Wednesday, February 04, 2015

Song Versus Version

As a big Dylan fan, I enjoyed the tumultuous murmur late last Summer over the impending release of a far more extensive and likely higher-quality version of the recordings made during sessions involving Bob Dylan and the Band in the period after Bob's motorcycle accident.  These recordings came to be known as the Basement Tapes, involving extensive informal sessions in Dylan's domicile and the famous Big Pink house, in the vicinity of Woodstock, New York.  I have the impression that the mere existence of these tapes and the almost-inevitable escape of some into the world may have been what really made bootlegging of recordings into a profitable secondary industry.  I believe the appearance in my favored slightly off-the-grid used-record stores on the Ave of plain-sleeved albums was the first I knew of this phenomenon.  By whatever means, we came to know of at least some of these tunes well before there was any official Dylan release.  Presumably they were being made available to other artists, and that might well have been the key.  Not only did The Band, which I believe only came into being as a recording unit with that name around this same time, include some of this on their first Big Pink album, but in surprisingly short order an amazing diversity of other artists (e.g., The Byrds, Bryan Auger's Trinity, Jackie DeShannon) also released songs we later learned were part of this intensive unique experimental period in Dylan's life.

I have not yet acquired a copy of the Complete Basement Tapes, a six-disc or so collection as I understand it, with a commensurate price tag.  And that release is not actually the subject of this post.  It is more like the sand grain.  Okay, that was more than a grain you just read, more like a shaggy dog.

I was reminded in my savoring of reviews of the upcoming release of Complete Basement of one of the biggest early disappointments in my continual pursuit of Dylan's oeuvre.  No, I did not go postal over Self-Portrait.  Of course this was not a recording I spent a lot of time with, but I did find a number of the quirky cover-choices fun to hear in Bob's voice.  And I thoroughly enjoyed JW Harding, Skyline, and New Morning, for the record.  No, my big '70's disillusionment came upon first listening to the recording Before the Flood, a live recording of Dylan with the Band.  I was horrified to find that the maestro had dramatically transformed all his masterworks, changing the tempos, instrumentation, and seemingly everything I had come to hold dear in my fastidious attendance to his classic recordings.  I gave the vinyl a few listenings, but concluded it was not for me.  I guess, looking back, that I was fully hung up on specific recorded versions of these amazing songs, which five decades have proven to be remarkably resilient and susceptible to extremely diverse interpretations.

Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.

I could also reasonably invoke Bob Seger as a touch-point here:

Well those drifters days are past me now
I've got so much more to think about
Deadlines and commitments
What to leave in, what to leave out
 . . .
I'm older now but still running
Against the wind

Knowing that Flood is laced with Basement business, I made a recent point of acquiring a copy (yes, used, cheap).  I promptly listened to it straight through and was truly blown away.  Fabulous stuff.

There may be multiple lessons in this.  I was pretty loyal in those days to particular song versions which I heard repeatedly.  I was a bit too young to experience any angst over the Dylan folk versus electric debacle, which might have been a valid precursor for this topic.  I remember a few internal conflicts between studio and live recordings.  The Stones' Street Fighting Man is one example.  The Get Yr Ya-Ya's Out live version was the one that really counted for me/us.  But that is also a reminder that I was listening then in a much more peer-influenced environment, with consensus, often unspoken, elevating or demoting a particular recording.

While I of course miss those days and the folks and camaraderie, it is somewhat freeing to find an amazing panoply of music more enjoyable than it was way back when.  It's not just Dylan's earlier offense to my sensitivities, now wholly forgiven.  Classic Sinatra moves me.  I can listen to Glen Campbell!  And an all-time favorite tune, Crazy, of course evokes both Patsy and Willy.

And I have no doubt that the Basement Tapes Complete if or when it comes into my possession, will bring some seriously shit-eating grins (as we had it back then) to my face.