Bob Dylan’s “electric trilogy” masterpieces: I played all 18 discs and 357 tracks. Here’s why you should
Over 14 months Bob Dylan changed music with three albums. He's finally released the full story. I played every note
Love Dylan, hate him, or don’t really care, one fact cannot be argued. The three albums herein known as The Electric Trilogy: “Bringing It All Back Home,” “Highway 61 Revisited” and “Blonde On Blonde,” changed popular culture forever.
No working musician could escape their shadow, few wanted to try.
Three records, 34 songs, recorded in 15 months, when their creator was 23. Had Dylan’s motorcycle veered into that Dead Man’s Curve, on that July afternoon in 1966, their impact would be no less. Arguably, they would loom even larger, dwarfing all of the “J’s,” Dean, Morrison and Hendrix in the “what if they had lived” obsession.
Bob Dylan not only survived the accident, he used it as a cunning exit strategy from the overwhelming and soul destroying job of living up to his image, a grim task that he still has to grapple with, and daily.
Now comes the release of three versions of “The Cutting Edge 65-66” — a complete, a more complete, and an insanely complete chronicle of what went down in the studio from January 13th 1965 to March 9th of 1966, while The Electric Trilogy was being recorded. There is a 2-disc “casual listener” version, a 6-disc “so, you think you knowDylan” version, and an 18-disc, 357-track, “you must be clinically insane to want to own this” compendium version, with every take, every musical fragment, and every piece of recorded studio banter laid out for listener dissection.
Guess which one I coveted?
One can truly understand why Dylan has been so consistently evasive about the inner workings of his creative process. It’s clear from these 18 discs that this process was a mystery even to him when he was, by all critical accounts, at the peak of his powers. Song after song, he relentlessly pursues the perfection he alone could hear, and in every single case during this 15-month creative marathon, he achieves it.
There are, of course, naysayers castigating Sony or Dylan, or both, for preying on the vulnerable fanatic by cashing in on poor sods foolish enough to spend $600 for 18 hours and change of outtakes.
Well, perhaps.
Assuming Dylan pockets half the sales of this $600 behemoth, and assuming the 5,000 “limited edition” copies being marketed sell out, he’ll make a cool $1,500,000. But IBM probably paid him more for one stilted conversation with a computer. Another theory is that this release is just a ploy to extend the copyright on the material another 70 years. Previously, incredibly limited editions of Dylan’s ’62, ’63 and ’64 sessions have been stealth released, and immediately became overpriced eBay collectables. Why not cut out the middleman?
Perhaps. But I suspect another reason this has been released is that Bob Dylan wants this out there, throwing down the gauntlet yet again. You want to see how easy this was? You want to excavate my myth? Come on down, have a listen, and get back to me.
Now, why on earth should anyone wade through 20 takes of “One Of Us Must Know (Sooner Or Later), let along 11 takes of the forgettable “Outlaw Blues”? Well, not only are you getting as close to witnessing history being made, you’re watching a genius wrestling a vision to the ground, and emerging from the ring, triumphant.
These 22 sessions are spread across 18 discs – discs that unfortunately don’t adhere to a strict daily recording chronology, as some sessions bleed over to another disc. According to these discs, two and half hours of tape was rolled for “Bringing It All Back Home”, 6 hours brought forth “Highway 61” and nine hours gave us “Blonde On Blonde.” How you approach such a daunting mass (or mess) of material is your own business, if you decide to approach it at all, but context is key.
This data dump is not without precedent. Greil Marcus did an entire book after he was allowed to listen in on the session that produced “Like A Rolling Stone”, and Sean Wilentz brilliantly documented the entirety of the “Blonde on Blonde” sessions.
Now though, anybody willing to pony up $600 can become a music scholar.
The question still remains. Why?
Each of these 22 sessions play like a short movie with its own unique structure, twists, turns, dead ends, heroes, villains and ultimately, a completely satisfying ending. There is only one real dead end in this series, but that dead end is a key to understanding the entirety of the journey and all that was at stake along the way.
