The Band -- Stagefright (5 out of 5 stars)
The Band's third album, “Stagefright” would mark the last time pianist/vocalist/drummer Richard Manuel would so clearly dominate the group’s sound. It featured his final compositions (“Sleeping” and “Just Another Whistle Stop” co-authored with Robertson) and was a prominent stage for his grieving falsetto and smooth baritone. The lyrics were darker, more threatening, and there was more emphasis on soloing rather than ensemble singing, but at this point, the changes were all for the better.
Next to “Whispering Pines” and the live version of “King Harvest (Will Surely Come),” “Sleeping” is one of Manuel’s finest turns at the mike. His voice is velvet, as if he’s exhaling after an exhilarating experience. If Manuel couldn’t find peace on earth, at least he still felt comfort in his dreams: “The storm is passed, there’s peace at last. I’ll spend my whole life sleeping. Now there’s not a sound, no one to be found, anywhere. The shepherd and his sheep, will wind you to sleep. Where else on earth would you wanna go? To a land of wonder, when you go under. Why would we want to come back at all?” Robertson tears off an economical solo that builds to a screaming attack as the rest of The Band rumbles like a musical mad train speeding through a daydream.
Manuel’s surprise performance is “The Shape I’m In,” in which he shows crooners can sing up-tempo rockers too. He sings with fervor, as if he knows the lyrics mirror his own life: “Out of nine lives, I spent seven, now how in the world do you get to heaven? Oh, you don’t know the shape I’m in.” With Manuel shifting over to clavinet instead of his usual percussive piano, the music is carried by Levon’s lashing beat and Danko’s thick bass thumps. The Band weren’t known for their dance tunes, but “The Shape I’m In” will make you bob your head and stamp your feet. Besides, you have to smile at any song that rhymes “ruckus” with “shuck us.”
Manuel goes to Bible class in “Daniel and the Scared Harp,” a tale of avarice. Levon Helm serves as narrator for tune, which is as pointed as an episode of “Davey and Goliath,” but makes up for it with some savvy sawing from Rick Danko on the fiddle (what, no harp?) and his complimentary burping bass.
Danko sounds appropriately petrified on the title track, his only lead vocal on the album. He joins Manuel on the punchy “Time To Kill.” The two singers trade more quips than Hope and Crosby in one of their road pictures. If ever there was a Band song that could be called cute, this is it, but the playful nature of the lyrics works because Richard and Rick sound as natural as two guys sipping a couple of beers and bragging about their girlfriends.
If you want a glimpse at how versatile The Band could be, look no further than “Strawberry Wine,” the opening track Helm co-authored with guitarist Robbie Robertson. A Saturday night barn dance knee-slapper, it was recorded in one take with Richard Manuel on drums. Manuel’s unorthodox, slap-at-it-anyway-you can style of drumming, gives the song the reckless abandon it needs. Garth Hudson squeezes out some hillbilly/Swiss coloring on accordion and Helm and Robertson prop up the rhythm on guitars, but it’s Danko who does the soloing, popping out bass lines like a pea-pickin’ Larry Graham. Levon is in full redneck, twangin’ out his devotion to a no-good buddy: “I would try my fanger (finger), and I would try my hand, at any fool game in this man’s land. But don’t you go talkin’ ‘bout this-here friend of mine. I ain’t never been let down, and you’d be wastin’ time.”
The Band were master magicians at giving their audience pleasant and unexpected surprises, and Helm’s tender vocal on the spare “All La Glory” is a key example. Helm scores as well in Manuel’s territory as Manuel did singing the rockin’ “The Shape I’m In.” Helm’s wizened vocal is wrapped around a lullaby arrangement, buttered by soft asides from Manuel on organ that paint Levon in the guise of a backwoods Burl Ives or a musical Wilfred Brimley, (although he’s far less cranky). It’s definitely cryin’ time material for anybody with young children.
The group members were also experts at leaving a good impression by ending an album with a memorable song. “The Rumor” compacts many of their strong points: all three singers get a few lines to vocalize, with Manuel raising the bar each time he enters until he sounds like a minister who’s just been tapped on the shoulder by God and now knows the secret of life. Danko’s gutty bass introduces the wistful arrangement, with Manuel chording delicately on piano, Robertson adding a terse solo and Honey Boy Hudson blessing it all on organ. When Manuel reaches for – and hits – his final notes, you’ll feel cleansed.