When we stand together as one

Forty years ago this week, one of the most extraordinary collaborations in popular music history occurred in Los Angeles when 45 performing artists — 30 of whom were the biggest stars of that era — convened in a Hollywood studio to record a song for charity that still ranks as one of the music industry’s biggest commercial successes.

We Are The World,” written by Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie, became the fastest-selling U.S. single of all time and ultimately raised upwards of $40 million in humanitarian aid to fight the famine that had claimed a million lives in Eastern Africa. Considering the logistical challenges and the outsized egos of many of the people involved, perhaps the most remarkable thing about it was that they were able to pull it off at all.

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In November 1984, Irish singer-songwriter Bob Geldof saw a BBC report about a terrible famine wreaking havoc on the impoverished population of Ethiopia. Motivated to do something about it, he contacted Scottish songwriter/producer “Midge” Ure about pulling together musical artists from across the United Kingdom to record a song he was writing to raise money to combat the dire situation.

Bob Geldof (second from left), Bono, Sting, George Michael and others

They were able to enlist Sting, Bono, Boy George, Phil Collins, George Michael, and members of Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet and Geldof’s Boomtown Rats to show up at a London studio where, in one day, they became Band-Aid and recorded “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”, which was released a couple weeks later and became one of the biggest singles in UK history, raising nearly $10 million dollars, wildly exceeding Geldof’s expectations.

In the U.S., Harry Belafonte, the iconic singer/actor/social activist, watched this closely and was inspired. He approached Ken Kragen, LA’s most connected music manager. “Thousands of people are dying in Africa, right now,” Belafonte said. ”We can, we must, do something about that. Maybe we need to stage a charity concert to provide both moral and financial support.”

Kragen was skeptical. “I doubt that a concert would make as much impact or raise as much money as a charity single,” he said. “We could take Geldof’s concept and do it here, with the greatest stars in America.” Kragen approached Richie, his client at the time, who embraced the idea and suggested they get the great Quincy Jones to produce it.

“Quincy is a master orchestrator — of music and of people — and he had the respect of every musician on the planet,” said Richie. “Quincy immediately thought of Stevie Wonder and figured the two of us could write the song.” Wonder was busy with his own project, but Jones found Michael Jackson very receptive to getting involved, so Richie and Jackson huddled to decide what kind of song it should be.

“A rocker? A ballad?” mused Richie. “We knew it needed to be relatively easy to sing, and memorable, and anthemic. We ended up with a mid-tempo pop melody that would give an array of stars the chance to show off their vocal chops. Ultimately, we wanted it to be big and almost stately.” Over the course of a week, the twosome fashioned the melody, toyed with the instrumentation (piano, drums, strings), tweaked the words for verses and chorus. The chorus and title, “We are the world,” was “an appeal to human compassion,” said Jackson, “designed to be sung together as children of the planet coming together as one.”

Project organizers Quincy Jones, Lionel Richie and Ken Kragen

Meanwhile, Jones and Kragen were brainstorming about who they wanted as their singers beyond Jackson, Richie and Wonder. Because this was about black populations in Africa who were starving and dying, they had originally focused on the need to get black artists involved, but they soon saw the wisdom in broadening their scope to include white artists as well. “Artists’ schedules are typically planned months in advance, so we wondered how in hell we could get them to participate,” said Kragen. “That’s when we landed on the perfect solution: The American Music Awards.”

The AMAs were already slated for Monday, January 28, in Los Angeles, and coincidentally, Richie had been invited to serve as the host. “Those awards cover multiple genres — rock, R&B, pop, country — so that event would be bringing many major stars to LA as nominees and as presenters,” said Jones. “It’s already on their schedules to be in town. We knew we needed to schedule the session for that night, after the live awards show. It was our only choice.”

They knew they had to work fast, so they got on the phones and reached out to some of the biggest names at that time, and got a “thumbs up” from Diana Ross, Hall and Oates, Cyndi Lauper, Ray Charles, Paul Simon, Kenny Rogers, Steve Perry, Tina Turner, Willie Nelson, Kenny Loggins, Billy Joel, James Ingram, Dionne Warwick, Kim Carnes, Al Jarreau and Huey Lewis. Some artists were on tour and unavailable, or were hesitant to be a part of it: Madonna, Prince, Van Halen, David Byrne, among others.

