Studio Logs—A little background: back in 1994 I obtained access to the Sony cardex and what session records were held at their New York archives. Incorporating other original research made into Dylan’s non-Sony sessions, musician information from the New York office of the American Federation of Musicians (AFM), and two days’ work at the Country Hall of Fame in Nashville, I made the first serious effort to compile a song-by-song record of Dylan’s recording sessions, published initially in the fall of that year as Bob Dylan: Recording Sessions 1960–1994 (St. Martin’s Press).
Between writing this book and its publication, Dylan’s office decided to provide a Danish dentist and amateur Dylan collector, Michael Krogsgaard, with access to the whole Sony system. The result was a sessionography that he published in nine installments in two Dylan fanzines, first The Telegraph and then The Bridge, stopping at Dylan’s 1990 album Under the Red Sky. For reasons best known to Mr. Krogsgaard, he (and Telegraph editor John Bauldie) decided not only to preempt my own work by hastily publishing the first part of his researches—so hastily he decided "Advice to Geraldine," a printed poem, was an Another Side outtake—but to produce this entire sessionography without a single reference to my published book, even when I had self-evidently heard an outtake he had not.
Because of his unparalleled access, Krogsgaard’s sessionography has become, in the fullness of time, a valuable resource. But it could have been of greater value still if he had collated his own work with that of the only other person to use Sony’s resources, and annotated his session listings with a clear indication of which material he had actually heard (almost none of it, I’d surmise). As it is, there is no way of knowing which material in his sessionography is based solely on studio logs or those AFM sheets he was able to access. Hell, he could even have looked at first-hand recollections from sessions—as I had—that referred to recordings absent from the logs (the acoustic "Dirge," f’r instance). "Above all else, call it research."
But he didn’t do any of this. As a consequence, I have been obliged to cross-reference his sessionography with the now wholly computerized Sony database to make sure that the former tallies with the latter. And although I have adhered to Krogsgaard’s session listings when I have no evidence that he has sinned by omission, I have where possible applied a critical discrimination to his work that he considered unnecessary with mine. Not surprisingly, his work has sometimes been found wanting. The session sheets to some of the sessions he could not find have also turned up as part of an ongoing review of Dylan studio material by Sony. So, the session information herein is the most accurate of any would-be Dylan researcher.
How useful such information is in deciding the likely order in which Dylan wrote the songs he recorded is a frustrating issue, especially once he starts recording albums in one or two blocks of sessions. With the Nashville Skyline and New Morning LPs in particular, one is obliged to cast about for other evidence to supply an order in which the songs were most likely composed (i.e., intelligent speculation).
Even though the New Morning album was in fact recorded at four separate sets of sessions—in March, May, June, and August of 1970—the songs themselves seem to have been largely composed in two bursts: one in the winter of 1970, supplying the sessions in March and May, and one preceding and/or coinciding with the June sessions. The songs written in 1969–70 remain the most organizationally and chronologically problematic of those covered in this volume (though we are still on firmer ground than with songs written after 1990).
Performances—In the sixties Dylan’s live performances often served as a barometer not for the next album but for the one after that, so fast was the man spinning. As such Dylan’s early performance history is an integral part of this narrative, especially the important New York showcases at Carnegie Recital Hall (11/4/61), Town Hall (4/12/63), Carnegie Hall (10/26/63), and Philharmonic Hall (10/31/64), as well as the three Newport Folk Festival performances recently released on DVD. Thankfully—and hats off to Columbia for their foresight—all of these performances were taped professionally and, save for five songs from the Recital Hall performance, circulate.[1]
The more attentive reader may in fact notice that in the historical information attached to each and every song, I have sometimes listed the "first known performance" first, whereas other times the "known studio recordings" takes priority. This is no typographical accident. It is based on whether Dylan went from composition to performance to recording or from composition to recording to performance. Though the former instance becomes a rarity once Dylan returns to the arena/s in 1974, audio documentation exists for many songs in this first volume: songs that served as performance pieces while awaiting a studio setting.
And even though he stopped previewing songs to audiences after 1981, Dylan has consistently claimed that the records matter a great deal less to him than his performances. As he said to Jon Bream in January 1978: "An album for me isn’t anything more than a collection of songs
. . . written to be sung from the stage. . . . It’s always been that way for me. . . . I just put out one album after another. . . . Songs aren’t any good really unless they can be sung on stage. They’re meant to be sung to people, not to microphones in a recording studio."
Dylan in His Own Words—As with my Dylan biography—in both guises—I have endeavored to find out what Dylan has had to say about his work both generally and specifically, incorporating his words in the relevant song’s history, providing yet another invaluable resource for the congenitally lazy breed of "rock critic" to cherry pick for this month’s "Why Dylan Matters" feature. In trawling every published interview, onstage rap, written prose piece, and now one rather unreliable memoir, I’d like to think I’ve brought the reader some insight into how Dylan sees his songs.
Some readers may even be surprised at just how much Dylan’s voice appears herein, given the contemporary cliché that he is a difficult interviewee and that he never deals in specifics when talking about his work. Dare I suggest, this volume alone refutes that suggestion. Unlike many a contemporary singer-songwriter—even someone as worthy as Neil Young or Van Morrison—Dylan is a well read, articulate artist who under the right conditions and in the right company (Nat Hentoff, Jonathan Cott, Mikail Gilmore, and Robert Hilburn being four of the better examples) can be surprisingly forthcoming about what makes him tick artistically. Just not when writing his own memoir (hence my frequent attempts to refute the basis of any account given in Chronicles, even when Dylan is revealing an emotional connection that is real).
Eye-Witnesses, Collaborators, and Muses—Because this is not a biography, readers will find that I rely less on the verbatim recollections of musicians and muses than previous chronicles do. Where the relationship between a muse and the music seems "right on target, so direct," I haven’t shied away from explicating that connection, tight or otherwise. But knowing that Dylan is a master of making songs appear to equate life with art, I’ve tried not to overstate the case (especially after seeing what Mr. Haynes did with my supposition that "She’s Your Lover Now" might be "about" a menage involving Dylan, Edie Sedgwick, and Bobby Neuwirth).
A number of folk have been fortunate enough to hear a Dylan song when the ink was still not dry. Where possible I have tried to incorporate their initial impressions. And though it would be 1967 before he started collaborating on songs, a process that lasted well into the nineties, the recollections of these collaborators adds another layer to the portrait of the way Dylan likes to work—even if the songs in question have rarely been commensurate with his best solo work.
Lyrics / Writings and Drawings—I have already given vent on the three official editions of Dylan’s lyrics to date. But it should perhaps go without saying that at least one edition would be a useful companion while reading Revolution in the Air. And given that the period I cover all but dovetails with Writings and Drawings, which Dylan approached in a hands-on way, this is the edition I would recommend. But t
he songs he recorded in 1973 require reference to either an edition of Lyrics or, preferably, the generally excellent The Songs of Bob Dylan 1966–1975, an intelligently compiled songbook that provided some additions to the published work on its appearance in 1976.
Internet Resources—Where the Internet has proved a boon for fans and scholars alike has been in the way information has been shared, simultaneously reinforcing the view, common among collectors, that the official versions of songs should no longer be seen as the final word when appreciating Dylan’s art. Because he attracts (more than) his fair share of fanatics and aficionados, there is certainly no shortage of sites on the World Wide Web providing theories on the songs, though somewhat fewer relate their theories to any actual, factual resource. Nonetheless, the following sites are useful starting points for those readers who wish to dig deeper into Dylan’s performance history, session recordings, or lyrical variations.
Words Fill My Head is an absolutely essential addendum to the official Lyrics. Starting life back in the early nineties as a privately circulated bookleg, Words Fill My Head has continued to expand into cyberspace, all the while accommodating many obvious omissions from Lyrics.
Still on the Road is the section of Olof Bjorner’s Web site (bjorner.com) that provides a breakdown of Dylan sessions, gigs, and recordings over the years, helpfully organized, easy to access, and regularly updated. Though Bjorner relies heavily (and uncritically) on the work of the usual culprits—myself, Glen Dundas, Krogsgaard—for the more knotty issues, he usually credits his sources and is by far the best starting point for locating such information in cyberspace. Also to be found on Bjorner’s site is a section called "It Ain’t Me Babe," which provides a bewildering alphabetical list of every cover version of a Dylan song that a Swede might know.
The online version of Michael Krogsgaard’s sessionography goes up to 1990’s Under the Red Sky. However, it does not appear that even this version has been updated or corrected from the versions published initially in The Telegraph and The Bridge. Therefore, it still includes the occasional "howler."
Searching for a Gem has a subdirectory entitled "Starlight in the East" with a "Directory of Bob Dylan’s Unreleased Songs" compiled by Alan Fraser. Again, not a great deal of critical methodology in evidence, but a useful checklist of songs, rumored and real.
bobdylan.com is the official Dylan site, which to its credit offers the lyrics to all songs published by Dylan’s music publisher, Special Rider, including so-called "arrangements," though it also lists some songs—like "Kingsport Town"—for which it provides audio excerpts but no lyrics. For those you’ll need to turn to, yes, Words Fill My Head.
And now, suitably equipped, it is time to return to 1957 and the ample charms of a well-endowed actress, a.k.a. Dylan’s first muse . . .
[1] Seven more songs from the Recital Hall have recently come into circulation, leaving just seven songs to be unearthed. The full track-listing is as follows (asterisked items remain uncirculated): "Pretty Peggy-O," "In the Pines," "Gospel Plow," "1913 Massacre," "Backwater Blues," "The Trees They Do Grow So High," "Fixin’ to Die," "San Francisco Bay Blues,"* "Riding In My Car,"* "Talkin’ Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues," "Man on the Street," "Sally Gal,"* "This Land Is Your Land," "Talkin’ Merchant Marine," "Black Cross," "He Was a Friend of Mine,"* "Pretty Polly,"* "House of the Rising Sun,"* "The Cuckoo Is a Pretty Bird,"* "Freight Train Blues," "Song to Woody," "Talkin’ New York."
SONG INFORMATION
Published Lyrics—References all three editions of Dylan’s lyrics, Writings and Drawings (1973) and the two Lyrics (1985 and 2004). If relevant, The Songs of Bob Dylan 1966–1975 (1976) may also be cited. Also cited are the two early "folk" periodicals that published Dylan lyrics before anyone, Broadside and Sing Out!; Dylan’s first songbook, Bob Dylan Himself (1965); and those instances in which the Dylan fanzines The Telegraph or Isis published a lyric first. For any other lyrical variant, see the Words Fill My Head bookleg and/or Web site.
Known Studio Recording—Information is derived from my own Recording Sessions 1960–1994, the Michael Krogsgaard sessionography, and an up-to-date printout of the Sony database. The number of takes and the take number released, where known, are given. Columbia sessions from November 1961 through January 1966, and March through August 1970, were held in New York; and in Nashville from February 1966 through June 1969. The code for the albums, singles, and CDs on which studio recordings have been officially released is as follows:
45—45 rpm single
AS—Another Side of Bob Dylan (1964)
BB—Broadside Ballads (1963)
BD—Bob Dylan (1962)
BIABH—Bringing It All Back Home (1965)
BIO—Biograph (1985)
BoB—Blonde on Blonde (1966)
BR—Broadside Reunion (1972)
BT—The Basement Tapes (1975)
FR—The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (1963)
FR ver.1—The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (limited ed. 1st pressing; 1963)
H61—Highway 61 Revisited (1965)
INT—I’m Not There: The Soundtrack (2007)
JWH —John Wesley Harding (1967)
L&T ver.1—Love and Theft (limited ed. 1st pressing; 2001)
MGH—More Greatest Hits (U.S. title: Greatest Hits Vol. 2; 1971)
