Garth Hudson: 11 Essential Songs

On By Littum

Somewhat self-effacingly, Garth Hudson breathed history into songs. At his magisterial Lowrey organ, he summoned Bach, hymns, the gospel church or a circus calliope. At the piano, he bounced through ragtime chords and spouted filigrees of honky-tonk or jazz. On accordion he could invoke a Cajun fais-do-do, a medicine show, a polka or the bagpipe skirt. On saxophones, he built cozy studio horn sections and occasionally stepped forward for a plaintive solo. And as his equipment choices expanded, he inserted synthesizers and electric keyboards as scenic backdrops, brass bands, and wry commentary.

Hudson, the last surviving original member of the band, died Tuesday at age 87. Here, in chronological order, are 11 tracks — all but one by the band — that touch on the breadth of his music.

Bob Dylan’s 1966 tour of England, backed by Hudson and other members of what would become the band, was famously a trial by fire, with Dylan’s new electric material met with boos and applause. In retrospect, the music was invincible: defiant, purposeful, rightly confident of its breakthroughs. Hudson backed Al Kooper’s original organ part into a fortress of chords, part of an incendiary performance that rises to peak after peak.

From the casually brilliant sessions that became known as the Basement Tapes, “Yazoo Street Scandal” is all stops and starts: a booming beat, a bouncy bassline, Levon Helms’ shouted vocals. It’s subtly joined by Hudson’s understated organ, which sustains notes in the background or roars between the lines.

The buzzing, quivering notes that open “This Wheel’s on Fire” and the ominous repeated chords at the end of each chorus come from Hudson’s clavinet—a glimpse of psychedelic experimentation hidden behind the band’s rootsy demeanor.

Hudson’s piano simply frolics all the way through “Rag Mama Rag”, touching down into two-fisted steps and ragtime – but also at the end hints at some of the modern jazz keys he explored at the band’s concerts.

The bullfrog-like syncopations that tease and cackle as Levon Helm sings the verses are from Hudson’s harpsichord. He unfolds organ lines like a pile on top of the choruses, but the cackle continues merrily.

In this sparse, stately song about connection and betrayal, Hudson’s saxophones and producer John Simon’s horns arrive just as Rick Danko sings, “I can hear the whistle blowin’.” They linger, calm and laconic, to emphasize and respond to the texts. Finally, Hudson’s soprano sax asks a final, poignant question.

At the band’s concerts, Hudson’s keyboard introduction to “Chest Fever” expanded into an improvisational showcase that earned its own title: “The Genetic Method.” This version, from December 1971 in New York City, wanders among Celtic melodies, quasi-baroque counterpoint, hymns, hoedowns, chromatic high jinks and “Auld Lang Syne” en route to the fierce riff of “Chest Fever” where Hudson’s organ strums and grinders.

Hudson’s ghostly keyboard obbligatos hover over Danko’s lead vocals throughout “Stage Fright,” contributing almost subliminally to the song’s anxious tone. His solo up front is tentative, jubilant and then tense again for a few short measures.

Bob Dylan lent the band this droll song for their album “Cahoots.” Hudson’s harmonica seems to saunter in from a sidewalk serenade to meet Helms’ amused, agitated vocals, which jostle him along with countermelodies, trills and hissing encouraging chords.

An anthem of desperate loneliness, “It Makes No Difference” ends with no more words to sing. Instead, there is an instrumental dialogue between Robbie Robertson’s guitar, which touches and moans the blues, and Hudson’s saxophone, which reaches for a comforting melody.