In San Francisco, on Thanksgiving Day 1976, the original members of The Band performed together for the last time. They were an effortlessly louche cast of musicians with implausibly good names; Rick Danko, the clean-cut, heart-throb bassist; Garth Hudson, the scholarly, dishevelled organist; Robbie Robertson, the slight, dapper guitar prodigy; Richard Manuel, the gentle, troubled pianist; and Levon Helm, the brooding drummer with an Arkansas drawl. All were dressed in finest gigolo chic and playing like their lives depended on it.
They played for five hours and were joined on stage by a who’s who of rock royalty. Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Eric Clapton, Muddy Waters and Dr. John were among those who paid tribute to the quintet and came together to celebrate a golden age in rock history that was coming to an end. Martin Scorsese filmed it all. The result, which has somehow slipped through the cracks of popular memory, is The Last Waltz, one of the greatest concert films of all time.