Some of these films are over an hour long, where each take of each song is honed down to its fully realized form. In some cases, like the “High Noon” shoot out on the last night of the “Blonde On Blonde” sessions, six “keeper” tracks were recorded in one session and time goes by in a heartbeat. But other songs take multiple takes and over an hour of listening to emerge fully formed.
Was the destination worth the journey?
Again, nobody said this would be easy.
Dylan is a ruthless editor of his own work. Too ruthless, as his later career has born out, with classics that would have transformed his ’80s albums being killed off, deliberately, perversely. That shock-proof bullshit detector that’s a prerequisite for any great artist seemed to have shorted out on occasion, but Dylan is anything if not consistent in his working habits.
What this chronicle leaves out obviously is what went on between the takes. The private rehearsals, cigarette breaks, and in the case of many of these songs, lyrics being improvised to complement the music that was being improvised.
This two-way feedback resulted in a unique piece of collaborative art and is a working method that Dylan has used throughout his career. “Going Electric” was more than plugging in. A very solo artist was surrendering to the unyielding circumstance of creation.
Rather than a bandleader, Dylan is a benign creative vampire, sucking the life force from his musical colleagues, the first with no equals, then and now. He had only his ambition, his muse, his creative angels, and his abundant demons to keep him on track – and that was enough.
It all starts here, and now, we have it all. Every take, every note, every painstaking miss that aspires to be a Hit. These albums didn’t have to exist, they didn’t have to be classic, they didn’t have to be anything.
Again, not a place for tourists or, frankly, most sane people.
Wading through these sessions is like studying early drafts of the Declaration Of Independence and wondering how Jefferson crossing out a few words would change history. The Electric Trilogy did that much for music, the ’60s renaissance and its cultural hangover. Plus, the Trilogy figured out how to incorporate a police whistle and a Salvation Army Band into the proceedings – something the Continental Congress never thought of.
The following is a user’s guide for the hardy few who might want to make the journey.
How best to digest 18 hours and 48 minutes of insane creativity? Well, by going temporarily insane, and plowing straight through in one semi-marathon listening session. I also elected to organize the music around the individual recording sessions and, thanks to the wonderful and essential scholarship of Michael Krogsgaard, those dates and details have been exhaustively compiled.
“Dylanspotters,” of which there are blissfully many, will no doubt fact check and correct some of the data below, but every effort has been made to keep track of the all important minutia.
Anyway, I suffered for Dylan’s art, now, it is your turn.
BRINGING IT ALL BACK HOME
January 13th to January 15th, 1965
Total Session Time: 2.27
Session 1 (of 3) for “Bringing It All Back Home”, January 13th, 1965, CD 1, tracks 1 through 18, Disc One (53.22)
The electricity starts, acoustically, with a first pass on one of Dylan’s most perfect, and enduring songs, “Love Minus Zero, No Limit.” Right from the beginning, a constant trope of these sessions appears, which is Dylan coming up with cursory or, more commonly, surrealistic titles for his compositions. Was this intended to screw around with The Man, Tom Wilson, the soon to be deposed “producer” of these first sessions? Who knows. In this case, “Dime Store” goes for about a minute and half, before it falls apart. “I’ll do this one more time, if I can’t do it, I’ll do another song,” says Dylan, introducing another trope to these sessions, which is, when in doubt, go to something else in order to allow the muse time to reconvene. In this case, we move on to “Alcatraz to The 9th Power,” wait…no, “Bank Account Blues, wait…no, “I’ll Keep It with Mine.” This, much bootlegged, track introduces trope number 3, the out of tune whorehouse piano that Dylan so clearly loves to play. Much more of that, later. Next, “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue”. Pretty straight performance, nothing surprising. But the first take of the next song, “Bob Dylan’s Later Dream,” soon to be known as “Bob Dylan’s 115 Dream,” makes oddball history. This 27-second false start breaks down with Dylan’s hysterical laughter, which is not an uncommon occurrence during these cumulative sessions but, in this case, the meltdown winds up being used on the actual record — grafted onto the beginning of the final electric take of the same song recorded the next day. Back in 1965, this calculated unprofessionalism is widely taken for the raised middle finger that it indeed is, and does not endear Dylan to some of his more earnest former fans. The next take nails the entire song, but definitely demonstrates why Dylan had to go electric, and soon, like tomorrow. He clearly needs the company. Next up, the first take of “She Belongs To Me,” another timeless jewel. Proof? Dylan just played it at the Albert Hall, in fact, has performed it in all four of his career spanning appearances there, in 1965, 1966, 2013 and October of 2015.
