BOB DYLAN: BRINGING IT ALL BACK HOME (1965)
1) Subterranean Homesick
Blues; 2) She Belongs To Me; 3) Maggie's Farm; 4) Love Minus Zero/No Limit; 5)
Outlaw Blues; 6) On The Road Again; 7) Bob Dylan's 115th Dream; 8) Mr.
Tambourine Man; 9) Gates Of Eden; 10) It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding); 11)
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue.
So what else can really be said here, now that
we have entered the kind of territory that has already been swept clean with a
toothbrush by armies of Dylanologists and
amateur fans alike? As Dylan's music intrudes on the sacred, and vastly
popular, grounds of rock'n'roll, and Dylan's lyrics plunge into the deep pool
of surrealism, symbolism, expressionism, post-modernism, and goofy nonsense,
who in the whole wide world could
resist the temptation of offering an opinion, an interpretation, a critical
analysis, a philosophical speculation? The overall amount of writing done on
this period in Dylan's history, especially if you throw in all the Ph.D.
theses, is probably larger than any other amount on any given topic in popular
music. «Maggie comes fleet foot face full of black soot talking that the heat
put plants in the bed but...» — come on, it's pretty hard not to want to
express any sort of opinion on that
one.
Let us begin by asking some questions. Who is
the girl in the red dress on the album sleeve? That one's easy: all sources
have her down as Sally Grossman, the wife of Dylan's manager Albert Grossman.
Okay, trickier question: what is the wife of Dylan's manager doing on a Dylan
album sleeve? The answer «because Dylan was probably porking her at the time»
doesn't quite cut it, since, by all accounts, Albert Grossman simply wasn't the
kind of man with whose wife you'd want to mess around, no matter how
free-thinking and liberated you considered yourself to be. The answer «because
she just happened to hang out there while Bob was photosessioned for the album
sleeve» is a little better, but still doesn't really cut it. It would be much
better, I think, if we started looking for the answer from a straightforward
perspective — most of the things that
Bob was doing at the time were being done with the intention of pissing some
people off, and thus, the same intention can be deduced for this photo as well.
A ragged, somber, beetle-browed Dylan is
sitting, half-buried in vinyl records, in what looks like a fairly well-off
upper middle class house — with a glamorous lady in a red dress puffing away on
the couch. The obvious issue is — what is this freedom-fighter, protest-brewer,
Greenwich Village tenant, etc., doing in a place like this? Has he come here to
surrender his attitude, begging mercy from the proud and rich, or is he playing
a sort of trickster part, preaching his gospel to the bourgeoisie in order to
make them see the light?.. The album cover intrigues — it is obviously «hip» in
a very much early 1960s kind of way, pandering to fans of Godard and Antonioni,
among other things, but what would be the actual meaning of it?.. and would
there be an actual meaning, or are we just being nose-pulled by unpredictable
tricks of the subconscious?
Now, here is another question. The first side
of the LP is fully electric, recorded with a quickly assembled backing band,
Bruce Langhorne presiding on lead guitar. The second side is almost completely
acoustic, with little other than Langhorne's soft electric countermelody on
ʽMr. Tambourine Manʼ to take the focus away from Bob's traditional
ingredients. Would it matter if the sides were reversed? After all, that would be respectful to the chronology —
Bob wrote ʽMr. Tambourine Manʼ as early as February 1964, and ʽGates Of Edenʼ
followed fairly quickly, way before he even got around to seriously thinking
about going electric.
Imagine yourself buying a brand new Dylan album
in early 1965, coming home, putting it on the turntable and hearing ʽMr.
Tambourine Manʼ. The effect is breathtaking — it is easily among the most
beautiful acoustic tunes in Bob's repertoire. But then compare it with the
effect of coming home, putting Dylan's new album on the turntable and hearing
ʽSubterranean Homesick Bluesʼ. No actual comparison, right? even if, by all
accounts, ʽMr. Tambourine Manʼ is the better song of the two, musically,
lyrically, attitud-ally, whatever.
