Life is a carnival but demons also ride the roundabout

Sad, sad, sad bare facts about five men, brothers in music, and about Manuel in particular. It was his voice, we know, that introduced The Band as a musical force in their own right when he sang “Tears of Rage”, the first track on their debut album “Music From Big Pink” released on July 1, 1968. But behind the bare facts how did it come to this, in a nondescript motel?

Author Stephen T. Lewis was motivated to look deeper into a story that was tragic and  had come to define Manuel over the years. The biographer notes: “His musical contributions became a footnote to more-salacious tales. My goal had become to diffuse the myths and uncover the true talents of the man.” Writing this expansive book took four years.

To the average rock fan, Manuel was known as a member of Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks, the Hawks then leaving the front man to follow their own path, famously being hired by Bob Dylan as his band for 1965-66 shows in the US, Australia and Europe. Dylan, the “Judas”, was booed by die-hard folkies for daring to “go electric”. It was a historic moment in rock.

Lewis describes Manuel as a man who had an enduring effect on both music and people. “Richard’s talent was immense and his soul so complex that to capture his essence was like shovelling smoke. He was everything that had already been written but so much more.”

The singer, piano player and drummer from Stratford, Ontario, in Canada had performed in halls and arenas worldwide, earning the respect of his peers, and had composed timeless music, but in the process became an alcoholic and addict. As far back as 1969 when he was recording The Band’s second LP, Manuel always had a drink nearby to steady his hands.

The story opens with the birth of Richard George Manuel on April 3, 1943 in Stratford. He was the third of four boys in a solid blue-collar family gentle and funny with strong faith.

Richard’s nose earned him the nickname “Beak” and he delighted in singing songs of praise at Baptist church, also learning piano his way on a dusty upright at home. This awakening musical awareness found him immersed in listening to R&B and rock on late-night radio.

Entering his teen years, he began to tap into “an endless well of hell-raising”, of under-aged trouble-making. Life was for fun and adventure, sex and booze, wild driving. And so it would always be, plus rock ’n’ roll. “Richard always had a smile for you and was game for anything that had the remote possibility of being a good time… Everyone who knew Richard had a story of white-knuckle heroism or sphincter-clenching regret when he got behind the wheel.”

In 1959 when he was 16 he and his mates formed the Rockin’ Revols group. They flourished and honed their craft playing in local campuses and clubs when the legal age was 21. By 1962 there was no doubt that he was the best singer in southern Ontario and possibly on the entire Eastern Seaboard, Lewis recalls. Manuel was pledged to the group, so when Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks wanted him the Revols had to persuade him to take the chance.

Hawkins headed a renegade Arkansas, US, rockabilly outfit. Helm said Richard told him with a sheepish grin that at age 17 he’d already been drinking for years. Hawks’ guitarist Robbie Robertson concurred: “When I first met Richard, he was seventeen and he was already a drunk.” It’s important to recognise that Manuel did like to get wasted, Lewis writes. It gave him confidence, tamping down his ugly trait of low self-esteem, either imagined or ingrained. “Richard wasn’t short of anything but confidence, and alcohol made that a nonissue.”

Manuel immediately took the Hawks to a new place. Helm again: “Richard was a show unto himself. He was hot; he was about the best singer I’d ever heard. Most people said he reminded them of Ray Charles. He’d do those ballads and the ladies would swoon. To me, that became the highlight of our show.” The Hawks became the best band in the land, with  the women plentiful and willing, the booze abundant and every night a never-ending riot. And the group was slowly leaving behind their leader. As Lewis puts it, Ronnie Hawkins had pieced together the best and most talented musicians he encountered, creating a rock ’n’ roll Frankenstein’s monster that  became more powerful than he could ever have imagined.

With the Ronnie Hawkins name not consistently pulling in crowds, things were rough for the Hawks. While they were busy,  there was no sense of upward mobility. Survival was hand-to-mouth, week-to-week. Well-placed girlfriends, musicians and friends helped them eat and sleep. They felt down, waiting for something to happen, and Richard had crippling self-doubt.

In 1964 they branched out as Levon and the Hawks. Then Bob Dylan came calling, in need of a backing band. Biographer Lewis on the incendiary 1966 world tour: “Just as the Hawks had sharpened their musical talons traversing shit-holes, honky-tonks, and dance halls from Canada to Arkansas, they had now ascended to sonically violating ornate and famed theaters of Europe replete with classical paintings, velvet ropes, and regal mezzanine seating.”

The author, who had the approval and assistance of Manuel’s family and friends, notes early on that he realises it would have embarrassed Richard to have someone ruminating about his musical accomplishments. “I also know that it would have made his day to know that someone cared enough to do it.” And the resulting book is surely better than anyone expected, exceptional really, with a nice layout such as found in high-quality magazines.

Lewis tackles his subject stage by stage in an article-by-article fashion, missing nothing. So there are separate pieces on all of the above, then, for example, the jam sessions with Dylan in the Big Pink basement, a short collaboration with Tiny Tim, the Tribute to Woody, the Woodstock, Isle of Wight and Trans-Continental Pop Festivals, the individual albums, the “Rock of Ages” tour, Dylan’s “Planet Waves”, Wembley Stadium and The Last Waltz.

Rare photos and memorabilia are included. If there’s a live tape in existence, whether sonically challenging audience recordings, field recordings or soundboard, Lewis listened to them all, always concentrating on Manuel’s contribution, whether he wrote the song, sang it or played piano and occasional drums. The author reviews shows and records in detail.

The Band became one of the most respected musical groups in the world, Lewis writes, their influence widespread, the plaudits numerous and well deserved… in the beginning. By the third album, 1970’s “Stage Fright”, Manuel’s self-doubt saw him withdrawing creatively. The delicate balance of the group was being disrupted by fame, the camaraderie crumbling.

As the expectations around The Band increased, Manuel’s ability to handle them decreased. His inability to deal with the pressures of the new-found fame was one reason for his retreat into the crutch of drink and drugs. He couldn’t say no, had no one to tell him no and didn’t listen if they did. He did everything to excess. He became unreliable, insecure. He departed.

Lewis is a great chronicler but no apologist, despite his obvious admiration. Here we have it: “Beak”, soul singer, wayward husband and father, easygoing and generous spirit, gentleman, joker, party animal, road warrior, rental car destroyer, blue-flame flatulence king.

Richard George Manuel, brought down by demons, will surely never receive a finer epitaph.