Tag Archives: The Band

Song of the Week – Acadian Driftwood, The Band

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Ignored             Obscured              Restored

For Sean

The Band’s “Acadian Driftwood,” the standout track from their 1975 album Northern Lights – Southern Cross, is a masterclass in musical storytelling.  With its roots planted firmly in the rich soil of North American history, the song spins a tale of sorrow, exile, and the quiet resilience of a displaced people.  “Acadian Driftwood” showcases The Band’s unparalleled ability to turn historical events into deeply personal, emotionally resonant music.

The history that inspired “Acadian Driftwood” is as bleak as it is complex. In 1755, the British began the forced expulsion of the Acadian settlers from what is now Nova Scotia, a brutal campaign known as the Grand Dérangement.  These French-speaking settlers, caught in the crossfire of the French and Indian War, refused to swear an unconditional oath of allegiance to the British Crown.  For this defiance, they were torn from their lands, and their homes, and scattered across North America.  Many found their way to Louisiana, becoming the forebears of today’s Cajun culture.  

But the story, as told by songwriter Robbie Robertson, isn’t just about the events of history but about the people who lived through them.  The song’s lyrics paint a picture of defeat and despair — “The war was over, and the spirit was broken” — but also of a deep connection to a land that was no longer theirs.

If the storyline feels familiar, it’s because “Acadian Driftwood” owes a debt to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie.  Longfellow’s work, penned in 1847, tells the story of Evangeline, an Acadian woman separated from her lover, Gabriel, during the expulsion.  Her life becomes a quest to reunite with him, a journey that spans the breadth of North America and years of heartache. Much like “Acadian Driftwood,” Evangeline isn’t concerned with the finer points of historical accuracy.  Instead, it’s a romanticized, almost mythic portrayal of loss and the enduring hope for a reunion.

The song also sits comfortably alongside another of The Band’s masterpieces, “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.”  Both tracks are cut from the same cloth — a rich tapestry of historical events, steeped in melancholy, told from the perspective of those left to pick up the pieces. But where “Dixie” captures the bitterness of a defeated South at the close of the American Civil War, “Acadian Driftwood” is more reflective, more sorrowful.  The pain of the Acadians isn’t just in the loss of a war but in the loss of a homeland, an identity.  It’s less about the pride of place and more about the quiet strength of those who were uprooted and left to drift.

Musically, “Acadian Driftwood” is as layered as the story it tells.  The Band, always masters of blending genres, creates a soundscape that’s at once familiar and otherworldly.  Garth Hudson’s accordion and synthesizer weave a delicate, haunting melody that feels like the mist rising off a Nova Scotian marsh.  There’s a sense of longing in every note, a yearning for a place that exists now only in memory.  Levon Helm’s drumming, always steady, always true, anchors the track, providing a rhythmic heartbeat that drives the story forward.

The vocals, shared among Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, and Helm, are nothing short of sublime.  Each voice brings a different shade of emotion to the story.  Manuel’s fragile, almost ethereal opening lines set the tone; his voice captures the despair of the Acadians as they realize they’ve lost everything.  He swaps verses with Helm, whose earthy growl adds a layer of gravitas; a reminder that these aren’t just stories — they’re the lives of real people, people who fought, who struggled, and who survived.  And then there’s Danko who takes the “ice fishin’” verse instead of Manuel, and whose voice displays a creaky weariness. 

The chorus, where all three voices blend together, is pure magic.  It’s a moment of communal mourning, underscored by harmonies that evoke a sense of unity, even in the face of overwhelming loss.  It’s here that the true power of “Acadian Driftwood” lies — not in its historical accuracy but in its emotional truth.

The song ends with a refrain in French:

Sais tu Acadie                                      Do you know Acadia
J’ai la mal du pays                               I am homesick
Ta neige acadie                                    Your snow Acadia
Fait des larmes au soleil                      makes tears to the sun

In the end, “Acadian Driftwood” is more than just a song about the past.  It’s a meditation on the human cost of history, on what it means to be displaced, to lose your home and your sense of self.  It’s about the resilience of those who endure, who carry their memories with them even as they’re forced to drift.  Like “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” it’s a reminder that history isn’t just something that happens to other people.  It’s something that shapes us all, in ways both big and small.  And in the hands of The Band, it becomes something more — a timeless piece of art that speaks to the soul.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Rock Music in Concert Films

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Ignored           Obscured            Restored

The Rock Music in Films series continues this week.  Today I explore concert films, but I don’t think there will be any surprises.

