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Rock Art Rock
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Rick Danko: Infectious Joy and Non-Showbiz Charisma
We all know what happened when the rain came down at Woodstock: Rather than run for cover or whine about substandard concert conditions, 300,000 hippies experienced a Dionysian rebirth. Wet, muddy, and occasionally buck-naked, they all had shit-eating smiles as Mother Nature turned Max Yasgur’s farm into sludge.
That was 1969, when hippies ruled the earth. About 10 years later I attended a much smaller music festival with a different vibe. The headliner that day was the country artist Waylon Jennings. Also listed were Buddy Holly’s old back-up band, the Crickets, J.J. Cale, Rick Danko, and the Paul Butterfield Blues Band. Something about the way the concert was advertised suggested that Danko and Butterfield might play together, but that wasn’t completely clear.
The concert took place at a ski resort near Bellefontaine, a small town in Western Ohio. In those days and in that area of Ohio, Southern rock was all the rage, as was outlaw country music, and on jukeboxes you might hear the Outlaws followed by Willie Nelson, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Johnny Paycheck. Had Molly Hatchet headlined that day, the scene would have been similar, with motorcycles and giant pickup trucks filling a dirt lot; concert-goers sporting tattoos, cowboy hats, and scraggly beards; and, from the time the doors opened at noon, large quantities of plastic beer containers getting guzzled.
On hand that day was a macho crowd, a rough crowd, the kind of crowd that unfamiliar opening acts might fear. But the early birds did okay. Ohio country-rockers McGuffey Lane went over well enough with a set that was musically undistinguished, but not the kind of thing that would ruffle anyone’s feathers.
Then it rained. It rained long enough to cause people to wonder whether driving to a concert out in the middle of nowhere was worth it. It rained long enough to turn a grassy field into a muddy one and long enough to dampen the spirits of a crowd that came to see one person, a musician who wouldn’t perform until much later in the day. The spirit of Woodstock, with people dancing in the mud and singing rain chants, was not in the air—not even a little bit.
But when the rain stopped the person who walked out on stage was someone who had performed at Woodstock. The Band was blessed with three fine vocalists; Rick Danko was one of them. In a group where it seemed like everyone could play everything, his main instrument was the bass, but when a song called for it he would grab the closest fiddle, trombone, or whatever else was sitting around to add to yet another rich musical tapestry.
And he could write songs. This became clear as early as 1968, when the Band released its first album, Music From Big Pink; co-written with Bob Dylan, “This Wheel’s on Fire” was one of the highlights of that record. Almost 10 years later, on the heels of the Band’s breakup, Danko released one of those rare debut solo albums where every song was strong. These things I knew before attending the show, but I had never seen any footage of the Band and no idea what to expect.
Smiling so hard his face must have hurt, Danko had a boyish, wide-eyed, let’s-get-this-party-started look in his eyes as he approached the mic. And he was dressed to impress, wearing black dress slacks, shiny hard-soled shoes, and a bright red button-down shirt—clothes that would have looked natural in The Last Waltz but seemed a bit formal for an outdoor music festival with Waylon Jennings as its headliner. Sporting an Ovation guitar, Danko held a bottle of wine high in the air and acted like a good ol’ boy as he talked about what a great thing it was that the rain had stopped and the music could continue, and the crowd liked that. He said the group he was supposed to perform with couldn’t make the gig because things got too wild beforehand—so no Paul Butterfield, and no Blues Band, just Rick Danko, who was less familiar to the crowd than McGuffey Lane.
“But I’m all right,” he said as he raised the bottle above his head, “because I’ve been drinking this all day.” Then he took a healthy swig off the bottle. This drew some cheers, and at first his animated singing style over some percussive guitar strumming went over well enough. Where he began to fall out of synch with the audience was during a song where he stuttered, repeatedly, “B-b-b-baby I love you.” While singing he made facial expressions so exaggerated he outdid old film stars in silent movies. Over-annunciating words and holding notes for longer than most musicians take to sing a whole phrase, he seemed as drunk as he said he was—but you couldn’t help but notice that, even though it kept returning to his lips, the wine bottle remained nearly full. As the rapport at the beginning of the show began to fade, mild enthusiasm gave way to polite applause, which was soon replaced by near silence.
