Archive for Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan Was The Artist of The ‘Aughts

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , on December 29, 2009 by johnbuckley100

As the year, and the decade, finish up, a great many Top Ten lists have been published, some trying to capture the highlights of the ‘Aughts, such as there were.  We here at Tulip Frenzy World HQ have resisted the urge to compile a top ten list of the decade’s music because we’ve found that while it’s possible to list a given year’s best records, it’s a perilous task to say what the best collection of songs was in a given ten-year span you’re just now winding up. You need to get about halfway through the next one to really decide what were the keepers, the albums you’re still listening to. For example, a decade ago, we listed Whiskeytown’s Stranger’s Almanac the best album of the ’90s, and it is a great album.  But was it better than Luna’s Penthouse, or Spiritualized’s Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space, or even U2’s Achtung Baby? From the hindsight of a decade, the answer is no.

It’s easier to name a single figure who was the Artist of the Decade, and we noted with curiosity and respect that Uncut had given that honor to Jack White.  Now we like Jack White, so much that we even bought, sound unheard, The Dead Weathers.  (Won’t make that mistake again.) Artist of the Decade?  He may have been the most protean and energetic man in rock in the ‘Aughts.  But Artist of the Decade? Not even close.

When you go to see Bob Dylan, the announcer reads off the same embarrassing, sleazy parody each time as the band comes onto the stage.  You hear the same rap about him as the Conscience of the ’60s,  lost in drugs and religion in the ’70s, etc.  The funniest thing is, I believe this has been Dylan’s greatest decade.  And I believe he is, without question, the decade’s greatest musical artist.

He came plowing into the ‘Aughts with all the momentum of a crafty running back hitting the line, powered by his late ’90s revival album, Time Out of Mind. But that album was a glimpse of twilight, of Dylan facing mortality, and what he’s done since has further assured his immortality.  It was the soundtrack to the film Wonder Boys that livened things up with “Things Have Changed,” which won him an Oscar.  But if the shape of our times was set by the events of September 11, 2001, then surely we should acknowledge that an album released that very day, Dylan’s Love and Theft, was from that moment on a contender for the best album of the coming, dreadful decade.  Love and Theft showed Dylan was not easing into that good night, but had hit upon a bluesy attack with a killer band, funny, poignant, and making the most of his diminished voice.

By 2003, when the soundtrack to Masked and Anonymous was released with it’s live versions of “Down In The Flood” and “Cold Irons Bound,” we got a better sense of what was going on.  I think I played “Down In The Flood” more than any other song during the whole decade; Dylan’s band was the tightest combo since the ’69 Stones, and his voice rode roughshod over the whole ensemble, light and quick, given its gravel bed anchorage.  The Never Ending Tour went on and on, by now avoiding the big arenas and playing minor league ballparks across the land.  By the time Modern Times came out, Dylan had proved that he was every bit as vital in his 60s as he had been in the ’60s.  His albums were hits.  He was hipper than ever.  In some ways, he was better than ever.

Tell Tale Signs was a further revelation, with stronger, alternative versions of songs, some first recorded in the late ’80s, all the way to better takes of cuts from Modern Times. I was disappointed that Together Through Life seemed to have settled into a formula — rewriting Willie Dixon songs and bashing them out with the great George Recife on drums — and it was the first Dylan album of the decade not to be honored by the annual Tulip Frenzy Top Ten List designation.  It was also the first Dylan album ever to debut at the top of the charts.  But all was forgiven; Dylan’s allowed an off album.  Let’s face it, none of his peers ‘cept maybe Willie Nelson have put out an album that really mattered since at least the late ’70s, and Dylan’s maybe just beginning to coast a little.

Jack White’s music may stand the test of time.  We’ll see.  But as we look back on this decade years from now, I know that it was the work of a man in his 60s that will have held up, I suspect better than anyone else’s.  Bob Dylan: Artist of the ‘Aughts.

Why “Together Through Life” Didn’t Make The Cut

Posted in Music with tags , on November 29, 2009 by johnbuckley100

Since Time Out Of Mind more than a decade ago, there hasn’t been a year that Dylan has released an album and not had it make the Tulip Frenzy Top Ten List.  In fact, last year’s Tell Tale Signs was #1, and it comprised mostly alternative cuts of songs that had long since been released.

Together Through Life had some great moments — “Beyond Here Lies Nothin'” and “Forgetful Heart” in particular — but there was something ultimately dispiriting about having Dylan release an album in which several songs were rewritten off the frames stretched by Elmore Leonard or Willie Dixon.  Yes, sure, Modern Times owed and presumably paid royalties to Muddy Waters’ estate.  By this time, though, the act is old, unlike Dylan, the youngest person ever to record more than 50 albums.

We stand second to none in our reverence for the Living Master.  Yet somehow this year we enjoyed Dylan’s interviews with Bill Flanagan more than we enjoyed the actual music he produced.  And the Christmas album?  Please.

We have high hopes for 2010.

