon was their sage. We sat with them until the
scooping and moving and dumping of gravel onto ‘the beach’ ended, then walked
with him to the house.
The
cavernous space between the living quarters and garage held the recording
studio. Speakers hung from the ceiling. He told us about the Midnight Ramble
sessions that took place in this space. People would come for an evening of
music, food and fun. We talked business. That is the part I remember the least.
I know he didn’t want to befuddle himself by listening to the track we were
going to record before the actual session. Too much thinking messed him up. It
was better to record fresh. I remember him not wanting to talk about The Last
Waltz. Too many hurt feelings there. And I remember how he looked when we told
him “you have such a great voice.”
At the time,
his voice was in jeopardy. He had just finished several rounds of radiation treatments
to relieve him of the ravages of throat cancer. Doctors had told him he would
never sing again. The raspy quality of his speaking voice belied the ordeal he
was in. With thoughtful and appreciative kindness in his eyes, he thanked us
for the compliment. We had spoken in present tense.
As we stood
by the car, solidifying our plans and saying our good-byes to our new friend,
we pulled out the box of blueberries we had bought earlier. Levon leaned against
the garden post and ate some of them with us. The sun had lowered to shine
through the trees. Suddenly, he stood tall and smiled, his eyes lit up as he
fixed his gaze on something beyond us. “Hey mama, where’s your baby?” We turned
around. It was one of Levon’s bears. She stood looking curiously at us from the
far side of the garden.
Now I’m
thinking – bear, blueberries, bear cub somewhere but where? I would have
panicked if not for Levon’s smile. No bear would hurt him. They knew what I had
experienced earlier. This man would accept them just as they were. That gentle
vibration was obvious to her too. She and her baby were safe. And loved.
The day was
over and as we made our way back up the winding lane and then down the
mountain, the thought hung in the air. How do you top this? How do you explain
this? And who will ever believe?
Me with Levon on the day we met.
He was pure light!
Afterword:
Our recording session with Levon Helm never happened. Al’s illness halted all
progress. But we had planned it. We had talked with him about it. And we had had
that one great afternoon with him and his followers, his mountain lake… and his bears!