The organizers also wanted Bruce Springsteen, who would be completing a huge tour the previous day. “I usually take time off after a tour, but I knew this was important, so I told ’em, ‘I’m in,'” he said. With Springsteen signed up, they set their sights on Bob Dylan. “He’s the consummate ‘concerned musician,'” said Richie, “so he was a natural fit, but he’s kind of a control freak and likes to call his own shots. But we got him to agree to be there.”

Jones, Jackson, Richie and Wonder convened in a secret session on January 22 at Kenny Rogers’ Lion Share Studio to record the basic backing tracks with guide vocal. Jones used pianist Greg Phillinganes, bassist Louis Johnson and drummer J.R. Robinson, who had worked together on Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” session, among others. Richie and Jackson added their vocals in six takes, and they made copies of the tape to ship overnight to the invited performers so they could learn the song beforehand.

Kragen and Jones had secured A&M Recording Studios in Hollywood for the all-important January 28 post-AMA Show session. They made it crystal clear to everyone involved that there could be no leaks about where this was going to take place. “A&M was the perfect location, with phenomenal sound,” Kragen said, “but if that showed up in the press, it could destroy the project. We couldn’t have a mob of media and onlookers there when the stars arrive. This had to be hush-hush.”

Jones brought in veteran vocal arranger Tom Bahler to help determine which artist would sing which line of the song. “That was a real challenge,” Bahler recalled. “Nobody had ever had 45 people in the same room before, and there were going to be so many strong creators there. Stevie Wonder, Diana Ross, Cyndi Lauper, all these strong-willed creative people…it had the potential to be chaos. So we had to have a leader, and that was Quincy. He had the ability to command everyone’s respect and keep people focused on the mission.”

Said Bahler, “Quincy told me, ‘Lionel was the first one to write this, so he should be the first voice we hear. And then because Michael came in and they finished it together, Michael should sing the first chorus.’ Then Quincy chuckled and said to me, ‘Then I think you should bring Diana in for the second half of the first chorus, because some people think she and Michael are the same person!’ Other than that, the rest was left up to me.”

Cyndi Lauper, Bruce Springsteen, Michael Jackson and Billy Joel take a breather during the session

Bahler studied the vocal styles and ranges of the artists who would be on the record, trying to match each line to the right singer. “Some of them would have only half a line to sing, but still, it had to be right for their sound, they style, their range. I put Tina on a low-register line because she has such warmth down there. Steve Perry, his high range, he’s just electrifying up there. Kenny Loggins could sing with an edge, so it would sound great coming after Springsteen. Huey Lewis, I love Huey, but not everybody was going to get a solo line. All these sorts of things had to be taken into account.”

To my ears, the thing about “We Are the World” that still sends chills up my spine is the juxtaposition of such varied, quality voices, one line after another. Mahler did a simply spectacular job selecting the right singers in various groupings on the verses and choruses. First came Richie, Wonder and Paul Simon, followed in verse two by Kenny Rogers, James Ingram, Tina Turner and Billy Joel. Brilliant! After the Jackson/Ross pairing on the first chorus, the third verse brought the unusual transition of Dionne Warwick to Willie Nelson to Al Jarreau, followed by the thrilling second chorus — Springsteen’s growl and the soaring pop of Kenny Loggins, Steve Perry and Daryl Hall. Incredible! Then Jackson returned for a line before handing off to Huey Lewis, Cyndi Lauper and Kim Carnes, which segues into the third chorus, where 30 to 40 voices sing in unison for the first time. So powerful!

Richie huddles with Daryl Hall, Wonder, Jones and Paul Simon early in the session

The grand choir of voices for the chorus in the song’s second half would include not only those who would sing solo lines, but others who were there like Bette Midler, Waylon Jennings, Lindsey Buckingham, Smokey Robinson, Jeffrey Osborne, Sheila E, John Oates, Dan Aykroyd, The Pointer Sisters, the rest of The Jackson Five, the members of Huey Lewis’s band The News, and Belafonte and Geldof.