Onwards.
Soon to be improved by the ghost of electricity, an acoustic take of “Subterranean Homesick Blues.” Then, another blues, the first of what will be six takes of “Outlaw Blues.” Not much going on here, or ever really – more a throat clearing exercise but, whatever. Next take, and two last tropes, the surrealistic title that has nothing to do with the song and the diligently, nay obsessively, worked on generic blues number. “What is this one, Bob. Hey Bob!!! Uh, the name of this one is…” On The Road Again.” Well, alright then. This is the first of 11, yes 11, takes of a blues chant that, even after “keeper” take number eleven, could have wisely been discarded into the dust bin of history.
Which brings us to our final trope. Bob Dylan’s capricious disregard for his own material. For now, he moves on to the one and only take of “Farewell, Angelina,” an absolutely glorious song and performance that was only a rumor until 1991 when it was officially released on the first Bootleg Series. Here is a composition with carefully crafted, beautifully poetic lyrics and a haunting melody equal to some of Dylan’s best songs, yet, he only performed this one time, on this one day, before, yes, moving on to 10 more takes of “On The Road Again.” Sigh. Dylan giveth, and he taketh away. Next, another lost song – not a haunting masterpiece like “Farewell, Angelina,” but certainly a better song than “Outlaw Blues” or “On The Road Again” — “If You Gotta Go, Go Now”. This would become a minor hit for Manfred Mann a couple of years later and it might have worked for Dylan too. But not now. Time to move onto a song sketch called “You Don’t Have to Do That.” After 50 seconds, our ADD hero abandons that ship and says he wants to move over to the piano, for yes, another slightly out of tune, solo blues number, “California.” This too has been oft bootlegged, and deserved to stay that way.
Enter Bruce Langhorne, AKA “Mr. Tambourine Man,” with his electric guitar. In the words of a later Dylan song, “things are going to get interesting, right about now.”
With Langhorne playing soulful back up, Dylan delivers the 3rd take of “Love Minus Zero, No Limit.” A perfect take, again, oft bootlegged, and it is, to the official version, as the original acoustic “Blood On The Tracks” sessions are to the re-dos recorded a few months later, when, once again, Dylan second guessed his own (considerable) achievement. On to another take of “She Belongs To Me,” again with Langhorne, and again, a perfect rendition.
Bob is on a roll!! Magic is in the air. Praise Jesus!
And then…
Oh God, no. Another electric version of “Outlaw Blues” which, in its discordant mess, sounds like what the people at Newport thought they were booing at. A complete mess, and there seems to be no place to go but out the studio door, to end the session.
But tomorrow is another day.
And how.
Session 2 (of 3) for “Bringing It All Back Home”, January 14th, 1965, CD 1, tracks 19 through 27, CD 2 Tracks 1-8 (35.42)
Not looking back, Dylan plunges into the electric void. With Bruce Langhorne on the world’s most sympathetic guitar, along with William Lee (Spike’s dad) on bass, Dylan nails four master takes, along with four more versions of “Outlaw Blues” and four more of “On The Road Again.” Never underestimate the persistence of genius, or the genius of persistence. Pretty much everything this day is in two or three takes, a hone for perfection. In the short snippets between these takes, Dylan sounds like a jittery chipmunk, as he continues to take on poor Tom Wilson in song title jeopardy. “She Belongs To Me” is going by the title “My Girl,” which might have come as a surprise to Smokey Robinson who, according to Dylan at the time, is “America’s Greatest Living Poet.”
