A LIFE IN MUSIC
Robbie Robertson opens up about the past, the present and the future
Few artists in the annals of rock ’n’ roll have divided opinion as much as The Band. Was its name the height of pretension (“not just any band, but the definite article”) or simply a workmanlike nod to its anonymity?
Was its music a reactionary throwback in a psychedelic era or a new, alchemical mix of roots rock, folk, soul and gospel? And when guitarist Robbie Robertson left — with the lion’s share of songwriting credits and a Rolodex of famous friends — was he using his former bandmates as stepping stones, as singer-drummer Levon Helm would claim in later years? Or was he taking necessary steps to preserve his health and his creativity?
This last point of view is presented by the documentary Once Were Brothers: Robbie Robertson and The Band, which opens the Toronto International Film Festival on Thursday. Based in part on Robertson’s 2016 book, Testimony: A Memoir, it follows him from his early years in Ontario through his tours with Ronnie Hawkins and Bob Dylan with the members of The Band, to the time when he and the other unheralded backing musicians took centre stage as rock ’n’ roll legends in their own right.
“This is one of the most unusual stories of a band,” says Robertson, on the phone from Los Angeles, where he has lived since 1973. “I don’t mean the part that we start out and it’s joyous and it’s great and then things go dark and then you’re not brothers anymore — that’s many bands. But the intricate details of what happened in the journey of this group are extraordinary.”
To etch out these details, Robertson hand-picked Toronto-based director Daniel Roher, who was 24 at when he started to work on the film. By his own admission, Roher didn’t have much of a CV at the time, but his short films convinced Robertson to go with his gut: “When I met him,” he says, “I got this feeling of a young force, a guy on a mission. He even reminded me a bit of myself from years ago.”
Roher, meanwhile, pored over archival footage and photos and came to appreciate the complexity of the group’s story. “What I realized,” Roher says, “is that these rock ’n’ roll heroes I held on a pedestal were just these five fragile young men, trying to metabolize their phenomenal success and deal with their demons and insecurities.”
Some of the difficulties arose from alcohol and drugs: For the film, Roher spoke with Dominique Robertson, Robbie’s ex-wife, who was with him during The Band years and was nearly killed when singer-keyboardist Richard Manuel, after a few drinks, totalled his Mustang. Dominique says in the movie that while her husband was no angel, he lacked the genetic predisposition to become addicted — unlike Manuel, Helm and singer-bassist Rick Danko.
Once Were Brothers frames the notorious dispute between Helm and Robertson over songwriting royalties and artistic control in these terms. Robertson, along with keyboardist Garth Hudson, is seen as having kept the outfit on an even keel, while Manuel and Danko became unreliable and Helm, irascible.
To an extent, Robertson is happy to be a custodian of The Band’s legacy: He speaks in glowing terms about the upcoming 50th anniversary reissue of their self-titled second album, which he has overseen, and reveals he’s had discussions with screenwriter Jez Butterworth (Spectre, Get on Up) about a possible dramatic film adaptation of The Band’s story.
But he’s focused on the present and the future, with his own album, Sinematic — his first solo effort in eight years — due Sept. 20. Much of it has a slinky, noirish feel, drawing on his love of old movies. There are also pointed songs about issues such as arms deals and climate change: “I come from a generation where we spoke up about these things,” he says, “and there’s the First Nation element too, that makes you need to say and do something and try to just share things.”
Robertson also draws on his past for the elegiac Once Were Brothers (which gave its title to the film) and the ominous, loping Dead-end Kid. This story of a young man’s unfettered ambition recalls how Robertson, at 16, left home to try out as a guitarist for Hawkins’s rockabilly backing outfit, The Hawks.
Robertson, who’s now 76, says his enduring creativity has been boosted by his retirement from touring after the quintet’s farewell concert in San Francisco in 1976, which Martin Scorsese (an executive producer on Once Were Brothers) filmed as The Last Waltz. Rather than embarking on dinosaur-rock tours of diminishing musical returns, Robertson likes to be inspired by younger artists, such as Toronto singer-songwriter Afie Jurvanen (a.k.a. Bahamas), who plays guitar and sings on Sinematic.
Robertson is already at work on the music for the next Scorsese movie, Killers of the Flower Moon, based on the story of members of the Osage nation, who found oil on their Oklahoma reservation in the early 20th century — and then started being mysteriously killed off.
“That one’s really challenging,” he says. “I’ve got to do something that’s so magical ... I don’t know why other people get to a point and the well goes dry in certain areas. I just know that it’s so much fun and challenging and sometimes crazy-making to put yourself in the line of fire. What’s there not to be excited about?”