ʽSubterranean Homesick Bluesʼ doesn't even have
much of a melody — just a basic rhythm track, painted over with Langhorne's bluesy
electric licks. Later on, Dylan himself admitted that the song was heavily
influenced by Chuck Berry's ʽToo Much Monkey Businessʼ, mostly by way of
Chuck's invention of the «machine-gun word attack» where a storyline would
develop quickly and impressionistically, in rapid bursts of short phrases. Of
course, Chuck's storyline was ultimately understandable, realistic, and
relevant for the teen spirit — Bob wouldn't be Bob if he didn't try to capsize
this approach. In his world, you have a happy marriage between Chuck Berry and
Allen Ginsberg, and it is a little strange, in fact, that in the famous
accompanying video you do see Ginsberg chatting with someone else, but not
Chuck. Personally, I think Chuck should have been invited, too. But maybe Bob
was too shy to try.
In any case, ʽSubterranean Homesick Bluesʼ is
simply one of the greatest punk songs
ever written — the whole Side A of this album is fairly punkish, but the
opening blast may have been an even
bigger fuck-you statement for 1965 than ʽMy Generationʼ and
ʽSatisfactionʼ put together, despite not saying anything «in the open». Bob's
«rap» delivery, of course, has nothing to do with «rap» as we have generally
come to know it — it is quite consistent with his overall singing style, just a
little faster than usual, but it has a special dynamics to it that generic
«rap» parts usually do not have: note how each verse is divided in two parts,
the first one delivered on the wave of a single breath, overwhelming the
listener, then the second part ("look out kid...") starts out slow,
then turns into a second wave of even huger intensity. The lyrics don't make
much literal sense — naturally — but it's no good to haughtily pretend that we
do not understand what the song is about, or to whom it might be addressed.
"The man in the coonskin cap wants eleven dollar bills, you only got
ten" — Johnny Rotten never had it that good. Oh yes, there was a time when
I remembered all the words to the song and could sing along on time — I do
consider that as some sort of personal feat, but, more importantly, there was
something there to make me do it. Never happened with Lou Reed or Joni
Mitchell, for some strange reason.
ʽMaggie's Farmʼ, to some extent, doubles the
punch of ʽSubterranean Homesick Bluesʼ (remember how many times you used to
confuse the acoustic / electric openings of the two?), but puts things in a
more personal frame — sung in the first person and initiating a series of
vicious put-downs that could have gotten Bob into lotsa personal trouble... had
anybody understood properly who it was that was getting the face-in-the-mud
treatment. Since ʽMaggie's Farmʼ may be interpreted as a pun on «McGee's Farm»
where Bob performed his protest songs, Dylan studiosos usually understand the
song as a big fig to the folk movement. But it could actually be a big fig to
just about anyone — "I try my best to be just like I am, but everybody
wants you to be just like them", and why should the "everybody"
be confined to the Pete Seegers and the Joan Baezes?
On a sidenote, as «generic» as the blues-rock
of ʽMaggie's Farmʼ actually gets, witness Bob's sharpness as each line of the
"I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more..." type gets its own
intonation — decisively affirmative first time around; higher-pitched, more
scandalous, more defensive and hysterical on its second round; a little
calmer, but also a little tired worn at the end of the verse, as if the
previously given explanation has cost the narrator too much effort. It's just a
trifle, perhaps, but it is these subtle dynamic minutiae that need to be felt,
in order to understand what separates a great Dylan song from a not-so-great
Dylan song.
Not-so-great Dylan songs on Side A on the album
do make an appearance — one doesn't often hear great praise for either ʽOutlaw
Bluesʼ or ʽOn The Road Againʼ, and it's easy to see why: not only do they fail
to match the righteous fury of ʽSubterranean Homesick Bluesʼ and ʽMaggie's
Farmʼ, but they simply seem a little undercooked, and would soon be obliterated
by better songs in the same vein, like ʽFrom A Buick 6ʼ or ʽMost Likely You Go
Your Wayʼ. They do have a sort of minimalistic roughness which would be
completely absent from the next two records (where the issue of overcooking stuff would replace that of undercooking), but both are clearly
second-rate, tentative efforts that can easily be excused — they are short and
funny, after all — yet their presence does bring the cumulative value of the
album down a little bit: if anything, they are here to remind us that on Bringing It All Back Home, Dylan's new
«electric image» was still sinking in, but he wasn't quite there yet.