Recalled Springsteen, “The song itself was very broad, which it has to be if you’re carrying all those different voices and ranges.”

Richie said he expected Jones would want each soloist to go into the booth one by one to sing their line, but Jones told him, “Oh hell no, we’ll be here for three weeks. We’ll put everyone in a circle in the room with all the mics, and everyone’s going to sing looking at each other.” Richie’s jaw dropped at that, but Jones said, “Taking this kind of chance is like running through hell with gasoline drawers on, I know, but I’m not afraid. Still, it’s deep water. We’ll have to clamp down on outside noises, laughing, jewelry rattling, even creaks on the floor from feet tapping.”

It’s astonishing, really, when you think about what Richie was being asked to do on January 28th. He had to host the AMAs, and this was back when network TV was the only thing happening, so it was a very big deal. He was required to be charming at the pre-show press conference. He performed two songs during the show. He even had to make graceful acceptance speeches when he ended up winning several major awards. He had to maintain his cool on live TV for three-plus hours…and then he had to dash off to this high-stakes, high-pressure secret recording session and help Jones keep some semblance of order and positivity among all these assembled prima donnas.

Jones had a brilliant idea before anyone arrived at the session. He made a sign and hung it on the studio entrance that admonished everyone: “Check your egos at the door.” Somehow, for the most part, it seemed to work, partly because many of the participants were uncertain and a little nervous about what was going to happen, or in awe of the legendary talent that was assembled.

Here are some quotes from those who were there:

Smokey Robinson: ”Everyone you could think of who was in show biz at that time was at the recording.”

Huey Lewis: “A car took me there. I had no clue who was going to be there. When I realized it was the cream of the crop of pop music at that time, well, it was overwhelming.”

Bruce Springsteen: “It was intoxicating just to be around that group of people.”

Billy Joel: “Whoa, that’s Ray Charles. That’s really him. That’s like the Statue of Liberty walking in.”

Kenny Loggins: “When I saw Diana Ross, I thought, ‘Okay, we’ve hit a different echelon here.’ At one point, we’re on the risers, all these legends, and Paul Simon, who’s on one of the lower steps, looks up and says, ‘If a bomb lands on this place, John Denver’s back on top!'”

Said Richie, “By about 10 p.m., everyone’s assembled. We could all feel the incredible energy in the room, but also a low hum of competition. Let’s not pretend the egos weren’t still there. I found it interesting that the biggest stars seemed almost timid in that environment.”

Jones summoned Geldof to the front of the room to remind everyone of the meaning behind the mission. “I don’t want to bring anybody down,” he said, “but maybe it’s the best way to make what you’re feeling why you’re really here tonight come through in this song. Let’s hope it works.”

Richie recalled, “The tension was huge because we didn’t have a lot of time. Technically, we need to be really together, and we had to move fast. We had one night only to get this right.”

With 60-plus people in the room and several 5,000-watt lights so the proceedings could be captured on film, it got pretty warm, and people had to be quiet and be team players. “Shooting video and recording the song at the same time,” noted Richie. “Could anything go wrong? Absolutely! We were flying by the seat of our pants. I was working the room, keeping people in good spirits, running on pure adrenaline.”

Jones was adamant about silencing any troublemakers who wanted to make changes. “With 45 artists, you’ll have 45 different versions of the song. My job was, under no circumstances will we allow this to veer off what it is. When Stevie piped in with, ‘I think we need some Swahili somewhere in the song,’ I had to dissuade him. Geldof told him, ‘There’s no point in talking to the people who are starving. You’re talking to the people who’ve got money to give.” That’s when Ray Charles stood up and said, “Okay, ring the bell, Quincy!”, which was his way of saying, “Let’s get going here.”