The first great rock show that was released as a concert film was the T.A.M.I. Show (1964).  It was filmed at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium over two nights in October 1964.  The integrated cast of performers included The Beach Boys, Chuck Berry, James Brown, Marvin Gaye, Jan and Dean, The Rolling Stones, and The Supremes.  The Wrecking Crew served as the house band!

The Rolling Stones had to follow that!  Keith Richards has been known to admit that choosing to follow Brown on the bill was the worst career decision of his life.

The June 1967 “summer of love” led the San Francisco flower-power set to descend on Monterey for the first Monterey Pop Festival.  The festival launched the careers of Janis Joplin, The Who, Jimi Hendrix, and Otis Redding.  And there is a concert film to document it!

While Redding was already popular with Black audiences, he had not yet crossed over to the pop (white) market.  But Monterey Pop changed that.  Just weeks after the festival, while still in the Bay area, he was staying in a houseboat in Sausalito and began to write his signature song, “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.”  Just a few months later (December 1967) he died in a plane crash outside of Madison, Wisconsin.

But the granddaddy of all concert films – at least in terms of box office success – is Woodstock.  The concert was in mid-August, 1969 and the film and soundtrack were released a year later.  The 3 disc album sold very well and super-charged the careers of several of the acts (Santana, Ten Years After).  Those that rejected offers to perform at Woodstock or refused to allow their performances to be in the film and on the soundtrack regretted that decision (Procol Harum, Sweetwater, Burt Sommer).

One of my favorite performances in the set was by Joe Cocker, covering The Beatles’ “With a Little Help From My Friends.”

By the mid ‘70s, The Band was hanging it up and filmed their farewell performance on Thanksgiving Day 1976 at San Francisco’s Winterland theater.  The star-studded event was directed by Martin Scorcese who also had an editing role in Woodstock.  The Band called their concert and film The Last Waltz and also released a 3-disc soundtrack.

Many of the guest performances with The Band as their “house band” were stellar, but I’m going to stick with a song by The Band themselves.  “The Shape I’m In” was originally on Stage Fright and has always been a favorite.

I just spent sixty days in the jailhouse
For the crime of having no dough, no, no
Now, here I am, back out on the street
For the crime of having nowhere to go

Almost a decade later, Talking Heads released Stop Making Sense, the concert film and soundtrack, shot over four nights at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood, from their Speaking In Tongues tour.

Let’s take a listen to “Slippery People.”

It is a wonderful blend of David Byrne’s art rock blended with Funkadelic style funk.  He even had Bernie Worrell on keys to amp up the P-Funk aspect.

Enjoy… until next week.

Song of the Week – Be My Baby, Tiny Tim w/ The Band

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IGNORED OBSCURED RESTORED

Over the years, rock music has made for some strange bedfellows. One of the most famous examples I can think of was when David Bowie sang with Bing Crosby on their version of the now classic “Peace On Earth/Little Drummer Boy.” But there have been others.

How about when James Brown hooked up with Luciano Pavarotti in 2002 to knock out a version of “It’s A Man’s World?”

Then there’s Tom Jones with Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young doing “Long Time Gone” on his variety show in 1969.

Now before you think I’m smugly mocking these collaborations let me make clear that I think they’re all pretty cool. Yes, really, all of them… that’s why I’ve posted them here.

But the award for the weirdest rock collaboration that I’m aware of has to go to ukulele playing, falsetto singing, Tiny Tim accompanied by The Band. Yes, THE Band.

That’s right. Back in 1967 when Bob Dylan and The Band were recording the Basement Tapes at Big Pink in Woodstock, NY, Tiny Tim paid a visit to lay down a few tracks to be included for the soundtrack to Peter (of Peter, Paul & Mary) Yarrow’s movie You Are What You Eat.

My favorite of the 4 songs they recorded together and today’s SotW is the Phil Spector classic “Be My Baby.”

Be My Baby – Tiny Tim w/ The Band

The Band is really hot, just like when they paid tribute to their Rock ‘n Roll roots on Moondog Matinee. I only wish I could say the same for Tim.

I understand that many of you have no idea who Tiny Tim was. If you’re old enough to remember Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In, you know. Or, if you listened to Howard Stern in the mid 90’s, you know. Otherwise, look him up in Wikipedia.

Enjoy… until next week.