Making music again: Legendary Levon's comeback album
By Steve Israel

Times Herald-Record
October 28, 2007

Woodstock — The boy who would grow up to sing of driving old Dixie down and taking a load off Fanny pushed the furniture to the corner of the farmhouse in Turkey Scratch, Ark. His sister grabbed her washtub bass. His dad cradled a guitar and mom cleared her voice.

And little Levon Helm, already the self-proclaimed hambone king of Turkey Scratch, placed a wooden box between his legs and slapped the beat to the songs his parents had taught him — story songs with layered harmonies like "Little Birds," "The Girl I Left Behind" and "The Blind Child."

This is what folks did for fun on Southern Saturday nights more than a half century ago.

Levon Helm, former singer and drummer of The Band, leans forward in front of the crackling fire in his woodsy, home recording studio when he talks of those days. His toothy grin widens. His brown eyes dance.

Even his devoted dogs — dark Muddy and tan Lucy — seem to let out satisfied sighs.

THIS MUSIC, and the rock 'n' roll of Elvis, Conway Twitty and Little Richard he heard at Louisiana Hayride music shows and Anderson's Drug Store jukebox, is what Levon Helm likes to talk about, not the glory years with The Band, the electric gigs with Dylan or the wild tours with Ringo, who called him "the greatest drummer."

"I haven't tried to change myself around," he says in that twangy voice still rich with the South. "That's the music I grew up with."

Helm, 67, can talk forever about that music and "the best thing I ever produced" — his daughter, Amy Helm.

You hear that music, and the heart-quivering harmonies of Amy, on Helm's first major label album in 25 years, "Dirt Farmer," named after the work the Helm family did on their Arkansas cotton farm. It will be released on Tuesday.

IT'S AN ALBUM that not only celebrates the timeless stories of the poor dirt farmer, of a beloved mountain and of rivers to cross; it also reveals where The Band got much of its rich, American sound.

That sound, Helm explains, includes the "slowed down rock 'n' roll beat, with more beat on the downbeat." He demonstrates by patting his hands on his knees.

But "Dirt Farmer" is special for another reason. Just a few years ago, Levon Helm thought he'd never make it. He feared he'd lost his voice to cancer; that it would be replaced by a mechanical box.

But Amy wouldn't let it happen. The daughter who'd grown up falling asleep at her dad's recording sessions moved back to Woodstock from Manhattan and drove Levon to 28 radiation treatments.

And when the voice started to emerge, first frail as a whisper, then sturdier, like a frayed pair of jeans, Amy suggested he record the songs he had grown up with; songs he sang to Amy as a little girl.

"For me, it's just a celebration of being able to make music again," he says. "And to make that music with Amy, with your own, to get up the courage to do it, that's the whole fun."

BY NOW, THE STORY of how Levon Helm came to make that music again is the stuff of legend, especially around here. Before he lost that voice, his beloved wood-and-stone home recording studio was ravaged by fire. Rebuilding it, and paying for radiation, forced him into bankruptcy. He doubted he would sing.

But when that earthen voice began to reappear, Helm rebuilt his life by doing the only thing he ever wanted: play the music he'd heard as a boy.

With the help of Amy, 36, and her rootsy band, Olabelle, he opened the rebuilt studio and staged the Saturday night shows he calls Midnight Rambles — after the shows he saw as a kid, like the FS Walcott Rabbits Foot Minstrel Show.

"When music hits a kid, it hits hard, it hits deep," says Helm, who now hosts rambles for kids.

Other stars of the '60s — the Stones, McCartney, even Dylan — use their music to sell stuff. Levon Helm makes music for the same reason he did some 60 years ago — for the music. So when you ask how "Dirt Farmer" will do, he shrugs. "I never had any idea of the commercial end of things," he says. "To me, it's family and music."

As if on cue, Amy walks in the studio. After they squeeze hands, they talk about "Dirt Farmer."

"These were the tunes that came from my parents to you," says Levon, standing near Amy. Then Levon Helm, who's sung before millions, sings one of those songs to Amy: "Mr. Spider went to town "¦"

And as the rich voice gains strength, the hambone king of Turkey Scratch, Ark., slaps out the lickety-split beats on his thighs and ribs. His hands move faster and faster, the beats grow stronger and deeper.

Amy looks at her dad and sighs. "He's got the coolest hambone in the world," she says.

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