Bob Dylan’s “Together Through Life”

Posted in Music with tags , on April 28, 2009 by johnbuckley100

We will not be playing Together Through Life quite as often as we play Love and Theft, which you know was a masterpiece.  The logical question then is, is Together Through Life a masterpiece, too?  Not a chance, but it continues the old man’s winning streak, with coiled Chicago blues, and pretty American waltzes, played by the wizened bandmaster and his ace combo.

“Jolene” reminds us, if reminding we needed, that drummer George Recife really is the incarnation of Fred Bellows, the greatest drummer of Chess Records’ classic period.  We know from the Bill Flanagan interview that Dylan was emulating that sound — Chess Records, Sun Records, all those old analog studios.  In an interview a few years back, Dylan was incredulous about a producer miking each string on his guitar; he’d rather record like a bluegrass outfit, with one mike and the singer leaning forward to be heard.  And of course, doing it the old-fashioned way makes it sound gorgeous.  (It helps to have, in addition to his touring band, Mike Campbell rounding out the guitar section, and David Hidalgo on accordian.)

Too much of the early reviews have focused on the lyrics, not the music.  The music’s what counts at this stage, on a certain level.  Some years ago, Keith Richards tried justifying the Stones’ endless big tours by comparing them to the old bluesmen, Muddy and John Lee, who kept playing into their twilight years.  But the Stones tried to sound like young men, they didn’t age naturally, and the falsity of the stance is just one of the reasons why, as Dylan keeps producing masterworks, the Stones sound kind of ridiculous.  Those old blues men went out on tours, in some case earning the biggest paychecks of their lives long after they were too old to really enjoy it. They played their greatest hits, for the most part.  But Dylan keeps creating; he may be the first man in rock’n’roll history to hit his creative peak as a septuagenarian.  (Thus the touring with his contemporary, Willie Nelson.) So what if Dylan needs a little hamburger helper to serve up this dish — Robert Hunter flavoring the lyrics, rewriting classics like “I Just Want To Make Love To You” to deliver the deadpan hilarious “My Wife’s Hometown,” even reworking Willie Dixon’s “Who’s Been Talking” as the Chipotle-flavored “Beyond Here Lies Nothing.”  He sounds like a man his age — no, not just a man, a master, a Living National Treasure, in the Japanese sense.  Only a master could write a song like “Forgetful Heart.”

There aren’t a lot of analogies to the incredible late work Dylan has produced since Oh Mercy kicked off his mature efflorescence 20 years ago.  Well, maybe this one works:  “Picasso’s final works were a mixture of styles, his means of expression in constant flux until the end of his life. Devoting his full energies to his work, Picasso became more daring, his works more colorful and expressive.”  That 47 years on from his first record Dylan can record an album that is this funny, this pretty, this rocking, is more than a celebratory achievement.  He’s a freak of nature, witness and participant to history, canny enough to have cooked up another one while the snows were deep.  We should enjoy it while we can.

How Bob Dylan’s Different From His Peers

Posted in Music with tags , on April 16, 2009 by johnbuckley100

Oh, this is bloody perfect, from the 67th Volume of the Bill Flanagan interview, this time excerpted in the HuffPo.

BF: A lot of the acts from your generation seem to be trading on nostalgia. They play the same songs the same way for the last 30 years. Why haven’t you ever done that?

BD: I couldn’t if I tried. Those guys you are talking about all had conspicuous hits. They started out anti-establishment and now they are in charge of the world. Celebratory songs. Music for the grand dinner party. Mainstream stuff that played into the culture on a pervasive level. My stuff is different from those guys. It’s more desperate. Daltrey, Townshend, McCartney, the Beach Boys, Elton, Billy Joel. They made perfect records, so they have to play them perfectly … exactly the way people remember them. My records were never perfect. So there is no point in trying to duplicate them. Anyway, I’m no mainstream artist.

Bob Dylan Must Read, Must Listen

Posted in Music with tags , on April 6, 2009 by johnbuckley100

Last week brought us “Beyond Here Lies Nothing,” from the forthcoming (only 22 more days) Together Through Life. Over the weekend, we got to read a frisky fun interview with Bill Flanagan.

(Delicious sample answer to a question about the songwriting on his new album:

“There didn’t seem to be any general consensus among my listeners. Some people preferred my first period songs. Some, the second. Some, the Christian period. Some, the post Colombian. Some, the Pre-Raphaelite. Some people prefer my songs from the nineties. I see that my audience now doesn’t particular care what period the songs are from. They feel style and substance in a more visceral way and let it go at that. Images don’t hang anybody up. Like if there’s an astrologer with a criminal record in one of my songs it’s not going to make anybody wonder if the human race is doomed. Images are taken at face value and it kind of freed me up.”)

He’s a little confused on his Mexican history, stating that the Mexican War, and its resulting real estate transfer of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas to Los Estados Unidos, resulted in Spain, not the sovereign state of Mexico, losing its territory.  But this is a trifling matter compared to important stuff, like his declaration of admiration for Chess Studios.