NDH—No Direction Home: The Bootleg Series Vol. 7 (2005)
NM —New Morning (1970)
NS—Nashville Skyline (1969)
PG—Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid: The Soundtrack (1973)
PW—Planet Waves (1974)
SP—Self Portrait (1970)
TBS—The Bootleg Series Vols. 1–3 (1991)
TIMES—The Times They Are A-Changin’ (1964)
First Known Performance—Is based on my own research, cross-
referenced with Olaf’s online listings. If a concert/performance is given in square brackets, this indicates that a recording is not in circulation (or was not in fact made). Where possible, in such instances, a first recorded performance will also be given (not in brackets). In a few rare instances first performances have been released officially, on the following CDs/DVDs:
CFB—The Concert for Bangladesh (1971)
DLB—Don’t Look Back (1967) [film/DVD]
L64—Bootleg Series Vol. 6: Live 1964 Concert at Philharmonic Hall (2004)
LACH—Live at Carnegie Hall 1963 (2005)
LAN—Joan Baez: Live at Newport (1996)
LATG—Live at the Gaslight 1962 (2005)
NB—Newport Broadside (1964)
OSOTM—The Other Side of the Mirror: Live at the Newport Folk Festival 1963–1965 (2007) [DVD]
RLC—Joan Baez: Rare, Live & Classic (1993)
ROA—The Band: Rock of Ages (remastered CD, 2001)
SP—Self Portrait (1970)
TLW—The Last Waltz (4-CD set, 2002)
{ 1957–60: Juvenilia }
Just a dozen documented Dylan originals precede his arrival in New York in late January 1961, when our would-be bard finally moved out of first gear. The dozen songs are separated into the handful of original Dylan lyrics known from his time in various local bands in Hibbing, Minnesota (1–5), and those he supposedly wrote during the year he spent in Minneapolis, ostensibly studying for a degree but in truth immersing himself in some all-night folk-song research (6–12). The recent auctioning of a collection of free-verse poems from his tenure in Minneapolis—entitled Poems Without Titles—suggests that he originally thought he might follow in Kerouac’s footsteps (as he had already done, following him and Cassady to Colorado, as per On the Road). The discovery of Woody Guthrie’s autobiography, however, sent him east instead, and gave him a subject for his first serious song, though it turns out that even that breakthrough had been anticipated by an earlier tribute to a certain girl he left behind in the
North Country . . .
Songwriting came only after a period of juvenile poetry writing. Dylan claimed to have been a poet from a precociously early age to both Les Crane in February 1965 and Martin Bronstein a year later: "When I was about eight or nine . . . I actually did write poems at that age, poems, rhymes . . . about the flowers and my mother and stuff like that." Father Abraham confirmed his son’s early penchant for natural metaphors: "He was writing poems in high school. He wouldn’t show them to anybody, [but] he would show them to me. . . . They were about the wind."
However, the earliest poem we have, save for some doggerel on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, dates from Dylan’s teens—specifically, after he acquired his Harley Davidson 74 motorcycle.[1] It is in two parts, written on the same scrap of paper, entitled "good poem" and "bad poem" at the corners of the page. The former suggests an aptitude for self-analysis surprising in one so young, even if he has not quite mastered the art of Dylanesque rhyme: "Jimmy, he thinks himself like / Just ’cause he owns a motorbike / He’s a little fuzzy kid, not too tall / And boy, is he heading for a fall." OK, Rimbaud, it ain’t.
As to the first song he put down on paper, it was called "The Drunkard’s Son," which he must have learned from either a Hank Snow 78 rpm, issued in 1950, or the Snow album When Tragedy Struck, not released until 1958. Snow’s greatest influence was the Singing Brakeman, Jimmie Rodgers, who died of TB in 1933. Snow went as far as recording an entire album of the man’s songs, Hank Snow Salutes Jimmie Rodgers, in 1953—an album that was still at the Zimmermans’ house in May 1968 when Robert Shelton came to call. Dylan later admitted it exercised a profound effect during those formative years:
Revolution in the Air Page 3
