“It's a film that reminds us that there is some love that cannot be walked away from without a celebration in its name,”
I write this with my $7 dollar The Band self titled record spinning and playing perfect as the day it was pressed. I watched The Last Waltz last night experiencing the same happiness and joy as the day it was filmed.
It was two years ago I first watched this. Two years ago I wasn't who I am today. Two years ago I watched it in the background of doing a plaster poster of jaws for my sophomore art class. Today I watched it after graduating high school, on the cusp of embarking on my journey into adulthood and what that means for me. two years ago I didn't listen to a single artist featured here. Today they’re music is the same as listening to old friends.
It's funny how you can grow to appreciate something that has always called for appreciation. I've never disliked The Band, always felt a small, warm kinship to their work, but it wasn’t until Robbie Robertson's passing I’ve sat down and listened. Tragedy often leads to appreciation, unfortunately. You never know what you have until it’s gone.
We live in a time of passings that feel more and more monumental over time. This year is seven years since David Bowie and Prince. Six since Tom Petty. 2 since Charlie Watts. It's been 54 since Brian Jones, 53 since Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, 52 since Jim Morrison, and 43 since John Lennon. Just this year we’ve already seen the loss of some of the greatest of all time, in my eyes namely Tina Turner and Jeff Beck. Why is it that now these deaths are feeling bigger, feeling more like they are pushing us towards musical appreciation than ever before?
“You never have enough time with the ones you love - and I loved Robbie.” - Martin Scorsese
We live now with a cultural lull where we know that the more musicians and artists we lose, the further we are leaving from the promised land they inhabited. You don’t have to love Robbie Robertson to know his passing marks another day of the bygone 60s. We see the loss of someone who changed a little bit of history, who richened what music meant, and who inspired those we’ve already lost. It was a radio station I tuned into shortly after the passing of Tony Bennett late last month that encapsulated this phenomenon: “Is this a tragedy? No, he was 96, but it is a loss.” Tragedy and loss used to go hand in hand, the 27 club a relic of this idea. Not only had these artists died young, they often died tragically and the world was left without someone who had so much more to offer. We find now it is the losses of those older that are hitting like tragedies of our own lives. Robbie was 80 afterall, yet his death is pinging many like he was only 20, barely scraping the surface of his legacy. Why is that?
To many this is the first they’re hearing of The Band in years, decades maybe. This is the first time that The Weight has cascaded over their speakers by their own hand since they were young, the lyrics penetrating like never before to an older and enriched mind. This may be people’s first time watching the joy that is The Last Waltz. It took Robbie’s death for many to give a thought to his music once more, and I myself am guilty of this exact thing, yet I’m more so intrigued by this than I am regretful to have fallen victim to this idea one’s work only becomes important after they die.
I fell victim a few times. I wasn’t entranced by Jeff Beck when he died in January. I couldn’t tell you a single thing about one of the most talented and deservedly praised men in music, yet today I could sit and talk for hours about singular performances. I didn’t even have a reaction when he died. Same as I didn’t for Tom Petty. Same as I didn’t for Prince. Or Bowie. Or even Charlie Watts, though he was the only one whose music I indulged in, something that still rests in my mind to this day, as this death was one year off from being one of the worst musician deaths I’d ever have to face as a fan.
It doesn’t matter how you appreciate the music of those who pass. Whether that be before they do, the day, or whether that appreciation settles days or years after - it doesn’t matter. What’s most important is that you appreciate the work they gave us, and their importance to the world.
Robbie may not have gotten much fanfare throughout his life, but if these past few days have shown anything, it’s been the man’s talent left a mark on many that they never truly realized. Time shows the meaning art leaves on us, and the art we use as a time marker shows how much we’ve changed and grown.
When I first watched The Band’s final performance, I was sitting quietly in my room, half listening, focused more on the movies and how much I hated math to care much about any word being said [or sang]. When I watch it now, again, for the first time in two years, I focus fully. I follow the directions of Scorsese and play it as loud as possible, knowing that this music, the stories being told, and these artists are the ones that will adorn the writing I hope to do for the rest of my life.
Robbie Robertson said it best, actually, seemingly about himself and life:
“Time will tell you well.”
Hell yeah it will, Robbie. Rest easy.
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