They recorded the full-choir chorus sections first, which took about two hours. At one point, Jones publicly thanked Belafonte for being the impetus behind the project, and everyone began singing the words to his signature song from 1956: “Day-o, day-o, daylight come and me wanna go home.” This broke the tension, and the next take was successful, which allowed 15-20 people to leave, thinning out the room a bit.

Then came the solo lines, which generally went more smoothly. Richie said, “Quincy was right about that intimidating circle of life, everyone facing each other. When it’s your turn, you’re going to give 200% because the whole class is looking at you and you wanted so badly to get it right!”

By then, it was approaching 5:00 a.m. Saving the best for last, Dylan, Wonder, Springsteen and Ray Charles were tapped to do the solos during the repeated choruses as the song heads slowly toward the fadeout. (Truth be told, Charles and Wonder came in a couple days later to punch in better performances, but Springsteen and Dylan did theirs that night.)

Said Bahler, “God must have tapped me on the shoulder to take the record to another level by suggesting that I ask Bruce Springsteen to supply solo answers to the choir melody on the title choruses. Because of the textures and intensity of his truly unique vocal equipment, especially in this register, he was the perfect person for it.” Later, Jones chose to cut out the choir for nearly a minute and make that part a call-and-response between Wonder and Springsteen, and it worked beautifully.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Dylan turned out to be the most uncomfortable with his assignment, struggling to come up with what they were looking for from him on the line “There’s a choice we’re making, we’re saving our own lives, it’s true we make a better day, just you and me.” It was Stevie Wonder who helped ease Dylan’s anxiety, mimicking Dylan’s unique vocal approach, which caused him to chuckle, “I must be in a dream, man.” When he finally nailed it, he sighed, “That wasn’t any good,” but Jones and the others loved it.

After everyone had left, said Bahler, “Diana Ross was still there, and I heard her crying. Quincy said, ‘Diana, are you okay?’ She said, “I just don’t want this to be over.”

The finished product received mixed reviews. “‘We Are The World’ sounds an awful lot like a Pepsi jingle,” grumbled one critic. Another said, “The superstars calling themselves USA for Africa were proclaiming their own salvation for singing about an issue they will never experience on behalf of a people most of them will never encounter.” But Stephen Holden of The New York Times wrote, “It’s a simple, eloquent ballad, a fully-realized pop statement that would sound outstanding even if it weren’t recorded by stars.” He praised the “artfully interwoven vocals that emphasized the individuality of each singer.”

Distributing food in Ethiopia turned out to be a logistical and political nightmare, and some of the money raised was inevitably squandered. And there’s no denying that, in some circles, the project was perceived to have a certain amount of distasteful self-congratulations about it. But Jones had this to say: “Music is a strange animal. You can’t touch it, can’t smell it, can’t eat it. It’s just there. ‘Beethoven’s 5th’ keeps coming back for 350 years. Music has a very powerful spiritual energy, and in this case, it definitely rescued a lot of lives.”

An important footnote: Much of the information and quotable material found in this post were gleaned from a fascinating, must-see documentary, “The Greatest Night in Pop,” directed by Bao Nguyen, which debuted last year on Netflix and is still available there. One review called it “a briskly paced celebration of a one-of-a-kind musical moment, which uncovers new stories while reminding viewers of the humanitarian vision that made it all happen.” I strongly urge you to check it out.

R.I.P. to a soul man and a Band leader

The talented musicians, songwriters and entertainers of the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s who inspired and influenced so many have been passing away with disconcerting regularity lately. These have included singers and instrumentalists whose contributions to key songs and/or albums from that era have made a significant impact on my musical preferences and those of younger artists who have followed in their footsteps. Such is the case with two notable deaths recently, both of whom I feel are worthy of a detailed look back.

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When the soul music genre is discussed, many people focus on high-profile acts at Motown Records like The Supremes, The Temptations, The Four Tops, Smokey Robinson and The Miracles, Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder.

Just as influential, however, were the high-octane singers on Atlantic Records and its Memphis-based subsidiary, Stax Records: Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Ray Charles, Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke… and Sam & Dave.

