The Death Of Levon Helm

Strange that I chose to write about the late, great drummer BJ Wilson just a few days ago. For BJ said long ago that his own favourite drummer was Levon Helm. And now Levon has finally passed away, after a long and successful career post-The Band and post-cancer.

Perhaps even more so than BJ Wilson, Levon was a truly musical drummer. And not only that, he could sing and play drums at the same time. That is, really sing and play drums at the same time. He didn't just do a bit of backing vocals, or sing a song while still keeping time. He sang lead vocals with heart and soul while playing full-on in the same fashion. If you need proof, check out his performances on Martin Scorsese's film The Last Waltz. Or see the news clip on Levon's website.

Like many of The Band's members, Levon Helm had his roots in a pre-rock era that stretched back to circus tents, medicine shows and vaudeville, when the power and the mystery of the song and the performance were everything. It's no wonder that Bob Dylan picked Levon's men to back him up through one of his most crazily fruitful and creative periods.

There cannot be another Levon Helm. But any drummer who has watched him play and sing is bound to take something of Levon into their own playing, even if it is subconsciously.

The Literary Drummer

Question: What do you call someone who spends all their time hanging around with musicans? Answer: A drummer.

Not particularly funny jokes like this reinforce the idea that drummers are not proper musos. Trying to think of the most musical drummer in rock, I reckoned it had to be BJ Wilson.

You might know him for playing on Joe Cocker's With A Little Help From My Friends, or you might know him from the various stories about Jimmy Page asking him to join Led Zeppelin prior to his thinking about a bloke called John Bonham.

But you should know him for his epic work with the classic line-up of Procol Harum. Wilson's style has been described as "literary", so closely did the drama of his percussion follow the drama of Keith Reid's lyrics and Gary Brooker's music.

If you need any persuasion, listen to the drum fills on the song A Salty Dog — a piece for which Brooker said there was no drum part, but Wilson proved emphatically there was. This was totally original drumming, played completely for the song, using space and silence just as much as sound. And always surprises.

Scores of other tracks, such as the similarly cinematic Whaling Stories, illustrated Wilson's musicality. But check out his time-stopping barrage in the climaxes of Repent Walpurgis, from the very first Procol album, if you want to hear him in fullest flow.

Wilson died awfully and tragically young. And no one has ever quite matched him — as a rock drummer and musician.