23 Comments
Jeff–thank you for your article. You captured the beautiful spirit of a beautiful soul. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he meant to taunt the crowd. It wasn’t in Rick to do that. If anything, in his mind and in his big, warm heart, he was feeling bad and maybe embarrassed that his audience felt disappointed. But I love your line about his answer–if you had asked him–being “subject to interpretation.” It certainly would have been–but that’s Rick for ya! Thanks again.
Rick was a man who loved music and loved to perform and you knew it just by looking at him.
Jeff,
Honest to God, I’ve read your article, albiet, well written, and still don’t get the point. It’s a story of a concert that you attended where Danko showed up drunk? Please, don’t assume my retort insulting. I love(d) Danko and I believe that “It makes no difference” is one of the most beautiful songs ever written. I guess I’m challenged as to what you were trying to purvey to your readers. Conversely, please keep writing. The journalists at Crawdaddy are inspiring and are able to invoke passion from that special place in my heart set aside for music.
I certainly agree with Carol’s comments and knowing Rick’s love of music and giving spirit, I’m sure he must have felt bad about that situation. I played drums in his Starlites band during 1960 and 1961 and even as a young 17 year old he was an enthusiastic and talented musician with whom I became close friends for over 40 years. My wife and I were fortunate to visit Rick for 2 days in the summer of 1999 when he took us on a tour of the Woodstock area and Levon Helm’s recording studio.
Rick Danko was one of the finest, down to earth musicians I ever met. I met him at the Capitol Theatre in Passaic NJ when it closed in the late 1980s. The show was The Allman Brothers and The Band. We spoke for a while. A couple years later I met him at The Lone Star Cafe in NYC where he and Richard Manuel were becoming regulars. I spoke with him there, and he remembered me from The show in NJ. Up in the dressing room I met Bernie Taupin and Steve Forbert who were hanging out that night as well. At one point Rick called Bernie and Stev up to sing an acaapella gospel tune, and me being in “good spirits” invited myself to the stage. I stood there with all three of them in a line, arms around each other singing a little off key, but Rick took no offense. The earth lost a bright star the day he passed away.
Phil T.
I last saw Rick Danko at a latter-day Band show at D.C.’s Lincoln Theater. He walked out on stage, strumming an acoustic guitar and launching into Crazy Mama. He had the biggest, broadest grin on his face and from that moment on, I was in his camp–he brought huge good spirits to the evening. It does make a difference, Rick. You made sure of that.
I met Rick Danko three times and saw him many times besides that, with and without the reformed, Robbie-less Band. He was a fine gentleman, a regular guy, funny, witty, rather loopy sense of humor, and managed to perform in conditions that would have felled Keith Richards. Our local band opened for him and Richard Manuel in December before Richard’s death the following March. The next year we opened for him again when he was accompanied by Paul Butterfield. It was Butterfield’s last public performance, he died of a heart attack a week later brought on by the same kind of hard living that eventually claimed Rick. I never saw him face a hostile audience (except maybe one time with Garth and Richard opening for another doomed, gentle soul, Roy Buchannan). He was always in good humor and took everything in stride. The last time I saw him may have been the real “last waltz” – new years eve 1998-1999 at Levon’s short-lived New Orleans club. He was in pretty bad shape that night but still sang his heart out. I was sorry to hear of his passing, but sadly, not surprised. He is still missed.
I love the Band and Rick Danko was, of course, an integral member — They all were. But let’s be real. He did NOT, as the author says, have more music in him by the time he died. Let’s take off the rose-colored glasses. He was obese, drug-addicted and alcoholic. He was never much of a songwriter, and he didn’t really do anything memorable on record outside of the Band and maybe that first solo album, which I admittedly have only heard two or three cuts from. His singing on “Unfaithful Servant” and “It Makes No Difference,” to name just two, are great accomplishments in the annals of rock and roll. But he threw it all away in the end. Sad, if you ask me. — Kevin C., Reading, PA
I too was at that show in Ohio and I did not and still do not believe that Rick was trying to taunt the audiende. I believe that he was trying his hardest to entertain the audience. Although he was quite wasted his performance was heartfelt. I still tear up when I remember him trying to sing Stage Fright with the tape. I got to meet him several years later at a show in San Diego and I was completely impressed on what a gentle and sweet person he was. His death was a tragic loss to music fans and the world in general.
