Page 6-Tuesday, May 23, 1978-Th Bromb( By R. J. SMITH First, the good news: In four shows last Saturday and Sunday at the Ark, David Bromberg sold out. The singer has donated all the proceeds to the cof- feehouse, netting them a hefty sum. The bad news is that if the second show Sunday was any indication, then this self-styled "dangerous man" isn't very much of a threat to anyone. Probably, he was tired; he was as in- terested in telling jokes and picking out commercials on his guitar as he was in playing any songs. And certainly, he was a little hesitant in choosing many of the songs he played, as he had left his band and the "tiresome" promotional Michigan DAILY campaign behind, at least momentarily to play at the Ark. His only accom- paniment was bassist Nancy Josephson. But therewas much of the show that just reflected bad judgement and poor taste. HE BEGAN the show with a handful of dope-related songs that were generally funny and sly, but did not exactly leave anything lasting with the audience. A fast-moving bluegrass number soon followed, exhibiting patented quick picking up-and-down runs that maykdemonstrate great vir- tuosity, but don't seem to have much feeling to them. He fluctuated generally between mean, low-down blues, and easy-going country tunes with demonstrative picking. But whatever he sang, it was hard for me to take him seriously once he opened his mouth. Bromberg's voice does not have a vibrato, nor does it many a time succeed in bending the note it wishes to bend. Instead, he sort of wobbles around a note, eventually at- taining by hitting all its neighbors on the scale. When he took it easy vocally and did not try to make his voice do things it was not made to, Bromberg could effec- tively put across emotions. A song writ- ten at the Ark, "Sweet, Sweet Sad- ness," was crooned well. A tune I believe entitled "Mr. Blue" was quite engaging, and a Utah Phillips song called either "Going Away" or "Long Gone" (the singer, bassist Nancy Josephson, could not recall which) was sung sweetly. But moments like these were few. INSTEAD, WHAT we got for the most part were Bromberg's own songs, which were often pretty ridiculous lyrically, and Bromberg cutting up before, during and after songs, whether the numbers were comical or serious. Aren't there any better ways to expose people to bluegrass than to recite rid- dles from Hee Haw (Q. Say, farmer, how do you catch a rabbit? A. Hide behind a bush and act like a carrot!"), amidst a spirited instrumental. I have developed a theory about David Bromberg, and about much of this "Folk revival" that someone sure is talking about. Actually, this new wave of folkies are all punks (in the J. Rotten sense), or vice versa. In the best tradition of a group like the Ramones, Bromberg and his audience take nothing seriously. All through the show were countless satirical thrusts at all the things the Ramones aboT.V e Michigan Daily erg too c But Bromberg does the Ramones one better, for while the Ramones have to shout "I don't care about this song" a mind-numbing amount of times, Brom- berg delivers the message easily. The punks are trying to build a com- munity, a lifestyle that sometimes reacts with anger, but at least with humor aimed at the outside world. A lot of those thugs with pins in their lips really think their music has been slighted. But I think Bromberg has them beat: all Sunday evening, while taking shots at Donnie and Marie, Joni Mitchell, "sensitive folksingers who want to get laid a lot," FM radio, and so forth, Bromberg kept alluding to this thing he called "true folk music," and he spoke of people who "just weren't folkies." Talk about building up a strong com- munity, a folkie faction just may show those punks - it may even start a revolution! - I wonder if Bromberg has heard that old story about Louis Armstrong. When Satchmo was asked if he played "folk music," he said something like: "folk music? What's folk music? I ain't never heard a horseplay no music!" ute for comfort David Bromberg Two looks at 'The Last Waltz' By PETER McCARUS The Last Waltz, Martin Scorsese's film of The Band's last concert, is also the story of five musicians and why they decided to give up life on the road. To someone who knows either very little or very much about the Band's history, the interviews spaced throughout the concert footage-most of them with Band lead guitarist and main composer Robbie fIobertson-may seem protracted. Knowing something in between, I enjoyed the chit-chat, being curious about the members of a band I've always liked. There are moments of honest nostalgia, often very fun- ny, such as keyboard player Garth Hudson telling how he had to join The Band on the pretext of giving the other four members music lessons to keep his parents happy. Hud- son is a massive man with a lusty beard, and looks as if he could lifta piano with one hand and play it with the other. The interviews capture the diversity of the five men. Robertson, Hudson, as well as Rick Danko, Levon Helm, and Richard Manual, speak affectionately of their sixteen years together, but seem ready to end it-they're all tired. BUT DON'T go to The Last Waltz to hear Rick Danko tell stories about stealing bologna, go to see The Band in concert with their friends. The performances are all wor- th seeing, with the exception of the embarrassing moment when Lawrence Ferlinghetti comes onstage to read a silly version of The Lord's Prayer, done up Califor- nia Poet-style. Go to The Last Waltz to see Neil Diamond sing one of his macho songs while dressed like a used-car salesman; to see drummer-singer Levon Helm attack his drums like a wonded Confederate general spurring on his horse; to see Robbie Robertson resembling a mixture of Mick Jagger and Tony Curtis as he plays his guitar. Finally, see The Last Waltz not only because of what it is-an honest movie filled with exciting performances by comfy old rock stars, like Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, and Eric Clapton-but also because of what it avoids:sch- maltzy "Well, this is it, boys-dry your eyes and play one last time",crappolah. And the title does suggest that the movie might be full of it. Fortunately, it is not. If there were personal conflicts, they are, not exploited here. There is no sentimentality until the final number, in which everyone involved comes onstage to sing "I Shall be Released." The final piece in the movie (recorded separately, on a sound stage) is a mildly corny last instrumental waltz, played by the Band as they drift slowly away into the credits. But there is no harm done. The Last Waltz is a sincere movie about a group of sincere musicians who simply decided to call it quits after sixteen hard years on the road. By R. J. SMITH It's hard to envision a rock band sticking together for 16 years, especially in today's recording climate. Feeling is often shuttled off into the distahce, as backup singers, rhythm units, faceless studio musicians etc., are slapped onto recording tracks for countless forgettable snappy tunes. It is the product and the marketing that are the impor- tant factors-and yet, there is something American about all that, for esteemed self-denial in the name of the end r" 7 Thi e record result has given us much. The assembly line and the manufactured sound of a band like Foreigner are both testimonial to it. But in their own way, The Band (four Canadians and an Arkansas drummer) will always seem to have a firmer grasp on whatever can be labeled American. Picked up in Toronto by a rock and roll screamer named Ronnie Hawkins, they were crisscrossing the country and playing in side shows, honkeytonks and juke joints when they were still in their mid teens. Soaking up the sounds of countless regional idioms from around the U.S., their music at its best was not a copy of the sounds they heard but a distillation of them. THE PLAYED with great humor and openness, with much respect for history, But they knew what history hadn't told us yet-and they saw much left to be decided. When they supported Bob Dylan on some of his mid-sixties tours, they played with a power-drenched madness; later, on their own, they would often play with a toned-down campfire folksiness. Closing in on two decades on the road, The Band decided to stop touring in 1976. Playing their last set at Winter- land, where they first played as The Band eight years ago, they recorded the event on a 24-track tape machine. The resulting package, the three record "Last Waltz," is like an old Irish funeral: a lot of friends are invited to a suitably large place, and soon a great deal of noise ,is made about the past. Something, however, goes out of kilter on the records. The guests too often sound like a relative strangers, and soon enough the whooping becomes a bit too grating, ever for the closest acquaintan- ce. THE BAND tried to assemble "some of the greatest -% See THE LAST, Page 11 ........-. . .. .. _ .ns rr . i ,. . ry f, - a "af" s"r. " .;