Do I really need to go on about how it might be the greatest rock doc, Scorsese, cocaine, blah blah blah, when we really know what’s on everyone’s mind? The public outpouring over Levon Helm’s death has been nothing short of remarkable — particularly considering that The Band barely made a bleep on the charts. When Richard Manuel committed suicide in 1986, it was heartbreaking for fans, but it didn’t get nearly the same reaction. And when Rick Danko died of drug-related heart failure in 1999, the media hardly noticed. Yet when The Band’s 72-year-old drummer died of cancer (a far less newsworthy demise by typical media standards), it somehow struck a chord that his bandmates’ deaths didn’t. The rise of Americana — and Helm’s role as the movement’s de facto ambassador — might explain some of it. But there was always something about Levon’s twangy, homespun tenor that stood out, even in a band of exceptionally talented singers and players. The three men shared vocal duties fairly evenly, but it was Levon’s turns at the mic — “The Weight,” “Up on Cripple Creek” and “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” — that became etched into the public consciousness. Personally, I miss the heck out of all three of them. And here in Nashville, Americana ground zero, this won’t be a film screening so much as a public wake. Why do the best things always disappear?