In the summer of “83″ or “84″ I owned a used record store in Dayton, Oh. A promoter walked in one day and asked if I would sell tickets to a Rick Danko show he was promoting at a local club. Being a big Danko fan I was more than happy to. Very long story cut very short. I sold not one ticket and it was obvious by show time that none of the other outlets had either. Rick ended up playing in front of four people…my wife, sister, brother and myself. It ended up being one of the best concerts I had ever seen. Rick didn’t appear to care one iota the place was empty. The tough guy wanna-be gangster types who owed the club were less pleased. They refused to pay him after the show and ended up chasing him out the door with threats of violence. At which point I managed to get him into my jeep and proceeded to follow the promoter who was also being chased and threatened. We ended up at the promoters house and I ended up talking with Rick to well past dawn the next day. Right before I went home he signed my “Big Pink” album. He wrote “to my friend Jim, live long and prosper. May your memory serve you breakfast.” Rick was a great artist, a true gent, and a fun guy to party with. Just him going into detail with great enthusiasm about what it was like recording Big Pink is something I will never forget.
As a collector of Rick Danko boots through the decades, he became my favourite singer for a lot of reasons. He always, always sang like he had nothing to lose, as strong and loud and straight from the heart as he could, even if that sounded misplaced (during small, acoustic shows) or with near-Band-perfectness (when he could afford a decent backing band). Having never been trained to be a “proper” singer, his voice, like those of almost all other great singers, has always been unrefined and pure. His life had been full of tragedy, for which he was hardly to blame: as Kevin points out, he was a drug addict, but he got hooked on painkillers and cocaine because of a car accident in the sixties which caused him to have severe back problems for the rest of his life, and he cleaned up before he died (which is one of the reasons why he almost doubled in weight in a short time). And the most important thing, the inpiration, always remained. As a singer, you can’t compare him with anyone else: he differs too much from his peers and he sang ten times better than the rest. As a songwriter (and musical influence during the Band-period) he’s written certain songs who will always remain classics. As a bass player, his style is easily recognizable (especially during liveshows), as bouncy and unpredictable as he himself was (listen to Yazoo Street Scandal, the outtake from Big Pink), being one of the first to use a fretless bass (see the Last Waltz) etc. etc. And besides being a great musician, you can’t help but love him and his boyish, sheepish grin, that even when looking at video of the first of his last two shows before he died, shows that the young Danko had always remained and did his best to come out. (The video can be found on http://www.dimeadozen.org, a private torrent tracker. The date of the show is 1999-12-04, six days before he died. Only for hardcore fans.)
Nice article about what appeared to be a sweet person. Too bad he isn’t still here to sing.
No way Kevin! have you heard Danko Fjeld Andersen 2 cd’s? Or Rick’s Times Like These? I think their awesome and most critics agree. Danko at he end may have not had much left but he put out some great music in the years leading up to his death. Just listen to “Blue River” or any other Danko vocal (”Too Soon Gone”!) and you’ll see what I mean.
That was a great article and a fun read. Your description of the Bellefontaine experience made me feel like I’d been there too. I always love to hear Danko sing “It Makes No Difference”
I worked at Arding Studios back in the early 80s and one night after a session, Paul Shaffer took me to see The Band at the Lonestar. We spent some time visiting with them and before we left, Rick told me that I should come hear them play whenever they were around. He said that I should go to the stage door and tell them that I was “Rick’s cousin” and that they would take me to him. I moved to Atlanta after that to work for a promoter and when they were playing there, I did just that. And true to his word, every time I showed up as his cousin, they brought me to him. There was no “agenda”, there was nothing he wanted from me. He said he just liked having me around. I cannot say that I knew him well at all, but there was this wonderful sweetness and kindness in him. I saw them a few times in Atlanta and I clearly remember the last time I heard them play “It Makes No Difference’. I swear there was not a dry eye in the place – male, female it just didn’t matter. Almost felt like we were all elevated a foot off the ground and it was one of those moments I will never forget. After that, I went back stage and Rick was just hanging out, quietly sitting in a corner on a stool just watching everyone and smiling contentedly. When I went to leave, I said goodbye to the band. When I went to say goodbye to Richard Manuel, I said “I’ll see you next time” and Richard said, “no, no you won’t”. I honestly worried that I had put my foot in my mouth somehow and offended him, but word came the following week that he had hung himself. Eventually I got married, became a mother and was knee deep in Mommy and Me playgroups and Disney movies and I never knew when Rick passed away. To this day, it makes me sad to think of him being gone as I only knew him to be kind and generous and warm and a really rare individual, in this business or in any other. I saw a clip from The Last Waltz the other day and it brought this all back to me again so thanks for letting me share this memory of him.
