Garth Hudson in the Basement Mixing up the Medicine

His 1967 recordings will live forever. Plus: a few more post-Inaugural cartoons.

Greg Mitchell is the author of more than a dozen books including “The Tunnels” “Tricky Dick and the Pink Lady” and “The Campaign of the Century” and now writer/director of three award-winning films aired via PBS, including “Atomic Cover-up” and “Memorial Day Massacre.” You can still subscribe to this newsletter for free:

I first saw Garth Hudson on stage in November 1965, in Buffalo, touring behind some wild-haired newly minted rock god named Timmy….er, Zimmy…okay, well, Dylan. For the second half of the concert only. Bob was still doing the first half acoustic. Fans or former fans were ringing cowbells to protest the electric instruments, as I have written here.

Four years later, I saw him with the same folks, minus Dylan but plus Levon, and now named The Band, in the same place in Buffalo (Kleinhan’s Music Hall), the best concert I’d ever seen, and maybe to this day. And then, in years after—the fabled Academy of Music shows, outside in Central Park, at Roosevelt Stadium in Jersey during an epic thunderstorm (I was fortunately in the press box). And there was Garth, behind multiple sets of keyboards, like a mad musician/magician, a wizard of oohs and ahhs.

Now he is gone, and with him, any living breathing trace of The Band, our best and maybe most influential American/Canadian rock group. A lot of people are remembering him now by posting Band classics and especially his lengthy prelude to “Chest Fever” live. So rather than enter the realm of redundancy, let me attest to what I feel was maybe his greatest contribution: He was the man who in 1967 owned, set up and then managed the clunky old tape recorder and mics that captured for posterity what became known as The Basement Tapes—one of the most hallowed collections of Americana songs of the 20th century.

Without Garth, would they even have been saved or at best a true muddle? They were, for the most part just one takes, rehearsals, and/or screwing around with cover songs and Dylan originals that in some cases had improvised lyrics. (Some were “recorded” at Dylan’s house before the move to the basement of Big Pink where Rick, Levon and Richard lived.) And the tapes kicked off the whole “bootleg” craze in the late 1960s, when a small number of the songs passed from dealer to fan, and then hand to hand, with the official (though marred by overdubs) Columbia release in 1975 of only the best known cuts.

So in tribute to Garth in the basement, a few random selections below. After that, a few more scary Trump 2.0 cartoons.

First, my photo of the clubhouse from my pilgrimmage a few years back. It’s been used as a private residence, a small record company distribution site, a kind of Air BnB (check availability). Of course, it should be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Imagine the lineup that would play to mark the occasion.

Next, Garth himself takes you on a tour awhile back, his first return since ‘68.

When Columbia released the first full collection as part of Dylan’s “Bootleg Series” they offered this promo trailer. Some notables who have written entire books about the basement, from Sid Griffin to Greil Marcus, appear. Note: I have written a not yet published novel about a family that lives in Big Pink and discover a missing tape in the ceiling recorded by Garth.

Now a few songs, captured somehow by Garth in the low-ceiling, echoey, basement, with primitive equipment by our standards, some with a dog on the floor. Perhaps Bob’s greatest song of the period (ever?), “Tears of Rage,” with Richard aiding.

A little more typical of the fun they all had, “Open the Door Homer.”

“Crash on the Levee” (long known as “Down in the Flood”).

“Too Much of Nothing”

A little ditty titled “I Shall Be Released.” Perhaps you’ve never heard Bob sing it back then.

Among the dozens of covers was his own “One Too Many Mornings,” love this.

The riotous “Every Time I Go to Town” (the Boys Keep Kickin’ My Dog Around).”

Of course, the most famous, long-hidden and utterly mysterious song, “I’m Not There,” was heard by few until it turned up over the end credits of the terrible, except for Cate, Todd Haynes film that borrowed its title. People have tried to make sense of the “lyrics,” which Dylan apparently made up on the spot, so good luck with that.

Another song not on the original bootlegs, “Baby Won’t You Be My Baby.”

The hardest rocking, harshest song he maybe ever cut, “Under Control.”

Another laugh riot, “I’m Your Teenage Prayer.” A long way from “All Along the Watchtower” which he wrote the following year….

Cartooning Down