By the end of the day, “Love Minus Zero/No Limit,” “She Belongs To Me,” “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” and thank Jesus, “Outlaw Blues” will be finalized.
The artist is on a roll and only this particular artist could possibly roll any harder.
Session 3 (of 3) for “Bringing It All Back Home,” January 15th, 1965, CD 2, tracks 9 through 24, CD 3 Tracks 1-4 (57.47)
Who knows what went on when tape was not rolling, but the last session of Dylan’s first electric album starts with the big bang of the one and only version of “Maggie’s Farm.” One take, and a master recording. But Dylan is only lulling us into a false sense of complacency – for next, we get six more takes of “On The Road Again.” Six. More. Takes. At least we uncover a new first draft verse. “Well, your grandpa’s cane, it turns into a sword, your grandma plays for pictures that are painted on a board, everything inside my pocket, your uncle steals, you ask me why I don’t live here, honey, I can’t believe that you’re for real!” Dylan’s clearly having a blast, with the Vice Principal in Charge of Recording Studio Discipline, Tom Wilson, trying to keep things moving along. Wilson interrupts the second to last take, admonishing Dylan, “That tempo’s too fast to try and squeeze in those words, Bobby.” To which a clearly exasperated Dylan responds, “Hey man, we were going to try and do it.” “Well, if youwant to do it that way…,” says Wilson, “Well, go ahead.” Dylan does just, and a master take of “On The Road Again” is (mercifully) accomplished.
Whatever tensions between Producer and Artist are lurking in the studio get dissipated in the next few hours. The electric guitar is put down and Dylan decides to get serious. The entire second side of “Bringing It All Back Home” is recorded, back to back. After one false start, the one and only take of “It’s Alright Ma, I’m Only Bleeding.” Next, the one and only take of “Gates Of Eden.” Then a desultory start at an electric, well, a drummer driven, “Mr. Tambourine Man.” As the Byrds were already getting around to this, probably good for all concerned that Dylan abandoned this attempt, and instead recorded this one and only version that appears on the album. Sadly, this one might have benefited from another couple of passes, as a few clams are encountered. Wilson, perhaps assuming Dylan will return to one of his greatest songs with the zeal with which he obsessed over lesser tracks, just lets things roll. The last song of this acoustic interlude, “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” is again nailed in a single attempt.
Onwards, to record the hit Dylan single that was never a hit single. “If You Gotta Go, Go Now” was a crowd pleasing ditty, that along with “Mr. Tambourine Man” should have been on Dylan’s previous album, “Another Side Of Bob Dylan.” Had he included those two tracks, and excised, say, the eminently excisable “Motorpsycho Nightmare, the one song Dylan has publically regretted recording, the execrable revenge fantasy “Ballad in Plain D,” a good album, could have been a great one. But any album that is recorded in just one session (which “Another Side” was), with a massive bottle of Beaujolais on hand (which “Another Side was), can be excused its trespasses, I guess. “If You Gotta Go, Go Now” is a straight ahead, crowd pleasing, slightly jaundiced love song, which gets four increasingly exuberant focused takes, and with the exception of a brief release in Holland, it is a song that would not see the light of day for decades.
How catchy was this tune? Well, Fairport Convention had the only hit of their 50-year career with it, and that was sung in French.
With these four takes complete, “Bringing It All Home” is wrapped up, and Dylan goes back on the road as the solo troubadour. The album is released in April, and the next month Dylan tours England, accompanied by D.A Pennebaker’s film crew, a morose Joan Baez and an artist who knows that something is happening, but can’t quite put his finger on just what that is, yet.
That day will come.
On June 16th, 1965, to be exact.
