The night they drove old dixie down...

I loved Levon's voice - his drumming and mandolin playing, too - but especially his voice.  He kept a SOLID American back beat and sang from the soul with a voice that echoed the country he loved so deeply.

As I understand it, he didn't want to bring The Band to a close - that was Robbie Robertson's idea - and it probably made sense in some karmic way - the good times can't last forever - but I'm so glad Levon kept making music.  He was the real deal in American music.  When he drummed for the Hawks he kicked ass.  He gave Bobby Dylan just what he needed to help the Trickster go electric.  His voice was one of the best ambassadors this country ever had.  And he kept up the fight for fun, integrity, shaking your booty and welcoming everybody into the good times until the very end.  Just listen to what this cat does with "Cripple Creek" it is pure gold...

Some people don't connect deeply to music - I don't get that but I know it is true - so this post won't make much sense to you.  I always wanted to play guitar like the Band's Robbie Robertson and I always wanted to sing like a combination of Levon and Bruce Springsteen. So when one of your heroes does "the last waltz," there is a sadness in your heart because even though we never met, his spirit was always close. Seems that Robbie finally visited Levon last week after decades of alienation - just before his death - to make amends. That is a good thing to do for everyone involved and now both partners in the music can rest a little easier because Levon passed today quietly in his sleep. 

I know how important making amends is for everyone involved... it can heal your soul. So let's just say Levon's death has hit me hard in ways I wasn't expecting:  who can say why?  A few years ago, I wrote to Garth Hudson (of the Band) and invited him to come by our church sometime to play our great pipe organ.  He never replied - and I guess that goes with the territory.  But I still love his playing and wanted him to know that if he was ever in the neighborhood, the church organ would be his for a while.  I still remember him playing before it rained at Watkins Glenn - he played a long, wild and wooly prelude to "Chest Fever" that evoked Celtic tunes from Canada as well as Bach and ice rink music - and then they ripped it up - with Levon's vocal soaring through it all.

"She's stoned" said the Swede, and the moon calf agreed
I'm like a viper in shock with my eyes in the clock
She was just there somewhere and here I am again
And as my mind unweaves, I feel the freeze down in my knees
But just before she leaves, she receives

With Levon just living 60 miles away, I guess I thought that I would likely get another chance to hear his good time music once more before we all moved on.  But I was wrong. Sometimes death sneaks up on us like that, yeah?  It just grabs you by the throat and shakes for a bit in all its unexpected power and truth. That's how I felt today...

So I shed some tears for Levon and I will probably shed some more, too.  Some are for me, I know:  his music touched something in my heart and it hurts to say good bye. Some of my tears are for those who have passed before I got a chance to make amends, too. And some are for the loved ones in my life and church who are hurting right now - some facing death - and others are just bewildered by life and all its pain. My tears are a prayer for them as I lift them up to God's grace in the faith that in time they will be released from their suffering and know a taste of joy.

How many times have I prayed these words... Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant.  Acknowledge, we humbly pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a child of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen.