Earlier this year Columbia Records released a limited edition nine LP set in Europe, 50th Anniversary Collection 1964.
The set, which I’ve heard, has some amazing recordings on it including jams Dylan did with Eric von Schmidt and a full concert recorded at the Royal Festival Hall in London on May 17, 1964. Those have not surfaced at YouTube yet.
However, some of the set recently showed up at YouTube.
Below are alternate takes and outtakes from Dylan’s Another Side Of Bob Dylan sessions which took place on June 9, 1964 at Columbia Studio A in New York.
“Denise,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Outtake Take 1964)
“It Ain’t Me, Babe,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Alternate Take 1964 – Take 1)
“Spanish Harlem Incident,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Alternate Take 1964 – Take 3)
“Ballad In Plain D,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Alternate Take 1964 – Take 2)
“I Don’t Believe You,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Alternate Take 1964 – Take 1)
“I Don’t Believe You,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Alternate Take 1964 – Take 3)
“Black Crow Blues,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Alternate Take 1964 – Take 2)
“Chimes Of Freedom,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Alternate Take 1964 – Take 1)
“Chimes Of Freedom,” (Another Side of Bob Dylan Alternate Take 1964 – Take 3)
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[Last August I published my rock ‘n’ roll novel, True Love Scars.” Rolling Stone has a great review of the book. Read it here. There’s info about True Love Scars here.]
This weekend I’ve been celebrating the 54th anniversary of Bob Dylan’s arrival in New York on January 24, 1961.
Toward the end of that year, after he’d been gigging around, after he’d met John Hammond and been signed to Columbia Records, but prior to recording his first album, on September 6, 1961, Bob Dylan performed at the Gaslight in New York.
His set, which included an appearance by Dave Van Ronk playing guitar and singing harmony vocals on “Car, Car,” was recorded on a reel-to-reel and you can hear it right now.
Some of these songs appeared on the first official Bootleg series set. Others have yet to be officially released.
The order of the songs has apparently been rearranged by whoever put up this YouTube clip.
Set List (apparently the songs have been ordered differently than when they were performed).
He Was A Friend Of Mine
Car, Car
Man On The Street
Song To Woody
Talkin’ Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues
Pretty Polly
This is the correct order of the set according to www.BobDylan.com:
Man On The Street
He Was A Friend Of Mine
Talkin’ Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues
Song To Woody
Pretty Polly
Car, Car
—
[Last August I published my rock ‘n’ roll novel, True Love Scars.” Rolling Stone has a great review of the book. Read it here. There’s info about True Love Scars here.]
Fifty-four years ago, on January 24, 1961, Bob Dylan arrived in New York, where within a few months he would not only get a rave review in the New York Times and meet the legendary record man and producer, John Hammond, but would be signed by Hammond to Columbia Records and by the end of the year he’d record his first album, Bob Dylan.
Dylan recorded his first six albums in New York, and the city was his base of operations from ’61 into ’66.
I thought I’d pull together some of Bob’s recordings that are either about or take place in New York in some way, or were recorded in New York.
“Talkin New York” live at Town Hall, April 12, 1963:
“Song To Woody”:
“Hard Times In New York” recorded by Cynthia Gooding, March 11, 1962:
“Spanish Harlem Incident,” alternate take:
“Ballad In Plain D,” alternate take 2 (partial):
“She Belongs To Me,” Free Trade Hall, Manchester, May 7, 1965:
“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue,” Free Trade Hall, Manchester, May 7, 1965:
“Freeze Out 1,” (“Visions Of Johanna” outtake):
ttp://youtu.be/WYifDaD96rM
“Love Minus Zero/ No Limit” and “Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window” and “From A Buick 6” (alternate takes):
Quotes from Dylan’s latest meeting with the press — a conversation with AARP editor Bob Love, have appeared everywhere from the Brooklym Vegan blog to the L.A. Times.
If you haven’t checked out the interview yet, here’s how it begins, including some great thoughts about music and rock ‘n’ roll in the final graph. Note that a longer version of the interview will appear in the February issue of ARRP magazine.
Q: Why did you make this record now?
A: Now is the right time. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I heard Willie [Nelson]’s Stardust record in the late 1970s. All through the years, I’ve heard these songs being recorded by other people and I’ve always wanted to do that. And I wondered if anybody else saw it the way I did.
Q: It’s going to be some-thing of a surprise to your traditional fans, don’t you think?
A: Well, they shouldn’t be surprised. There’s a lot of types of songs I’ve sung over the years, and they definitely have heard me sing standards before.
Q: You are very respectful of these melodies — more than you are of your own songs when you perform.
A: I love these songs, and I’m not going to bring any disrespect to them. To trash those songs would be sacrilegious. And we’ve all heard those songs being trashed, and we’re used to it. In some kind of ways you want to right the wrong.
Q: I noticed that Frank Sinatra recorded every one of these songs. Was he on your mind?
A: When you start doing these songs, Frank’s got to be on your mind. Because he is the mountain. That’s the mountain you have to climb, even if you only get part of the way there. And it’s hard to find a song he did not do. He’d be the guy you got to check with. People talk about Frank all the time. He had this ability to get inside of the song in a sort of a conversational way. Frank sang to you — not at you. I never wanted to be a singer that sings at somebody. I’ve always wanted to sing to somebody. I myself never bought any Frank Sinatra records back then. But you’d hear him anyway — in a car or a jukebox. Certainly nobody worshipped Sinatra in the ’60s like they did in the ’40s. But he never went away — all those other things that we thought were here to stay, they did go away. But he never did.
Q: Do you think of this album as risky? These songs have fans who will say you can’t touch Frank’s version.
A: Risky? Like walking across a field laced with land mines? Or working in a poison gas factory? There’s nothing risky about making records. Comparing me with Frank Sinatra? You must be joking. To be mentioned in the same breath as him must be some sort of high compliment. As far as touching him goes, nobody touches him. Not me or anyone else.
Q: So what do you think Frank would make of this album?
A: I think first of all he’d be amazed I did these songs with a five-piece band. I think he’d be proud in a certain way.
Q: What other kinds of music did you listen to growing up?
A: Early on, before rock ’n’ roll, I listened to big band music: Harry James, Russ Columbo, Glenn Miller. But up north, at night, you could find these radio stations that played pre-rock ’n’ roll things — country blues. You could hear Jimmy Reed. Then there was a station out of Chicago, played all hillbilly stuff. We also heard the Grand Ole Opry. I heard Hank Williams way early, when he was still alive. One night, I remember listening to the Staple Singers, “Uncloudy Day.” And it was the most mysterious thing I’d ever heard. It was like the fog rolling in. What was that? How do you make that? It just went through me. I managed to get an LP, and I’m like, “Man!” I looked at the cover, and I knew who Mavis was without having to be told. She looked to be about the same age as me. Her singing just knocked me out. This was before folk music had ever entered my life. I was still an aspiring rock ’n’ roller. The descendant, if you will, of the first generation of guys who played rock ’n’ roll — who were thrown down. Buddy Holly, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, Gene Vincent, Jerry Lee Lewis. They played this type of music that was black and white. Extremely incendiary. Your clothes could catch fire. When I first heard Chuck Berry, I didn’t consider that he was black. I thought he was a white hillbilly. Little did I know, he was a great poet, too. And there must have been some elitist power that had to get rid of all these guys, to strike down rock ’n’ roll for what it was and what it represented — not least of all it being a black-and-white thing.
For his only interview to promote his new album, Shadows In The Night, Bob Dylan spoke to Robert Love, editor of AARP Magazine.
That makes sense since the magazine reaches 35 million 50+ year olds, a prime audience for the album, although I think folks of all ages would dig the coolness of Dylan taking on songs made famous by Frank Sinatra.
Dylan sings “Stay With Me”:
During the interview Dylan talks about when he first heard The Staple Singers “Uncloudy Day.”
“One night, I remember listening to the Staple Singers, “Uncloudy Day,” Dylan says. “And it was the most mysterious thing I’d ever heard. It was like the fog rolling in. What was that? How do you make that? It just went through me.”
Here’s the beginning of the interview, including some great thoughts about music and rock ‘n’ roll in the final graph. NOte that a longer version of the interview will appear in the February issue of ARRP magazine.
Q: Why did you make this record now?
A: Now is the right time. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I heard Willie [Nelson]’s Stardust record in the late 1970s. All through the years, I’ve heard these songs being recorded by other people and I’ve always wanted to do that. And I wondered if anybody else saw it the way I did.
Q: It’s going to be some-thing of a surprise to your traditional fans, don’t you think?
A: Well, they shouldn’t be surprised. There’s a lot of types of songs I’ve sung over the years, and they definitely have heard me sing standards before.
Q: You are very respectful of these melodies — more than you are of your own songs when you perform.
A: I love these songs, and I’m not going to bring any disrespect to them. To trash those songs would be sacrilegious. And we’ve all heard those songs being trashed, and we’re used to it. In some kind of ways you want to right the wrong.
Q: I noticed that Frank Sinatra recorded every one of these songs. Was he on your mind?
A: When you start doing these songs, Frank’s got to be on your mind. Because he is the mountain. That’s the mountain you have to climb, even if you only get part of the way there. And it’s hard to find a song he did not do. He’d be the guy you got to check with. People talk about Frank all the time. He had this ability to get inside of the song in a sort of a conversational way. Frank sang to you — not at you. I never wanted to be a singer that sings at somebody. I’ve always wanted to sing to somebody. I myself never bought any Frank Sinatra records back then. But you’d hear him anyway — in a car or a jukebox. Certainly nobody worshipped Sinatra in the ’60s like they did in the ’40s. But he never went away — all those other things that we thought were here to stay, they did go away. But he never did.
Q: Do you think of this album as risky? These songs have fans who will say you can’t touch Frank’s version.
A: Risky? Like walking across a field laced with land mines? Or working in a poison gas factory? There’s nothing risky about making records. Comparing me with Frank Sinatra? You must be joking. To be mentioned in the same breath as him must be some sort of high compliment. As far as touching him goes, nobody touches him. Not me or anyone else.
Q: So what do you think Frank would make of this album?
A: I think first of all he’d be amazed I did these songs with a five-piece band. I think he’d be proud in a certain way.
Q: What other kinds of music did you listen to growing up?
A: Early on, before rock ’n’ roll, I listened to big band music: Harry James, Russ Columbo, Glenn Miller. But up north, at night, you could find these radio stations that played pre-rock ’n’ roll things — country blues. You could hear Jimmy Reed. Then there was a station out of Chicago, played all hillbilly stuff. We also heard the Grand Ole Opry. I heard Hank Williams way early, when he was still alive. One night, I remember listening to the Staple Singers, “Uncloudy Day.” And it was the most mysterious thing I’d ever heard. It was like the fog rolling in. What was that? How do you make that? It just went through me. I managed to get an LP, and I’m like, “Man!” I looked at the cover, and I knew who Mavis was without having to be told. She looked to be about the same age as me. Her singing just knocked me out. This was before folk music had ever entered my life. I was still an aspiring rock ’n’ roller. The descendant, if you will, of the first generation of guys who played rock ’n’ roll — who were thrown down. Buddy Holly, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, Gene Vincent, Jerry Lee Lewis. They played this type of music that was black and white. Extremely incendiary. Your clothes could catch fire. When I first heard Chuck Berry, I didn’t consider that he was black. I thought he was a white hillbilly. Little did I know, he was a great poet, too. And there must have been some elitist power that had to get rid of all these guys, to strike down rock ’n’ roll for what it was and what it represented — not least of all it being a black-and-white thing.
Bob Dylan and his band at the Madison Square Garden Theater, January 20 1998.
Set List:
Absolutely Sweet Marie
Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You
Cold Irons Bound
Born In Time
Silvio
A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall
Girl From The North Country
Tangled Up In Blue
Million Miles
Positively 4th Street
‘Til I Fell In Love With You
Highway 61 Revisited
Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right
Love Sick
Rainy Day Women #12 & 35
Forty-nine years ago, on January 20, 1966, the fourth session for Bob Dylan’s Blonde ON Blonde took place.
All that was recorded that day was one song. Nineteen takes of a song that on the recording sheet was listed as “Just A Little Glass Of Water,” but which was later titled “She’s Your Love Now.”
A version with some of the Hawks playing made it onto The first Bootleg series set.
But this incredible 8 minute version with Dylan playing piano and singing has not yet been offiicially released.
Studio A
Columbia Recording Studio
New York City, New York
January 20, 1966, 11:30-2:30 pm
Produced by Bob Johnston/Albert Grossman.
Engineers: Halee and Keyes.
Session cancelled.
Studio A
Columbia Recording Studio
New York City, New York
January 21, 1966, 2:30-5:30, 7-10 pm and 11:30-2:30 am
Produced by Bob Johnston.
Engineers: Halee, Dauria and Keyes.
1. She’s Your Lover Now CO89210 Take 1b
2. She’s Your Lover Now Take 2b
3. She’s Your Lover Now Take 3b
4. She’s Your Lover Now Take 4C
5. She’s Your Lover Now Take 5C
6. She’s Your Lover Now Take 6C
7. She’s Your Lover Now Take 7b
8. She’s Your Lover Now Take 8b
9. She’s Your Lover Now Take 9b
10. She’s Your Lover Now Take 10b
11. She’s Your Lover Now Take 11b
12. She’s Your Lover Now Take 12b
13. She’s Your Lover Now Take 13C
14. She’s Your Lover Now Take 14C
15. She’s Your Lover Now Take 15C
16. She’s Your Lover Now Take 16b
17. She’s Your Lover Now Take 17C
18. She’s Your Lover Now Take 18C
19. She’s Your Lover Now Take 19C
1-19 “Just A Little Glass Of Water” on recording sheet.
Henry Kaiser and friends at Hardly Strictly Personal. Photo by Michael Goldberg
If you were out on University Avenue in Berkeley this past Saturday afternoon, and happened to pass Shattuck heading north, you would have soon heard some rather odd sounds coming from a storefront near Ace Hardware.