None of that applies to the near-mystical
celebration of the mysterious bohemian lady who was concocted from Joan Baez,
Nico, and probably a pack of other women in Dylan's life (ʽShe Belongs To
Meʼ), nor to the courteous beauty of ʽLove Minus Zero/No Limitʼ, achieved not
so much with the lyrics as with its three descending chords (that bear an eerie
resemblance to ʽDo You Want To Know A Secretʼ — Beatles influence at work?),
nor to ʽBob Dylan's 115th Dreamʼ where the lyrics are, indeed, the biggest
attraction, considering that the words flow together to tell «the greatest
story ever told» in a Dylan song. Or maybe it's the opening fit of hysterical
laughter, prompted by Dylan's backing band missing its cue, that is actually
the biggest attraction? Once the stage is set with those ten seconds of rolling
over, you are already drawn deep into the experience before the song has
actually started.
However, even these songs generally pale in
comparison to the acoustic side of the album: ironic, indeed, that Bob was
reaching his absolute peak in the «acoustic folk» department just as he was all
set to make the transition to «electric rock». The four songs on Side B are
four different musical worlds, a brief, but unforgettable journey through four
types of mindsets that take you from the early morning through the day into the
night and back to the light again — I have no idea just how conscious that particular
sequencing might have been, but I could imagine these four songs in no other
order.
First, ʽMr. Tambourine Manʼ is, of course, the
rising-sun kind of song, not just because "in the jingle jangle morning
I'll come following you", but because the whole attitude is that of a
piper at the gates of dawn, no more, no less. The lyrics are dazzling with
imagery, Bruce Langhorne's subtle electric countervoice in one channel adds
extra sweetness, and only ʽLove Minus Zeroʼ on the first side challenges this
song's monopoly on a «benevolent mood».
Then ʽGates Of Edenʼ comes along like a
prophetic follow-up to ʽChimes Of Freedomʼ — only where the latter made some attempt at making some sense, this one already doesn't. It
is much more stern, with a lot more iron in Bob's voice, and it should offend
Christians, because Dylan's «Gates of Eden» do not offer salvation: instead,
they seem to offer indifference to
everything that is either mentioned in the lyrics or left outside them. They're
pretty Buddhist, in fact, his Gates of Eden — describing a state of nirvana
rather than eternal bliss.
Then, with ʽIt's Alright Ma (I'm Only
Bleeding)ʼ, darkness moves on — this is a 100% nighttime song — no wonder
"darkness" is the first word spoken. In some ways, the tune invokes
the image of creepy old-time bluesmen like Blind Willie Johnson, and Bob even tries
to introduce various complex flourishes into his playing: this is one of the
few of his acoustic songs where an instrumental version (okay, not a
seven-minute long one) would not be uninteresting to hear. Moreover, the song
is quite religious in nature — most people remember it for the "even the
president of the United States sometimes must have to stand naked" bit,
which is Dylan once again challenging the verbal skills of Old Testament
prophets, but there is much more to it. I mean, Dylan actually complaining about
how "it's easy to see... that nothing much is really sacred"? This is
a little personal, nighttime vision of one man's personal apocalypse, and if
you keep thinking about it too long, it might eventually grow pretty creepy, so
be warned.
Then, once the gruelling seven and a half
minutes of the song are finally over, we are brought back to life from the
nightmare with the bright guitar and harmonica of ʽIt's All Over Now, Baby
Blueʼ — despite the categoricity of the title and, once again, the put-down
nature of the lyrics, in this particular context it actually sounds like an
optimistic awakening after the horror of ʽIt's Alright Maʼ. Like ʽMaggie's
Farmʼ, the song is usually understood as Bob's personal goodbye to the folk
scene — or, perhaps, as his personal goodbye to some girl (Baez?) — or, better
still, couldn't we just understand it as a goodbye song in general? Riding off into
the sunset, or, to be more precise, into the sunrise? A goodbye song as the
last song on an album does make sense, doesn't it?
