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Robbie Robertson, 1943-2023

Farewell to the guitarist who backed Bob Dylan
and fronted the group that revolutionized rock.

By David Walters in People

s chief lyricist for The Band, Robbie Robertson wrote with aching familiarity about mourning a war-torn Tennessee home ("The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down"), gambling on the Louisiana bayou ("Up on Cripple Creek") and feeling "half-past dead" in Nazareth, Pa. ("The Weight"). The irony of these contributions to the genre now known as Americana: Robertson was Canadian.

"It seemed strange," the guitarist, who died in Los Angeles on Aug. 9 at age 80 after a long illness, said of his point of view. "[But] it took somebody coming in from the outside to really see these things."

Born Jaime Royal Robertson in 1943 in Toronto, the son of a Jewish gambler father and a mother from the Mohawk tribe, he was from a young age an "expert when it [came] to persecution." He discovered the guitar while visiting the Six Nations Reserve and channeled that outsider mentality, first in the rockabilly group The Hawks and, by 1965, in support of Bob Dylan, who was making his initially unpopular transition from folk to rock. "One minute we were playing dives and driving old cars," Robertson told People in 1978. "The next we're in private planes -- with people booing us every night."

Post-Dylan, The Band (Robertson, Levon Helm, Richard Manuel, Garth Hudson and Rick Danko) released seven studio albums and toured steadily, until tensions led to their 1976 farewell show, immortalized in the Martin Scorsese-directed documentary The Last Waltz. "The Band was becoming like an old train," he told People. "We wanted to bring it into the station still shining."

Robertson -- who is survived by his wife, Janet, ex-wife Dominique, their children Alexandra, Sebastian and Delphine, and five grandchildren -- would go on to release five solo albums; he would also collaborate regularly with Scorsese on music for many of his films, including the upcoming Killers of the Flower Moon, a story that proudly reminded Robertson of his youth. "On [a project] like this, where its soul is in Indian country," he told Variety in July 2022, "you couldn't have made something like this up."  

A Wild Wild Life

Former Talking Heads frontman David Byrne reflects on a career
of pushing boundaries -- and finding fulfillment in family.

By Rachel DeSantis in People

e built his career on big ideas -- but when it comes to finding joy now, at 71, David Byrne's scale is a bit less grand. "Happiness comes from really small things," says the Grammy-winning musician. "Last night there was a very large Filipino community group who came to Here Lies Love, and they reacted to things that nobody else even noticed in the songs. That made me very happy." Here Lies Love -- Byrne and Fatboy Slim's disco-opera about former Philippines First lady Imelda Marcos that opened in Broadway in July -- is just the latest out-of-the-box project for Byrne, the Scottish-born and Baltimore-bred rocker who first found fame as frontman of seminal new wave band Talking Heads, responsible for hits like "Burning Down the House" and "Psycho Killer."

In the group Byrne earned acclaim for his unusual lyrics and eccentric stage presence. But in the 30-plus years since they disbanded he has established a prolific solo career spanning music, theater, film and more. After turning his album American Utopia into an acclaimed Broadway show in 2019, he took home a Tony for the project in 2021. And in January -- 36 years after winning an Oscar for scoring The Last Emperor -- he received his second Academy Awards nod, for Best Original Song for "This Is a Life" from Everything Everywhere All at Once. "As a younger person, I could never have conceived that I'd be doing the things I'm doing now," says Byrne, who's dad to daughter Malu, 34, a jewelry designer (with ex-wife Adelle Lutz, a costume designer). "Not everything succeeds. But you've got to try." Here Byrne breaks down what he's learned about fame, family and staying passionate.

It took Byrne to be comfortable in his skin.
It think as time goes by, you change as people. I was very uncomfortable socially as a younger person. And then over time, that kind of dissipates a little bit. I've become quite a lot more comfortable socially. I give a lot of credit to music too. You often hear people say that music saved their life when they were in high school or that kind of thing. But I think it's true for me too, as a performer. When Talking Heads went from a small four-piece to a nine-piece band, the feeling onstage was just a lot more ecstatic and celebratory, and it helped me let go a little bit. And the music became much more uplifting and danceable, less about angst and paranoia.

He regrets the Talking Heads' abrupt breakup.
As a younger person, I was not as pleasant to be around. When I was working on some Talking Heads shows, I was more of a little tyrant. And then I learned to relax, and I also learned that collaborating with people, both sides get more if there's a good relationship instead of me telling everybody what to do. I think [the end] wasn't handled well. It was kind of ugly. [Drummer Chris Frantz said in 1992 that Byrne "just decided to leave" without discussion.] Divorces can be ugly, even if you don't intend them to be. It can be really difficult to navigate. I have regrets on how that was handled. I don't think I did it in the best way, but I think it was kind of inevitable that would happen anyway. We have a cordial relationship now. We're sort of in touch, but we don't hang out together.

Being in love is nice, but so is solitude.
I enjoy being in a romantic relationship [Byrne was married to Lutz from 1987 to 2004]. It's really good to talk [even though] sometimes it's unpleasant to go, "Hey, that hurt my feelings." But you have to do it. Otherwise, it builds up resentment. But I'm also happy to be alone. I go to a restaurant counter and eat alone and read a book. Sometimes people look at me and go, "Oh, look at the poor man. He doesn't have any friends." But I'm totally happy doing that.

He cherishes his role as a father and grandpa.
Most of the joy comes from just seeing Malu be excited about what she's doing. When she first went to college, I think my influence was almost negative in that she wanted to go to a fashion school to learn the business. She said, "I don't want to be an artist." But then she realized, "Oh, you have to learn accounting and this stuff." Then she said, "Maybe the creative side isn't so bad." [Byrne's 5-year-old grandson] Bo is discovering the world. He hears some of my music from my daughter, but I'll make up songs and sing them to him and see what he likes.

Inspiration can strike at any moment.
I'm old enough to have gone to the big discos when dance-music acts like Gloria Gaynor and Freda Payne were performing. The DJs saw their evening as being an arc, where they'd get the audience excited and bring them back down again, then get them excited again. I filed that away, and then years later, I read that the former First Lady of the Philippines, who was this bigger-than-life figure, loved going to discos. I thought, "wow, she lives in that dance-music disco bubble. Maybe that's a metaphor for how it feels when you're in a position of power. I wonder if that's a story that could be told the way I imagined the audience on the dance floor." Seeing the show with an audience has been a very emotional experience for me."

Retirement is entirely unappealing.
I think I'd be bored. I can't pretend I haven't been lucky in a lot of opportunities, but I also always want to challenge myself and do something that I haven't done before. And sometimes those leaps require an act of faith, but I think it really pays off.  

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