The shape it’s in
An undervalued Band album is yanked from its grave and reanimated. By Jim Irvin.
“Robertson admired Rundgren, but considered him ‘kind of bratty’.”
THE LEGEND of The Band, the (mostly) Canadian interlopers who pioneered Americana, is a tall tale with a downbeat ending. After two epochmaking records that inspired a movement – two movements if you include their effect on British folk rock, three if you include their effect on Elton John – this unassuming band of brothers came unglued once fortune and fame paid them a visit. They even sing about it on the title track of the album where that story arc pivots, album three,
(Capitol) the one with the rainbow cover, conceived as a live recording of new material to be captured during shows at the Woodstock Playhouse, a planned thank-you to the local community that had endured the Woodstock Festival. Said community, however, wasn’t interested. But The Band decided to use the Playhouse for the basic tracking anyhow, installing a mobile studio and Albert Grossman’s new wunderkind engineer, Todd Rundgren, with whom Robbie Robertson and Levon Helm had worked on Jesse Winchester’s debut LP.
Robertson was impressed with Rundgren’s speed at finding sounds and confidence in committing them to tape. Rundgren, however, became increasingly frustrated by the pace dictated by Band time. Garth Hudson would invariably nod off at his keyboards, Levon Helm might roost under a pile of stage curtains where no one could find him. Robertson admired
Rundgren’s skills, but also considered him “kind of bratty” and the rest of the band didn’t warm to him, meaning that, when it came to mixing, the esteemed Glyn Johns was contacted and a strange set-up ensued where Rundgren flew to the UK with the tapes and mixed alongside Johns, then flew home with two separate versions of the record for The Band to select from.
The result never felt cohesive. It underwhelmed. Its 50th anniversary presents the chance to address that. Someone, presumably Robertson, has greenlit a complete overhaul, featuring a brand new running order with fresh stereo and 5.1 remixes by the venerated Bob Clearmountain, who might seem a curious choice, given his signature sound is the opposite of the dry, ragged appeal of The Band’s bestloved work. And yes, he has employed the kind of ambience – and, if my ears don’t deceive, freshly triggered drum sounds – not usually associated with them, making it more like the live record initially intended, effectively documenting a sharper, crisper Band from about 20 years into the future. So, instead of opening with the ramshackle blues Strawberry Wine, the album leads with the brassy, upbeat The W.S. Walcott Medicine Show and a lustier The Shape I’m In.
A freshly uncovered batch of rehearsal tapes and run-throughs of songs not on the record – Get Up Jake, Calgary Blues, Before You Accuse Me – have been included by way of bonuses, but their fi is decidedly lo, and they are of documentary interest rather than stuff you’ll keep returning to. The kicker in this collection is a second disc caught live at the Royal Albert Hall in June 1971, a rousing 20-song event, previously unreleased, mixed by Clearmountain, which shows no evidence of any looming down-turn in The Band’s prowess, and is the element that should cheer up any purists prickling at such a comprehensive recalibration of the original record. It ought to be released independently. It’s unlikely all this will reposition in the affections of posterity but, if nothing else, anyone interested in The Band now has two interpretations of this pivotal chapter in their story to choose from.
injection of over-exuberant slap-bass, many of these carefully sequenced, hi-gloss odes to modern living still sound like the future.