Levon Helm’s time in New Orleans went about as wrong as you can imagine without someone getting shot. He opened a bar that he expected would be a clubhouse for the Band, only to have the group break up for the final time on the club’s opening weekend. Then one of the most distinctive voices in rock ’n’ roll developed throat cancer. He could play, but he couldn’t sing, and at one point it looked like he’d never sing again. On Dirt Farmer, you can hear that the treatment and surgery affected his voice, but it they didn’t silence it, and an album of Appalachian folk ballads suits him perfectly. Besides, he was always a little yowl-y; a little more doesn’t change things much.

It’s tempting to hear the voices of daughter Amy, Theresa Williams, and Julie and Buddy Miller as there to cover his fragility (when he’s fragile), but that misses the spirit of the album. These are communal songs, and Dirt Farmer is better heard as a man celebrating the voice he has by returning to the basic pleasure of singing with people. His voice also says something different here. In the Band, he gave Robbie’s songs the voice of the common man. On Dirt Farmer, he’s not the yokel who only half-understands what is happening to him; these songs tell his people’s stories, and he’s clearly proud to be one of them.