HIGHWAY 61 REVISITED
June 15th 1965 to August 4th, 1965
Session 1 (of 6) for “Highway 61 Revisited”, June 15th, 1965, CD 3, tracks 5 through 22 (51.33)
Total Session Time: 5.53
Bruce Springsteen famously referred to the shot heard round the world as “that snare shot that sounded like somebody had kicked open the door to your mind.” How that snare shot came to be is the cover story of the first of the Highway 61 sessions, the album that Dylan once said “was something that even I would listen too.”
There has been a lot of myths and analysis of just how lightning was captured in a bottle across these two days. One urban legend has Al Kooper sneaking onto the organ during the first takes of “Like A Rolling Stone, ”and Dylan battling yet again with Tom Wilson to let him keep playing. Wrong. Al’s at the organ from the very first, on two other songs and 13 different takes, well before Dylan gets around to even trying out “Like A Rolling Stone.” Another apparent myth is that Dylan convened these sessions to record “Stone,” when, judging from the 18 disc mother lode, either “Stone” was brought in as a work in progress, and ignited under the fuel of kindred music spirits, or Dylan spent the aforementioned 13 takes on two different songs as the world’s longest delaying tactic.
Short form is that Dylan has assembled the dream band, driven by the man who made Al Kooper hide behind the organ, Michael Bloomfield. If you view these sessions as Michael Bloomfield’s greatest hits, you can’t go too far wrong, because they are, and Dylan certainly knew it. As Dylan sings in the “let’s see if this thing can go to 11” vamp “Sitting On A Barb Wire Fence” (aka “Over The Cliffs) “I got this woman in LA, she makes the sweat run down my brow. Well, she’s good alright, but she ain’t as good as this guitar player I got right now.”
Truth in advertising.
Bloomfield looms large over “Highway 61,” and in take after take (after take) he never hits a wrong note.
The festivities start with “Phantom Engineer” (Number Cloudy, according to the already enervated Tom Wilson), which would soon see the light of day under the title “It Takes A Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry” (somewhere, the Columbia Records Title Clerk develops a nervous tremor). Like its bluesy predecessors, this one would take an inordinate amount of takes to get right, 13 in all. Thanks again, Bob. The first four takes play around and around a fast paced arrangement, roadhouse blues, and never quite getting there. So, in traditional Dylan fashion, he abandons it, and moves on to the previously mentioned “Barbed Wire Fence.” To me, this seems like a sound check, a flexing of musical muscles, as even by Dylan’s toss away, fluff standards, the lyrics are clearly just place holders, dialing in the “sounds inside my mind” that he is trying to capture.
On to the first stammering takes of “Like A Rolling Stone.” After a few waltz-like tentative stabs, oddly reminiscent of next March’s epic “Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands,” Bob and the boys decide to call it a day, with that song very much in embryonic form.
Did Dylan sleep on it? Did he know what was waiting, just within his grasp? The next day will bring forth a miracle.
Session 2 (of 6) for “Highway 61 Revisited,” June 16th, 1965, CD 4, tracks 1 through 17 (52.00)
Only one song was recorded on this day, and what a song. This is the day when superlatives found their watering hole. This entire disc is devoted to the creation of “Like A Rolling Stone.”
Watching a classic emerge take after take is one of the best mini-movies of the entire enterprise, but what I find most fascinating is how it differs from the evolution of the other Dylan classics in this climatic year. The drill is consistent. Dylan works towards a certain target, and once he hits it, knows when he’s done. Not here. On Take 4, Dylan records the climatic snare drum that kicked open Springsteen’s mind and the hero, master take of “Like A Rolling Stone” is done. But according to the “Cutting Edge,” Dylan doesn’t seem to realize what he hath wrought, and goes on to record seven MORE takes of the song, before giving up in a kind of snarl, and one venomous exchange with Tom Wilson, who will be fired shortly thereafter.
“Why can’t we get that right?” complains Dylan, who tends to speak in italics, not realizing he already did get it right, and that, five takes earlier. How could Dylan achieve perfection and not know it? Why did he keep going onto what were clearly dead ends and inferior arrangements? Was he, for once, second guessing perfection in this second session?