Whoops, that was supposed to be A ording Studios…..
I am going to try this once again….I worked at A and R Recording Studios…52nd and Seventh.
I too have an album signed by Rick that says, “May your memory serve you breakfast”. I always thought it was a reference to a friendly disagreement over who wrote “This Diamon Ring”. I said Al Kooper, but Rick thought it was the guy who had done that album on Atco which sounded alot like the Band. I think his name was Roger Tilson. There was an unreleased Dylan tune on it, “Get Up Jake” which was also unreleased at the time and a Woodie Guthrie song. There was a great version of “Loving You Is Sweeter Than Ever” which Rick would also do with the Band. Rick thought it was that guy who I suspect had some connection to the Band given the material on his one lp.
Also saw that Byrds-Band Tribute show in Philly. Last time I saw Gene Clark, Michael Clarke and Richard Manuel alive. I asked Richard if he was doing “Share Your Love”, but it wasn’t part of the show. I’m glad I got to tell him how much I liked that song as he was dead within the year.
Anybody remember those Bandclones, Blue Jug, on Capricorn Records?
I have been thinking about Rick many times lately. Every time I think of him I go into this depressing funk. Depressing because I only saw him play a couple of times and wished it had been more often. Depressing because he seemed liked such a great guy who cared about his fans and what they thought. Sadly not the case with many top performers. Depressed also because his future after The Band seemed so unfulfilled. It seemed like he should have been embraced by music lovers and been in high demand. I’m not sure what happened but I do believe the world deserved to hear and see Rick more. Depressed because I will never forget the day he died. I was listening to a Gram Parsons number “A Song for You” and earily thinking of Rick when my wife gave me the news. Needless to say I put a Band shuffle on the Ipod and never stopped for a long long time. Drove through Simcoe last week and the memories came flooding back.
Hmmmm, Rayn Man, appreciate your story but since Rick died in December ‘99 and the iPod didn’t come out until 2001 there’s a hole in your bucket. Ah well, if it ain’t true, it oughta be.
understand the depression thing totally! the more i read and watch and listen of rick the worse it seems. And i never even knew him. i guess he just had that effect, eh?
My (deceased) wife and I had the extreme honor of getting to know RDs’ bandmate, Leovn Helm, over the last decade or so.
LH always refers to Rick, Richard and Garth as “brothers” and you KNOW he loves them like blood, if not more… I must add this caveat, however… It don’t apply to ALL FAMILIES, thank you very much. BUT, I DIGRESS.
Bottom line – The Band was possibly the best rock band of ANY era, and their well-documented (excluding RR and GH most probably) experiences with opiates didn prevent them from creating two or three of the greatest rock albums EVER. Unfortunately, it was Rick Danko who suffered the double whammy of serious physical injuries (and their sometimes extremely painful aftermath) coupled with the crippling emotional pain growing out of a “traumatic experience.” Rick’s physical injuries, combined with what may have been a natural desire to
alter his consciousness with “substance abuse” could be part of what lead to his pre-mature death… although a male having a heart attack in his late fifties after almost doubling his weight in a short period of time and after a steady diet of that beloved American killer junk food kings product (McDonalds!!!), who knows???
The point is, Rick Danko WILL BE KNOWN, LOVED, and REMEMBERED, similarly to the way that Decibert H. from Amsterdam described him – a great musician, arranger, singer, songwriter, and, by all anecdotal accounts, a damn nice person as well.
The four members of the Band deserved each other AS BROTHERS – they ACTED LIKE BROTHERS and my impression of the four “final” Band members together was that, after about 35 years together by the time I met ‘em, still truly enjoyed each others’ company and friendship. (I can’t have any opinions either way on R. Robertson as I know nothing about the guy other than what I’ve read… and, as most people think, 1/2 of what we read is B.S. anyway…
L. Helm is one of the nicest, openest, calmest, humblest, most considerate, and funniest folks i”ve ever met, and i’m fairly sure Rick Danko would match up to that yardstick quite well.
H the H
Ricky Danko and Richard Manuel – Forever loved and missed.