Stephen T. Lewis writes the book that Band fans thought they’d never get (Review)

When I saw Richard Manuel: His Life and Music, from The Hawks and Bob Dylan to The Band printed and bound for the first time a few weeks ago, I had some pretty big feelings. (I mean, c’mon, you’ll hear me say “I’m a Richard girl” in every single one of my podcast appearances.) Not content to keep these feelings to myself, I sent a quick message of congratulations to Stephen T. Lewis, rock writer and author of the book in question. Gracious as ever, he shared that when he held Richard Manuel in his hands for the first time, he realized, “This is the book I’ve always wanted to read.”

Dude, same. Richard Manuel is the reason I went from passive Band enjoyer to superfan seemingly overnight. But when a promotional copy of Lewis’s book arrived in my inbox this January, I felt something I wasn’t prepared for: dread, and not even lowkey. This book was in every way my personal Pandora’s box—I could feel it. Was I really ready to know every detail of Richard Manuel’s story? Because, let’s be honest, Richard is principally known, at least to Last Waltz viewers, as the unkempt weirdo who bordered on creepy and went all-in on booze, drugs, women, and danger. This disturbing yet dominant narrative has had a stranglehold on Band enjoyers of all stripes for decades. I knew Richard deserved better, but I had no idea how to make that happen.

By the time I caught wind of Lewis’s project, I’d been arranging a mental mosaic of who Richard “was” for years. For weeks, as the proof sat in my inbox, I was plagued by anxieties. What if Richard Manuel didn’t end up being the person I’d imagined—the person I honestly needed him to be to keep loving him as fiercely as I always have?

I’m thrilled (and relieved) to report that Stephen Lewis’s comprehensive and careful account of Manuel’s life and legacy anticipated every fear I had about what a biography on Richard Manuel might look like. It’s what almost no book on The Band has been: nuanced, with no agenda but faithful reporting, truth-telling, and gratitude. Lewis doesn’t try to settle old scores or rehash the group’s divisive songwriting dispute. Come for the respectful and reverent portrait of Richard, stay for the (mostly) soaring prose and endless Easter eggs. (Seriously, keep a tally; I lost count.)

Let there be no mistake about it, though – what Lewis does best (and what I think he was very brave to even try) is actively uncomplicate the legacy of Richard Manuel. While unflinchingly conveying some of Manuel’s darkest, basest moments, Lewis’s four-year passion project shows us that, above all else, Richard Manuel was a sensitive and deeply humble soul who loved his life but feared it more. Thanks to Lewis’s diligent and devoted reporting, the reality that Richard loved his music and his family so much that he lived in paralyzing fear of compromising either one is clear to me in a way it couldn’t have been before. Stories and memories from Arlie Manuel (née Litvak), Jane Kristiansen, John Till, Eric Clapton, Rob Frabroni, and countless others fill in and bridge the gaps in Richard Manuel’s story that we couldn’t previously lay to rest alongside him. After almost 40 unsettled and uncertain years, and with the memories of those close to him finally out in the open, we can be done second-guessing Richard—and doubting ourselves for loving him. With the recent passing of Garth Hudson and Robbie Robertson, I, as a lover of The Band, have felt stuck between grief and nostalgia, no longer in the deepest throes of the former but not far enough removed from it to arrive at the latter. I couldn’t begin to take for granted the cosmic timeliness of this book’s arrival.

Band fans know all too well that the Helm/Robertson controversy has inspired an ethos of idolatry and black-and-white thinking around The Band and its legacy. With all five members now laid to rest, and with a refusal to make Richard’s story about a dispute that died with The Band, Lewis has begun the important work of repairing our fractured fandom by simplifying a narrative that we as fans have spent decades complicating.

I’m not quite sure how one book set so many good things in motion, but I do know that it’s because Lewis’s book was a labor of love that I feel a sense of renewed hope for this fandom and for The Band’s legacy a whole. For someone who likened capturing Richard’s essence to “shoveling smoke” and felt “underqualified for the task” (8), Lewis is a writer who got it—who understood the stakes involved, and would not move forward without the blessing of everyone Richard held dear. 

In short, Richard Manuel is exactly what fans need it to be as we navigate this post-Band era, and we’re darn lucky that Stephen Lewis buckled down and wrote the book he’s always wanted to read.

You can support Lewis by preordering a copy of his book and subscribing to Talk from the Rock Room. 

Many thanks to my friend Micaiah, who supported my TBI recovery by deciphering and recording my scribbles. Follow her on Twitter.