For a band who produced the most inspired ensemble playing in the history of rock music, the documentary ‘ONCE WERE BROTHERS‘ (dir Daniel Roher, 101 mins, 2019), while an interesting watch, comes across as a one-dimensional telling of a glorious, pioneering, yet ultimately tragic story.
Indeed, the subtitle leaves no doubt from which perspective the tale is being told: ‘ROBBIE ROBERTSON and THE BAND.’
Perhaps a more pertinent label would be ‘Robbie Robertson on The Band,’ as it is their guitarist and main creative force who offers up an account of how four Canadians and an American drummer, became in the eyes and ears of George Harrison (among others):
‘The greatest rock group in the history of the planet.’
For The Band this was a plateau reached in their own right – after being the outfit who backed Bob Dylan when he hatched a musical revolution in taking acoustic protest music to electric rock.
With three members of this extraordinary quintet now dead (no indication is given on whether a fourth, keyboardist Garth Hudson, was asked to contribute), there is an occasional feeling of history being revised and written by the victor. Referred to throughout as a close brotherhood, The Band reached the end of their days wracked by drug addiction, personality clashes and a bitter feud between Robertson and Levon Helm, that had not been resolved when the drummer died in 2012.
There is no doubting Robertson is a skilled raconteur (and in songwriting terms a master storyteller), but it cannot hide the fact ‘Once Were Brothers‘ – the title taken from a autobiographical song on his most recent solo album – would have benefited from a degree of balance in order to present a more rounded version of events.
So as one chapter moves to another, it is worth remembering this is one fifth of The Band recalling on behalf of them all, Robbie Robertson at the age of 76 looking back with anger, joy, grief and pride – observations from the likes of Eric Clapton, Van Morrison, Bruce Springsteen and Martin Scorsese entwined along the way.
The first half-hour or so has Robertson, (an only child, hence an early allusion to brotherhood), recalling a childhood that included visits to the Six Nations of the Grand River Reservation, his mother part Mohawk Indian. Yet the biggest revelation in his young life appears not being told the man he assumed his father was not, but at the age of 13 hearing the revolutionary sound of rock and roll (‘it just seemed to come out of nowhere and within two weeks I was in my first band‘).
After a couple of years gigging with various groups around Toronto, in 1959 his latest outfit, The Suedes, earned a support slot for energetic rockabilly hit-makers Ronnie Hawkins and The Hawks – Robertson astonished by their dynamic stage act and particularly the presence of Helm, with whom he strikes up an immediate kinship.
Recognised as a unique talent, Robertson is drafted into The Hawks and given his blossoming friendship with Helm (1942-2012), the two are tasked by Hawkins in finding three more young musicians to complete a fresh line-up of The Hawks. In finding bassist Rick Danko (1943-1999), Hudson (1937-) and pianist Richard Manuel (1943-1986), The Band in all but name is duly assembled.
‘We played six nights a week and rehearsed everyday,’ recalls Hawkins ‘and the reason they became so great is that they worked harder than anyone else. In the end they passed me like a bolt of lightning.’
The next bolt of lightning to which they were attached went around the world, their prowess noted by Bob Dylan who enlists them for his 1966 European tour. For these concerts the undisputed king of folk music added groundbreaking electric rock to his armoury, The Hawks providing a dense, but rich cacophony as purist audiences react with utter disdain – their derision manifesting in throwing objects at the stage and shouting insults, Dylan telling his charges to play louder and faster each time the protests began.
The intriguing, roller-coaster footage of the tour is in sharp contrast to homely scenes of The Hawks and Dylan reconvening 12 months later in a small town in upstate New York. But by the time they get to Woodstock, so to speak, Robertson and co (after cutting the legendary ‘Basement Tapes‘ with Bob), have decided to strike out on their own.
Recognised locally as ‘those guys in the band who play with Bob Dylan‘ they take the logical step of bestowing that name on themselves.
