Levon Helm has died

by Chris Bertram on April 19, 2012



Sus. 04.19.12 at 8:24 pm

Here’s a really nice remembrance of Levon Helms –


Bloix 04.19.12 at 10:10 pm


Tom Hurka 04.20.12 at 12:55 am

The local angle: The Band put in their 10,000 hours playing with Ronnie Hawkins as the Hawks at the Le Coq d’Or in Toronto in the early 60s. Ronnie trained ’em good.


Meredith 04.20.12 at 5:28 am

I could have heard him in person some time in the 80’s. The band did these stealth appearances, once on short notice here in the Berkshires of Massachusetts. But I was so busy with work and getting dinner on the table and children read to and to bed. So I passed. One of my life’s regrets — sort of. I kind of feel I was living the music instead of listening to it. The regret: just would have liked to hear it at the same time as living it. Ah well. In my imagination. Grateful, still.


John M. 04.20.12 at 8:09 am

Saw them a few years ago for a shambolic gig in Dublin that was still hugely entertaining. An audience member shouts out “Where’s Bob Dylan?” Levon Helm: “Bob Dylan? Bob Dylan can kiss my ass.”


chris y 04.20.12 at 9:14 am

Pitchfork links a clip of Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks from god knows when. It’s all there, even then.


mrearl 04.20.12 at 2:40 pm

The Band’s music evoked that Faulkner past that is never dead, and not even past.

The building that contained (or, on a good night, really couldn’t) Ronnie Hawkins’ Rockwood Club still stands here in Fayetteville. It’s used for office storage and is little known or remarked.


Willie Buck Merle 04.20.12 at 4:10 pm

Narrator of “The Right Stuff”. RIP


wilfred 04.21.12 at 2:25 am

I saw him in a movie with Mark Wahlberg, some nonsense about a sniper. At first I didn’t recognize him, but his voice was umistakeable. I always reckoned that if it were possible to film Faulkner then Levon would be the perfect (older) Sutphen or Colonel Sartoris or the old man with five sons whose name escapes me now. RIP.


larsmacomb 04.21.12 at 8:49 pm

The effect of Helm’s death has taken me somewhat by surprise, at least emotionally. It’s sort of like, for the last decade or so, he has been lurking in a corner somewhere giving an ineffable coherence to all that culturally mattered for me since the 1960s ended. As I’ve commented elsewhere, Levon’s voice was one part fiddle (not violin, but fiddle), one part saxophone, and one part muted trumpet. Good god it told the truth. By the way, Dana Stevens has a wonderful remembrance over at Slate.com.

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