Sam Moore (right) and Dave Prater in concert in the late ’70s

Like so many of the dynamic soul music practitioners who came of age in the ’60s and ’70s, Sam Moore and Dave Prater each began their singing careers in their Baptist church choirs — in Florida and Georgia, respectively — belting out gospel music. By the time they reached 30, the two men had teamed up to become one of the most popular soul music acts of their era.

Moore passed away January 10th following complications during surgery at age 89. Prater had died in an auto accident in 1988 at age 50.

The two had paid their dues in regional gospel groups in the 1950s, Moore with The Melionaires and Prater with The Sensational Hummingbirds, each pushing their respective groups to inject more secular elements into their gospel repertoires. They met at an R&B club in 1961 when they appeared on the same bill and decided to join forces and concentrate on soul tunes while using the irresistible “call and response” style of gospel to incite audiences.

Jerry Wexler, the iconic music producer and co-founder of Atlantic who first saw the duo perform in 1964, wrote in his 1993 autobiography “Rhythm and the Blues”: “I put Sam in the sweet tradition of Sam Cooke or Solomon Burke, while Dave had the ominous Four Tops’ Levi Stubbs-sounding voice, the preacher promising hellfire.” He and Atlantic co-founder Ahmet Ertegun signed Sam & Dave on the spot that night and put them on their Stax label to augment the work of Redding, Eddie Floyd and Booker T. and The MGs, among others.

While their voices meshed so effectively, their personalities didn’t, resulting in a rather tempestuous relationship during and after their relatively brief 1965-1969 heyday.

But what a heyday it was. Sam & Dave’s chart success began with “You Don’t Know Like I Know,” which reached #7 on R&B charts in late ’65, followed by their first pop chart appearance, the classic “Hold On I’m Comin’,” in early 1966, which peaked at #21 and went to #1 on R&B charts. Three more Top Ten R&B chart hits followed (“Said I Wasn’t Gonna Tell Nobody,” “You Got Me Hummin'” and “When Something Is Wrong With My Baby”) before they came up with the one-two punch that iced their reputation with the mainstream public: “Soul Man” and “I Thank You.”

Sam & Dave revving up audiences in 1967

In particular, “Soul Man” captured the hearts and minds of many in the fall of ’67, becoming a must-play at every teen dance and R&B club across the country. With instrumental backing by Booker T. and The MGs, Stax Records’ house band, Sam & Dave reached #2 on pop charts, followed a couple months later by “I Thank You” at #9. Even the concurrent LP “Soul Men” managed to reach #62 on mainstream album charts. All of these tunes, by the way, were written and produced by the Stax songwriting/producing team of David Porter and Isaac Hayes (who later became a performing star in his own right).

Their chart appearances waned by 1970, but for those who saw Sam & Dave in concert, their reputation and legacy as a “frenetic and kinetic” live act is etched in stone. Known in the industry as “The Sultans of Sweat” and “Double Dynamite,” Sam & Dave ’s live shows were so powerful that even as charismatic a performer as Redding was hesitant to follow them on the bill for fear of being upstaged.

They broke up in 1970 and each attempted solo careers with little success, which precipitated more than one reunion tour that ended acrimoniously. “We were a duo but we weren’t a partnership,” wrote Moore in the 1998 book “Sam and Dave: An Oral History.” He conceded that his drug habit at the time played a part in their troubles and speculated that it made industry executives leery about giving them a second chance.

Although Moore never had another hit, a 1978 cover of “Soul Man” by John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd as The Blues Brothers (with guitarist Steve Cropper and other members of The MGs in the group) put Sam & Dave back in the limelight for a spell. However, Moore said it chafed at him a bit because he felt that “Saturday Night Live” audiences thought “Soul Man” originated with The Blues Brothers.

Additionally, Bruce Springsteen befriended Moore around that time and welcomed him on stage for occasional guest appearances over the years. Said Springsteen in the wake of Moore’s death, “Over on E Street, we are heartbroken to hear of the death of Sam Moore, one of America’s greatest soul voices. There simply isn’t another sound like Sam’s soulful tenor in American music. Having had the honor to work with Sam on several occasions, I can tell you that he was a sweet and funny man, filled with stories of the halcyon days of soul music. He had that edge of deep authenticity in his voice that I could only wonder at.”