The thumbs up that this record gets should not, of
course, obscure its overall place on the Dylan curve: a major move forward from
the already greatly advanced Another
Side, but still a little faltering and teetering in an environment that had
not yet become fully «natural» for Bob. Most importantly, the electric side is
essentially powered by his voice alone — excited and energized by these new
developments, drawing its strength from the clear understanding that he is
allowing himself to go against the grain and be strong enough to get away with
it. Langhorne's skills at the electric are considerable, but he is still no match
for Mike Bloomfield, nor is there any Al Kooper here to add organ depth to the
sound. On the other hand, this does
make Bringing It All Back Home into
a record that brings Dylan closest of all to whatever could be called «punk
aesthetics» — and for that reason, it might draw its own fanbase that an album
like Highway 61, not to mention Blonde On Blonde, could possibly shoo
away for being way too full of different superfluous ingredients. To each his
own, I guess.
Check "Bringing It All Back Home" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Bringing It All Back Home" (MP3) on Amazon
In spite of the "jingle jangle morning" I've always associated "Mr Tambourine Man" very strongly with the night, more precisely with falling asleep. Remember the fairy tale character "the Sandman", in which Sleep is personified as a kind of benevolent figure that draws you away from yourself and the cares of the waking world to enter the blissful world of dreams?
ReplyDeleteI think Mr. Tambourine Man is the personification of the sort of adventurous feeling that can come over you in the early morning when you haven't slept yet.
DeleteIt's weird. I could spend hours defending The Times They Are A-Changin' (the album), and yet I have always been bored by "Gates Of Eden". For me - the whole thing just lacks a spark, and for one moment I can even buy that ridiculous 'but he is so dull' comment. Well, never mind, rest of the album is brilliant. "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" has always been a personal favourite.
ReplyDeleteBetter than Highway 61 IMHO, so yes, to each his own! Sure enough, "On The Road Again" and "Outlaw Blues" aren't exactly 10/10 songs (but not THAT far from it mind you), but then again so weren't all tracks on Highway 61 (From A Buick 6 is much in the same vein, for example).
ReplyDeleteIn any case, they're short and entertaining and so they doesn't really spoil the grandiosity of the rest of side 1. "Subterranean" and "Maggie's Farm" are protest-garage taken to it's extreme, unlike anything else from early '65 (naturally), and stone-cold Dylan classics. The two folk-rock tunes are moments of pure beauty, and "115th Dream" is probably the most hilarious satire of the American society I've ever heard.
The acoustic side is, however, something not of this world. Quite possibly the single best LP-side there has ever been (sorry, Side 4 of Blonde On Blonde doesn't qualify). "Tambourine Man", when the moment's right, could very well be his greatest achievement.
For me there's a quality/progression comparison with The Beatles run of albums Rubber Soul/Revolver/Sergeant Pepper, with the perfect album being somewhere between the first two and the latter, somewhat, inappropriately overshaddowing them.
ReplyDeleteBringing it all back home & Highway 61 are two of the Dylan albums I return to most and Blonde on Blonde (although bloody good) always seems a little (only a little mind) of a let down in comparison.
theorganicdomino
Well put. My opinion on the subject stated in a nutshell.
DeleteI'm almost disappointed that George gave a thumbs up to this album. I would've thought that he'd go into "Why waste good red ink?" mode, like he did for the Beatles.
ReplyDeleteDylan did "Saved". I think that's the reason why.
ReplyDeleteI meant from this one to Blonde on Blonde.
DeleteI must be a morbid creep. I never get tired of "It's Alright Ma," but then, I could listen to Black Sabbath's Paranoid for days on end, too. It's straight up beat poetry with bluesy guitar accompaniment. The structure of the thing is surprisingly exact and balanced for all those words. And those words! "My (ears) collide head-on with stuffed/Graveyards, false gods..." It's really quite textbook in its form, and honestly, as far as Dylan word games go, I've always felt it was relatively straightforward. No "jelly-faced women" or "ghosts of electricity" to stumble on.
ReplyDeleteMy least favorite from his mid-60's trilogy...despite the brilliance of the lyrics and a few marvellous tunes, there's too much 12-bar songs. I guess his idea of "going electric" was to play a lot of chicago blues. There's only so much "people that talk loud and the prince wish for things that you can't, the midget and madonna, they slaughter the cow, the milkman he plays my lampshade and he burns my guitar" lyrics over some generic band playing the blues.
ReplyDelete