Those sounds were part of “Hardly Strictly Personal – A Celebration of Post-Beefheart Art,” a two-day mini-festival featuring 26 “projects” and as many as 86 musicians.
Entering the Berkeley Art Space — two adjacent large rooms with high ceilings and little else — I was in another universe, far far from the materialism and slick soulless day-to-day that seems to comprise much of life in the U.S. of A. these days. Yeah, sure you could buy a Hardly Strickly Personal poster for $10, but the money was gong to Earthjustice and The Coalition On Homelessness, as were proceeds from the $12 admission.
Musicians were performing alternately in each room, so that while one combo performed, another could set up.
Perhaps 40 people sat on folding chairs, stood or wandered about. It was free and loose in there. Many of patrons had long hair and beards, as did some of the performers, and in this case long hair and beards seemed symbolic of a time many decades ago when musicians worked hard to break new ground, not top the charts.
While the band Pachuco Cadaver set up in the left-side room, dissonant electronics floated over from the room to the right.
Kitten and Pachuco Cadaver. Photo by Michael Goldberg
Fronted by the female singer Kitten, Pachuco Cadaver played a horn-dominated set that included a number of Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band compositions, culminating with “Alice In Blunderland” and “I’m Gonna Booglarize You Baby” (both off The Spotlight Kid album) and both featuring guest guitarist Henry Kaiser, a master of Magic Band guitar.
Kaiser introduced “Alice In Blunderland” by saying:
“This is the first thing I learned to play on guitar as a kid.”
For his own set Kaiser brought on a band he’d pulled together for the occasion: William Winant, drums; Joshua Allen, tenor sax; and James Aliberti, vocals.
They played two pieces.
The first found Kaiser playing Beefheart and the Magic Band’s “Flavor Bud Living” (off the original Bat Chain Puller album) while Aliberti read Beefheart’s poem, “Sun Dawn Dance.” Then the three musicians went freeform for an extended jam in the style of Beefheart and the Magic Band while Aliberti read Beefheart’s “You should know by the kindness of uh dog the way uh human should be.”
That second piece combined free jazz, an explosive mix of honking sax, combative drums and lunar guitar. Imagine a Jackson Pollack painting as sound and you’ll have a vague sense of it.
Kaiser is an incredible guitarist. There is a hard jagged edge to his playing, as if he’s cut through all the surface nicey-nicey and reached the truth of the matter. It’s impossible to anticipate what sound will emerge next as he works various pedals while attcking the strings.
Cartoon Justice and friends. Photo by Michael Goldberg
The electronics-meet-analog instruments (Koto, bass, guitar, clarinet, cello) drone of Cartoon Justice followed, and then while Forward Energy went full-bore free jazz I split.
Fantasic!
Below are the words to the poems Aliberti read.
“Sun Dawn Dance” by Captain Beefheart
Sun showers danced like dye darker green shadows
light on green leaves
played bamboo golden light organ pipes
wooden ‘n’ olden
down finickey halls
shadows leaped like lizards scaling
flower eyes trailing random vines
tales that curl-ee-cued
beans that hung green light berries
butterfly’s grasp upside down
in pain
lovely in their rapture
golden dust
golden winged eels slither apart
bleeding life’s light onto the ground
‘n’ quiver down gloden light
corny yellow horns blew petals stem riddles
bees ride fat honey
legged drips
centers pulp splinters
her flowered eye
uh legend on uh rock she scribbles
uh dew drop pops
up in the Sun Dawn Dance
“You should know by the kindness of uh dog the way uh human should be” by Captain Beefheart
You should know by the kindness of uh dog
The way a human should be
You should feel the wet wood heart of the tree
Wood sap pop like a frog’s eye
Open t’ the fly ‘n the blood of the river
When it ripples ‘n clicks like uh waterbell
‘n the elephant in his beautiful grey leather suit
Though he’s wrinkled he looks smart as hell
‘n the turtle’s eyes carry bags very well
‘n the snake’s in shape
He rattles like uh baby ‘wears his diamonds
Better than uh fine lady’s finger
‘n his fangs are no more dangerous
Than her slow aristocratic poison
And he plays his games on uh grass bed
‘n uh monkey never had uh guilty masturbation
‘n uh monkey wouldn’t shit on another’s creation
And the fatman cries throughout all creation
’cause he’s got uh cold
‘n the icebear dives thru blue zero for uh frozen fish
‘n the eskimo wears his hide ‘n chews his heart
‘n the beautiful grey whale oils some bitches lighter
Someday I’ll have money ‘n I can frame myself
What uh picture I’ll be choppin’ down uh tree