E Street Band member Steve Van Zandt chimed in by saying, “Sam was one of the last of the great Soul Men. He and Dave Prater were the inspiration for me and Johnny Lyon to start Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes. He was an important, righteous, wonderful man.”

Sam & Dave were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1992. Moore’s solo album “Plenty Good Lovin’,” which he recorded in 1970 but was never released, finally arrived to glowing reviews in 2002. He performed for presidents and recorded with not only Springsteen but also Lou Reed, Conway Twitty and others. He also worked to help secure other performers’ and songwriters’ long-overdue copyrights and royalties.

“It’s been a roller-coaster ride, but mostly a good one,” said his wife Joyce Moore in 2014. “The toughest part has been realizing how mistreated Sam and his peers were by managers and record labels. Many of them are gone and never got the credit or the money they deserved. Still, we’ve been blessed.”

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He has been described as “a musical polymath,” “a virtuoso multi-instrumentalist” and “an avant-garde pianist in a 1915 grindhouse.” From piano and accordion to sax and violin, he could play them all with style and dexterity, sometimes simultaneously.

He was Garth Hudson, the oldest and last surviving member of the pioneering Americana/roots music group known simply as The Band. He died Tuesday, January 21, at age 87.

John Simon, one of the top record producers of the late ’60s who manned the boards for The Band’s iconic first two albums, had this to say about Hudson: “He was a wonderful, mad, brilliant genius, a wonderful guy who had so many gifts. He could play one melody with his left hand, another with his right hand, a wah-wah pedal with one foot, another thing with the other foot. And if you put something in his mouth he could play that too, all at the same time.”

Full confession: I have always respected The Band and what they accomplished, but I wouldn’t call myself a big fan. I saw them once in concert (1974) as part of a triple bill and bought only their debut album and a “Best Of” package after they’d disbanded. Once I got around to seeing their acclaimed concert film “The Last Waltz” many years after the fact, I began a comprehensive exploration of their catalog, and am very glad I finally did. There’s much to be enjoyed and admired.

The Band’s body of work — especially its first two LPs, 1968’s “Music From Big Pink” and 1969’s “The Band” — seemed wholly unique, going totally against the grain of both the pop mainstream as well as the psychedelic underground scene of that era. Hudson, guitarist Robbie Robertson, drummer Levon Helm, pianist Richard Manuel and bassist Rick Danko were indeed a band in the best sense of the word: five earnest, dedicated instrumentalists who also sang up a storm and eschewed individual virtuosity in deference to the musical whole. Their recorded legacy stands as a testament to their communal work ethic and their many years as a performing entity honing their craft before they found fame.

Hudson was born in Windsor, Ontario, to a mother who was a pianist and a father who played a variety of wind instruments. Hudson showed musical talent and an inventive nature at an early age, once disassembling and rebuilding his father’s old pump organ at age 10. He was playing accordion in a country band at age 12, and his parents sent him to the Toronto Conservatory, where he learned to play Bach preludes and Anglican hymns.

He soon developed a deep love of rock & roll and, as a member of The Capers, he played piano and sax, backing up touring stars like Johnny Cash and Bill Haley when they came to town. Rockabilly veteran Ronnie Hawkins recognized Hudson’s talent and invited him to join his backing band, The Hawks, but Hudson was hesitant until he was offered a new organ, extra money and the title “music consultant” so that his parents would feel better about their gifted son playing “mere rock ’n’ roll.”

Within The Hawks, Hudson made everyone sit up and take notice at his intricate swirls on the Lowrey organ (a departure from the Hammond B3 organ preferred by most rock keyboardists). And he could play almost anything — saxophone, accordion, synthesizers, trumpet, French horn, violin — and in a wide range of styles that could fit in comfortably in a conservatory, a church, a carnival or a roadhouse.