The answer, my friend, is, well, you know.
Session 3 (of 6) for “Highway 61 Revisited”, July 29th, 1965, CD 5, tracks 1 through 23rd, CD 6, track 1, (1.14)
A lot of water under the bridge in the six weeks since the last Highway 61 Revisited session. “Like A Rolling Stone” has just been released and is on its way to becoming a top five hit. Four days earlier, suitably inspired, Dylan plays Newport, and plays a train wreck version of his new hit along with, among others, an out of control version of the still-to-be-figured-out “Phantom Engineer.”
This does not go as planned.
Listening to the show, over 50 years later, two things come to mind. One, just how together an allegedly un-together performance can sound and, just what did Dylanthink was going to happen, anyway?
So, clearly chastened, humbled, insecure (as if), Dylan heads into the studio for a session that produces two master takes and a hit single that redefines the phrase “biting the hand that feeds me.” Coincidence? Doubtful. Now, fully in command of his muse, with a new producer, Bob Johnston, at the helm – the Titanic sails at dawn.
First up, yet another multi-take blues extravaganza, “Tombstone Blues.” Clearly, this one has been worked up carefully and indeed, Dylan had premiered it during an acoustic workshop at Newport just a few days earlier. In the earlier takes of this kaleidoscopic chamber of modern American horrors, we meet a new “blacksmith with freckles” amongst the usual rogue’s gallery of bizarre Dylan characters. Again, in take after take, Mike Bloomfield drives the proceedings. After take ten Dylan plaintively whines, “I can’t sing so loud,” before going onto two more takes, then giving up, for the moment.
Feels like time for lunch.
Now, it’s back to “Phantom Engineer.” Although this song has been worked over obsessively and played before a stunned audience, Dylan has changed up the tempo, and turns another numbing blues into something wholly different. Apparently, this alchemy was done while the other musicians were taking that lunch break, and Dylan quietly worked it out at the piano. These “private time” moments of solo reflection are sadly undocumented, even in this exhaustive collection, but here is where any surviving maps can only point us straight into the unknown. The first take of what we must now call “It Takes A Lot To Laugh” already nails the final arrangement. The song is transformed, and it’s just a matter of a few tries to achieve the master take.
“What’s the name of this, Bobby?” asks new country gentlemen producer Bob Johnson. “Uh…..” Dylan replies, verrrry slowly, “the name of this is…uh…..Black DallyRoo.” For those playing at home, Dylan carefully spells it out, and, then, changes “R-O-O” to “R-U-E,” and finally, changes the title again to “Crimson Dally Rue.” (The Title Clerk wonders when Happy Hour starts.) Later on, the song will get the slightly less oblique title of “Positively 4th Street.” Unlike the rest of this session, this song is under control from the very first take, every beat and lyric honed to perfection. All that is missing is the carnival popcorn organ of Al Kooper that will give the song its musical identity, and will cut through AM radios throughout the country a few weeks later. Six takes later that essential ingredient is baked in and Dylan, astonishingly, moves on to the first take of perhaps his most literary epic, “Desolation Row.”
As is so often the case with his “folk” songs, the arrangement and lyrics are present from take one, with a few minor variations that seem designed to tantalize Dylanologists.
Dylan gets through the entire take, a version that suffers from the sin of lifelessness, but hey, it’s been a long day.
Session 4 (of 6) for “Highway 61 Revisited”, July 30th, 1965, CD 6, tracks 2 through 19 (37.07)
Another day, another blue, yellow, green electric dollar. The session starts productively with three quick takes of “From A Buick Six” — which clearly has been rehearsed off stage. The rest of the session is devoted to one of those white whales that must have driven Dylan crazier than his default mode. Here’s an interesting historical goodie. According to Anthony Scaduto’s “Bob Dylan; A Biography,” one of the first, and still best Dylan tomes, “Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window” is the song that indirectly helped kill Phil Ochs.
Say what?