Yet as Bruce Springsteen is quick to point out, their moniker has far deeper significance.
‘There is no other group who so emphasise coming together as a band – their name says it all. And not only did they have Robbie’s writing but three of the greatest white male singers ever. Just one would have been enough to make them a great band.’
Announcing their arrival with two landmark recordings, ‘Music From Big Pink‘ (1968) and ‘The Band‘ (1969) – the latter astonishing to the point of being beyond compare – the historical imagery in Robertson’s lyrics combined with telepathic musicianship, made both albums the sound of ‘Americana‘ long before anyone thought of such a phrase.
According to Dominique Robertson, the French-Canadian wife Robbie had met in Paris when on tour with Dylan, success and acclaim brought, ‘situations – drink, drugs, car accidents,’ her husband and Hudson largely abstaining as the others spiralled into ‘junky denial.’
Forthcoming albums ‘Stage Fright‘ (1970) and ‘Cahoots‘ (1971) each have their moments, but are less cohesive than what came before. While they excel on a double live album ‘Rock of Ages‘ (1972) and the ‘Moondog Matinee‘ (1973) covers set, a wildly successful 1974 US reunion tour with Dylan also becomes an exercise in offstage indulgence.
By the mid-70s Robertson, anchored by his wife and young family, is tiring of the pressure and pitfalls of being in the group. Long since the only source of songs, he writes several serene compositions for ‘Northern Lights Southern Cross‘ (1975), but as he remarks, ‘it was all becoming hard, painful and dark. I couldn’t help thinking why are we doing it?’
Keen they should make a fitting exit, plans are drawn up for a farewell show, the ensuing document of their 1976 goodbye ‘The Last Waltz‘ directed by Scorsese and featuring an all-star cast who join The Band at a San Francisco concert. It evolved into the greatest in-concert film ever recorded.
From here, however, ‘Once Were Brothers‘ suffers most for its narrow scope. Early in the piece, Robertson says, ‘the story of The Band was a beautiful thing, so beautiful it went up in flames,’ but lighting the touchpaper was, so it appears, down to everyone bar him.
Made apparent is his wish to stop touring, but as the film edges to a close his comment of, ‘the idea was we’d put that away, take care of each other and come back together to make music…everybody just forgot to come back,’ sounds a touch incongruous – as by the early-80s the other four had regrouped with a different guitar player, this new chapter ending tragically when Manuel committed suicide in 1986.
By this time Robertson had carved out a new career writing film scores (often for Scorsese projects) and had no desire or necessity to be part of any reunion. Being the main songwriter and latterly producer of Band albums, Robertson’s financial need was far less than the others – the source of his unresolved dispute with Helm rooted in claims by the drummer he should have received a co-write credit on a number of songs.
Neither is there any reference to three late-80s albums made by The Band when down to the trio of Danko, Helm and Hudson, the clear inference being they were only The Band until ‘The Last Waltz‘ or in other words while Robertson was a member.
Robertson, Hudson, Danko;
front: Manuel, Helm;
As the film draws to a conclusion, Robertson recounts the poignant moment he says goodbye to an unconscious Helm on his deathbed, their failure to be reconciled adding to the sense that for all the wondrous achievement, theirs is perhaps the saddest journey ever made by a major rock group.
Nevertheless, ‘Once Were Brothers‘ serves as testimony to the depth and timeless effervescence found in a trove of wonderful music The Band created – Springsteen offering an affecting reminiscence of the first time he heard their captivating sound:
‘They arrived in the middle of the psychedelic phase in rock music but were the antithesis of that. There were no guitar solos and the blend of voices were like nothing you’d ever heard before – but sounded like they’d been there forever.’
His way of explaining a theory to which many of us still subscribe – the only group good enough to be called simply The Band.
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NEIL SAMBROOK is the author of ‘MONTY’S DOUBLE‘ – an acclaimed thriller now available in paperback and as an Amazon Kindle book.