With Robertson’s songs, the spirited vocals of Helms, Manuel and Danko, and the inspired musicianship of Hudson, The Hawks soon outgrew the limited rockabilly genre and, in 1965, they hitched their wagon instead to Bob Dylan, who was in the process of evolving from an acoustic folk artist playing protest songs into a rock musician writing wondrous, expansive pieces. When Dylan toured in early 1966, the bill labeled them as “Bob Dylan and The Band,” and the simple name stuck.

“Like everyone who encounters Garth for the first time,” Helm wrote in his memoir, “Bob was blown away by his versatility and broad musical background. Robbie used to say that Garth could just as easily have played with John Coltrane or the New York Symphony Orchestra.”

The Band in 1969: Hudson (left), Robertson, Helm, Danko and Manuel

When Dylan isolated himself in the rustic town of Woodstock, NY, after a motorcycle accident, The Band lodged themselves in a nearby modest pink house, where they worked long hours on more than 100 songs, for years available only as bootlegs, that later became known as “The Basement Tapes.” The music varied from old folk, country and Appalachian songs to such new compositions as “Tears of Rage,” “I Shall Be Released” and “This Wheel’s on Fire.” It was Hudson who set up and oversaw the capture of these sessions on surprisingly advanced home recording equipment.

Hudson found the area magical, and it would become the home base for much of his life. He grew a long beard and became, more than any of his bandmates, a musical mountain man, collecting guns and knives, skinning roadkill, and building a miniature pipe organ. With his reserved manner and technical skills, he lent the group a gravitas that set it apart from peers during the so-called Summer of Love, and he helped elevate The Band from rollicking juke-joint refugees into one of the most resonant and influential rock groups of the 1960s and ’70s.

On their debut LP, “Music From Big Pink,” Hudson immortalized the Lowery’s church-like pipe-organ tone with “Chest Fever,” whose extended introduction (sometimes referred to separately as “The Genetic Method”) would become his signature song. It begins with a fragment of Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D minor,” before launching into a landmark fusion of classical music reach, jazz wandering, and R&B grind that stands as perhaps the greatest organ performance in rock history. Legend holds that Hudson never played the intro the same way twice. Robertson once referred to him as “far and away the most advanced musician I’ve ever known.”

Jon Pareles, the highly respected rock critic at The New York Times, wrote eloquently about Hudson the other day: “Ever so 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 splashed out filigrees of honky-tonk or jazz. On accordion, he could invoke a Cajun dance party, a medicine show, a polka or the skirl of a bagpipe. On saxophones, he built cozy studio horn sections and occasionally stepped forward for a plaintive solo. And as his equipment choices expanded, he deployed synthesizers and electric keyboards as scenic backdrops, brass bands and wry commentary.”

Hudson used an early version of the Hohner clavinet in his rig, which he famously ran through a wah-wah pedal, mimicking the sound of a jaw harp for The Band’s early classic “Up on Cripple Creek.”

The Band in “The Last Waltz” with Hudson prominent on accordion

After The Band called it quits in a very public way with its Thanksgiving Day concert dubbed “The Last Waltz” in 1976, Hudson continued working in studios and on the road with the likes of Van Morrison, Leonard Cohen and Emmylou Harris, as well as with various lineups of The Band, including the solo work of Robertson and Danko. By the 1990s, he began working with a younger group of musicians who idolized him and his work, including Neko Case, Norah Jones and Wilco. Hudson even released a solo LP, “The Sea to The North,” in 2001, and a set of covers with multiple artists called “Garth Hudson Presents a Canadian Celebration of The Band” in 2010.

Hudson endured some rough patches of financial difficulties matter-of-factly, even when some of his most cherished belongings were sold off by an impatient landlord. He even sold his publishing rights of The Band’s recordings to Robertson, yet showed no bitterness. “The deal was made,” he said. “It was a good gig. My job was to provide arrangements with pads and fills behind good poets, same poems every night, and I got out of it alive.”

R.I.P., Mr. Hudson. Your impact was perhaps greater than you ever knew.

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I’ve assembled two Spotify playlists: one which assembles many of Sam Moore’s greatest musical moments, and another of songs on which Garth Hudson’s most notable contributions are featured.