Levon Helm

The generations that have been shaped by rock and roll have always known death as a close companion. Even before Sam Phillips, Little Richard, Elvis, Ike Turner and the others had the stove turned on, Robert Johnson was hoodooing up a vat of deep blues that would be distilled into one vein of rock. Mr. Johnson was poisoned. Was it a jealous husband? Maybe a boyfriend, or even the woman herself. Or was it the devil, come to collect on a bargain made at the crossroads? Whoever the perpetrator, Robert Johnson left way too much music unplayed.
James Dean seemed rock and roll. He wasn't a musician, but he was young, loud, angry and lonely. That's as rock and roll as it gets. Dean bought it in a fast car, going too fast around a curve. Life in the fast lane, indeed!
Buddy Holly and Richie Valens died in an airplane crash way too young. They were in Iowa in the winter, trying to get to the next gig. Hey, the show must go on, right?
The drug deaths that rock appropriated from jazz came later. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Epstein, Jones, Moon, Bonham...live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse? Motto of the late 60's and 70's!  But it didn't stop there. Fat Elvis lived every excess known to humanity. And died from them, too.
John Lennon's murder brought musicians' deaths into uncharted territory. Who'd have ever thought that a rocker would become the target of (depending on how you see John and his killer) a mentally ill obsessive, or an assassin. We learned about John's killing on Monday Night Football, from the ubiquitous Howard Cosell. It became an Event. We wrestle with it still.
The rappers took over the death biz. East Coast v. West Coast, the would-be gangsters shot off their mouths on their albums, and shot up the competition in the streets. Tupac, Biggie and about 197 of their colleagues whose names I don't know or care to know are dead for...what, the bling? Did any of them see 30? Nice work, morons!
There have been others and other circumstances, Cobain and Hutchence and on and on.
But a new day has dawned. We have reached the time when those who've made it through everything else are getting old, or sick, or old and sick. Cash, Dickinson, Zevon, gone from the issues that plague normal people. Just this last year, Sumlin, Willie Big Eyes Smith and Pinetop Perkins are gone at advanced ages. For crying out loud, even The Monkees' Davy Jones just died of a heart attack.
Now, Levon Helm is gone. Levon was homefolks, from just across the river in Arkansas. He grew up on the music we all did in this part of the country, and somehow took all that and fell in with a bunch of Canadians. They played as the Hawks. Backing Ronnie Hawkins.  Hawkins and the Hawks. Get it? They were smart and funny but mainly tremendous musicians. So good that Bob Dylan asked them to back him. They were on the scene as Dylan blew music up in 1965 and 1966, being accused of everything in plugging in and, allegedly turning his back on the folkies. Death threats, riots, all kinds of fun accompanied the tour of Dylan and the group now known as The Band.  Music from Big Pink, The Basement Tapes, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, The Weight, Cripple Creek, Rag Mama Rag; how did the Canadian Robbie Robertson write such music for that fabulous, soulful Arkansas voice? Levon drummed, he sang, he played the mandolin, and helped carve out the sound that influenced everybody who came after them. When Dylan went back out in 1974 to do his first shows since 1966, and the motorcycle wreck, he had to have The Band around him. 'Nuf said!
It was all supposed to end with Scorsese's movie, The Last Waltz. The Band's farewell concert is a great movie, although Levon wasn't that wild about it. Helm gathered the boys, minus Robertson, for several more albums and tours, moving even further to the center of the stage. That was a good thing!
In the late 90's, Levon was diagnosed with throat cancer. Wasn't supposed to ever speak again, let alone sing. But somewhere along the line, things started to come together again. And when they did, Levon recorded. He issued Dirt Farmer in 2007 and won the Grammy for Best Traditional Folk Album. 2010 brought Electric Dirt, and another Grammy, this time for Best Americana Album. His last recording, Ramble at the Ryman, took 2011's Grammy in the same category.  Pretty good encore, eh?
Levon and his Ramblers played Memphis' Orpheum Theatre on November 10, 2010. It was one of the most joyous concert experiences I've ever known.
A few weeks ago, Levon's family posted a message on his Facebook page that he was in the last stages of his fight against a recurrence of his cancer. He died at home on April 19, five weeks short of his 72nd birthday. Levon lived long and well, and died the same way. I was hoping for a whole lot more music from Levon Helm, but his last teaching was in wrapping things up and celebrating a good life.

"Someday, everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody
When I paint my masterpiece."

Dylan wrote it. Levon sang and lived it. We're richer for it.