After the fall release of “Window”, (of which we will be soon to be privileged to hear 22, yes 22, takes), Ochs had the temerity to tell a nightclubbing Dylan that while the song was “OK,” it wasn’t a hit. Dylan, not pleased, stopped the limousine, and kicked Ochs to the curb, sneering, “You’re not a folk singer. You’re a journalist.” Crushed, his friendship with Dylan over, this blow to Ochs’s self image was crippling, and the death spiral to his 1976 suicide began.
And it goes without saying, Ochs was right, the song wasn’t a hit.
But that was then, this is now.
Take 1 of “Look At Barry Run” (the Title Clerk gives up and heads to the bar) begins with a jovial Dylan laughing with his comrades in arms. “The doctors are here,” says Dylan, and the spirits of Dr. Howard, Dr. Fine and Dr. Howard govern the proceedings. Like the organ in “Positively 4th Street,” the tinkling celeste punctuates another of Dylan’s revenge fantasies. Drummer Bobby Gregg is the MVP of this session, driving the train even after Dylan admits that “I am about to cave in.” Be strong, Bob. After 14 takes, the final version from this session is locked, a perfect rendition. Dylan’s phrasing on the line “his religion of little tin women” is simply beautiful, some of the best singing from the entire marathon “Highway 61” sessions.
And, of course, Dylan refused to release the track, with a version escaping by being mislabeled and issued as the “B” side of the “Positively 4th Street” single. The consequences of deliberately weird titles, one hazards.
With this (that), this 4th session ends, and everybody takes the weekend off. On Monday, there will be Police Whistle and four (4!) master takes for one of the greatest albums in rock history.
Session 5 (of 6) for “Highway 61 Revisited,” July 30th, 1965, CD 6, tracks 20 through 29, CD 7 Tracks 1-20, CD 8 Tracks 1- 4 (1.37)
An epic session, that will produce the keepers of “Highway 61 Revisited,” “Ballad Of A Thin Man,” “Queen Jane Approximately” and “Just Like Tom Thumbs Blues.” Not a lot of mystery here, just astonishing focus and professionalism, but one burning question endures. Just what genius suggested adding a police whistle to the roadhouse blues of “Highway 61 Revisited?” Played by Dylan, in one of the most virtuosic moments of his entire 50 year career, this insane addition turns what could have been another semi-forgettable blues into an indelible classic. Four takes go by before somebody calls for the whistle. Where did they find it? Was it just laying around in Studio “A”? If not, who made the run to the music store? On such mysteries, empires turn. One of the greatest moments of this entire set is a 35 second take composed of Dylan just wailing away on aforementioned whistle, with the giggles of his fellow musicians surrounding him. “That was the funniest damn things I have ever heard”, one says, off mike. The fun is still infectious these long 50 years later, and reminds us just how goofy Bob Dylan could be, if he felt like it.
Next up, “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues.” With some lyrics that migrated from the aborted “Sitting On A Barbed Wire Fence,” the takes begin with a mostly worked out arrangement. Just some words need to be shuffled and some harmonica breaks calibrated. Dylan is a lyrical magpie, who clearly never forgot anything he ever wrote. His songs are often a collection of lines that get stuck in his memory hole, and it’s another one of his gifts that when they are finally exhumed and deployed, they work perfectly.
Eight takes, and another master bites the dust.
The song that follows, “Queen Jane Approximately” is a Dylan classic that has somehow escaped being canonized as such. As with the other songs in this epic day, the arrangement and lyrics are good to go from take one, it’s just a matter of extracting the perfect take. Dylan’s singing is brilliant, and the first take has some phrasing that just might be more soulful and sensitive than the final version but, once again, the best take was the one that made the album. That tinkly celeste and ubiquitous off tune piano make a welcome reappearance and give the recording its playful drive. Listen again to the way Dylan delivers the line, and italicized word, “you’re sick of all that repetition,” in the master take. Nobody sings Dylan like Dylan, said the old Columbia ads, and those ads are right.
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