The Band lived, breathed and died Americana. For over 65 years they were stirring up crowds–first as Ronnie Hawkins’ backing band, then as Bob Dylan’s and finally as themselves.
Across ten studio albums, legendary concert film directed by Martin Scorsese, and an induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, they proved themselves to be worthy of stardom with albums like “Music from Big Pink,” “Stage Fright,” “The Basement Tapes” and the topic of conversation today, “Northern Lights-Southern Cross.”
The Band are the poets laureate of roots rock–and most of them were Canadian.
However, good things aren’t meant to last, and on January 21, the band’s last living member, multi-instrumentalist Garth Hudson, died at age 87. In his absence, now is a better time than ever for a retrospective on some of his career.
As is the case with most Band albums, the instrumentation throughout “Northern Lights-Southern Cross” is extremely consistent and cohesive. The loose, rustic, sweet-like-honey sounds warmly welcome you with open arms right from the beginning, replacing the traditionalistic tones from their older albums with an acute sense that advances in technology have over-ripened their songs. While the earthliness will be dearly missed, the attempts at a transcendentalistic sound aren’t all that bad.
Swanky, sour and vaguely disjointed is how the opening track, “Forbidden Fruit,” greets you. If you couldn’t guess from the title, it’s about wanting things that you can’t have, though the only real example provided is a young man who “sold his soul just for a thrill.” Despite the fact it’s supposed to be operating as a cautionary tale, the tone that carries “Forbidden Fruit” is casual–almost lackadaisical. It’s not the strongest opener, with Levon Helm’s congested vocals and Robbie Robertson’s usual boa constrictor-slippery style being replaced by an oddly punctuated manner of guitar playing. At least it has some sugary-sweet organ work.
Maybe it’s just because I’ve seen it recently, but the second track, “Hobo Jungle” reminds me of the 1973 film “Scarecrow.” Following a path that suspiciously sounds like it was first tread by Randy Newman, the sentimentality of “Hobo Jungle” is covered by a thin layer of frosty guitar sound and soulful piano. But, it’s pushing too hard to have meaning, which falls especially flat on its face since Richard Manuel sings like all significance of this story has been lost on him. Accordion and mandolin parts add little touches of flavor to an overwhelmingly rich sound. I can’t imagine this is something the group would ever actually play live.
If you’ve heard any song off this record, then it’s probably “Ophelia,” a jaunty, horn-led tune that managed to crawl up to #62 on the charts way back when in ‘76. In this track, Helm relays the tale of a disappearing love like he’s laughing at a joke no one else is in on, trying to mess with you. The twangy and trilling guitar blends wonderfully with Rick Danko’s ever-pleasant bass playing–a terrific dance song with a catchy solo.
“Acadian Driftwood” briefly cuts in as an acoustic country jamboree before turning around and becoming an electrified showboat mini-opera. The endless layering of various instrument parts and almost never-ending stream of lyrics leave very little space to breathe, but what sticks out are the underutilized keys, fluttering wind instruments and striking, luminous vocal harmonies shared by Manuel, Helm and Danko. While it makes sense that a tune about the expulsion of the Acadians from Canada by Great Britain would last six minutes and forty-two seconds, the song ruminates on itself like it’s worried you’re going to leave before it’s ready for you to.
Compared to the previous song, “Ring Your Bell” sounds like an attempt to land a spot on Soul Train. There’s a bit too much funk to feel like a proper follow-up to “Driftwood,” and the down-‘n-out, disillusioned verses contrasted against a vaguely indecent chorus make this alleged midnight rendezvous sound like a distraction sought out by a desperate man. It’s not the best on-the-lam song I’ve ever heard.
“It Makes No Difference” is not the kind of song that was designed to be listened to frequently. Through the vibrant, full production of the song shines Danko’s vocal performance, and he sounds like he’s contemplating suicide. All danger and vigor from “Ring Your Bell” has been lost on this wallowing, woe-begotten tune. It is complimented by heart-wrenching harmonies, Robertson’s artful lyrics, a weeping saxophone part and a Lowrey organ that adds extra elements of lost romance. The raw distress and despair makes this the most moving piece on the album. It feels akin to standing out in the rain hoping to catch a glimmer of sunset and seeing nothing.
Tonal shifts abound, “Jupiter Hollow” is primarily key driven, and while the variety works well, it sounds closer to Chicory Tip’s rendition of “Son of My Father” than anything by The Band. While it’s much more upbeat than our last sojourn, lyrically the song isn’t very strong. Underlying the lines about dragon queens and whispered secrets of the dead–which sounds like something someone on LSD would say–is longing and corrosive nostalgia. Helm sounds like he wants to get back to Woodstock. The mix of light, almost childish drum work and remnants of whimsical British psychedelia certainly serve to make this song memorable. Listening to it, I’m reminded of various conversations I’ve had with people in their seventies.
“Rags and Bones,” a sprightly and melodramatic song, is our album closer. This attempt at creating portraits of evocative mystery only conjures images of driving at night through plightful back allies in my mind. The only real takeaways I have are the rolling drum part and the sound of Manuel’s deeply tormented vocals.
While it lacks some of the homespun charm that made their early albums so great, “Northern Lights-Southern Cross” isn’t something I’d like to see fall by the wayside. It is just as bucolic and masterful as anything The Band has ever made, and it contains enough examples of the group at their jauntiest, most down-to-earth and most swinging selves to be worth keeping around.
Rating: 4/5