Then today, we get to listen to the second song released from the album, “Feel A Change Coming On,” and read more of that interview, courtesy of, of all the sites in the cyberworld, Newsweek.  Go here:

http://blog.newsweek.com/blogs/popvox/archive/2009/04/06/an-exclusive-early-listen-to-bob-dylan-s-new-album-together-through-life.aspx?utm_medium=columbia-email&utm_source=bobdylancom&utm_campaign=columbia-email|bobdylancom|20090406

Tulip Frenzy’s Best Album of The Year: Bob Dylan’s “Tell Tale Signs”

Posted in Music with tags , , , on December 8, 2008 by johnbuckley100

Back in October when Tell Tale Signs came out, Tulip Frenzy likened it to Peter Matthiessen’s great novel Shadow Country, released earlier this year, and tying together, while wholly recreating, three of Matthiessen’s novels written in the 1990s.  We wondered then if the house rules allowed for Tell Tale Signs to be considered for Tulip Frenzy’s Album Of The Year, an august designation, but one usually accorded to, well, new music.  But then Shadow Country won the National Book Award, which would tend to indicate that a reworked masterpiece is still a masterpiece, no matter when portions were recorded. Besides, it was new to us.  Unreleased songs from Dylan’s late innings hitting streak, some wholly new, some reworked, this was a revelation. And objectively, it was the …best… album…of…the…year.  We’re grateful he put it out, for not to have had this released would have been like getting only the version of Ulysses that was sent to the printers, without the 1/3rd of the novel that the blind and aging Joyce added in the galley margins.  Dylan has famously rebelled against static reworking of his material:  “Why play a song the same you played it on whatever day you recorded it?” Turned this way and that, these songs reveal an important truth: that not only has Dylan’s work since 1989 been every bit as strong as anything he did in the 1960s, it’s been stronger than anything anyone else has done since then, too.

Bob Dylan’s Magesterial “Tell Tale Signs”

Posted in Music with tags , , on October 8, 2008 by johnbuckley100

There comes a moment in every Dylan concert when you hear someone, halfway through a song, turn to his neighbor and say, “Oh, that’s ‘Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues.” Or whatever the song is he’s finally recognized in its utterly reformed structure.  

In the new issue of Uncut, there’s a wonderfully informative series of interviews, spliced together George Plimpton-style, with many of the participants in the four albums — Oh Mercy, Time Out of Mind, Love & Theft, and Modern Times — whose session tapes were ransacked for this latest installment in The Bootleg Series — Tell Tale Signs.  Over and over again participants relate how Dylan never plays the same song the same way twice.  This can be frustrating to fans at concerts trying to divine from Dylan’s smoke-shot voice and stop-start phrasing just what the Hell we’re listening to. But when it comes to his release of a 39-song, triple CD collection of outtakes, unreleased songs, and the stray live song, it leads not merely to a collection that fills in fanatics’ blanks.  It delivers up a masterpiece.

If the unreleased songs from Oh Mercy here had been available when that album came out nearly 20 years ago, what was viewed as a return to form would have been understood as something else: the opening salvo in a middle-aged rock star’s white knuckled determination to outdo the songs that, as a younger man, had already delivered the stuff of myth. Then the next year came Under The Red Sky, and Dylan was back to scattershot failed definitions of who and what his purpose was.  We had to wait until Time Out Of Mind, eight years after Oh Mercy‘s release, to get a sense of what late-period Dylan was truly building up to.  When the song “Things Have Changed”  won an Oscar after its appearance on the Wonder Boys soundtrack, by now we were astonished — astonished that an artist of Dylan’s calibre would explore age-appropriate themes of death and redemption with the same black humor and melody as he’d previously ennobled youth.  Yet I think that had we gotten a complete version of 1989’s Oh Mercy — with the additional songs, and different takes released on Tell Tale Signs — we would have had at the outset the proper portents of things to come.  Instead, Oh Mercy came off the way Some Girls and Emotional Rescue had for the Stones in the late ’70s: a brief reprise of greatness, before the long slide.  

To understand just how meaningful it is that Dylan offers up different versions of songs we already liked –diamonds of the same size and weight recut by the master into wholly different gems — just listen to “Someday Baby” on Disk One, and compare it to the version on Modern Life.  The latter is one of that album’s highlights — a jaunty, taunting shuffle.  Oh but the new version, with its martial drumming and slowed down pace sends shivers up the spine.  It is starkly beautiful, a reminder of Dylan’s unsurpassed power to stop us in our tracks.  (He’s been doing it for 45 years.)  The Uncut piece has musicians talking about how in the studio, Dylan is continually experimenting with tempo and different keys to make the music fit the words, not the other way around.  It is this level of experimentation that can lead to wildly different results — and in Dylan’s case, spectacular results for each.

The album’s been out for 24 hours.  There are new albums by Oasis, and David Byrne and Brian Eno, and the Pretenders, all waiting for their turn.  There’s a live album by The Clash that has gotten great reviews.  They’ll just have to wait.  When Dylan releases 39 songs from what has proved to be, to these ears at least, perhaps the most meaningful period in his long career, we don’t need to rush.

Listening to Tell Tale Signs made me think of Peter Matthiessen’s recently released Shadow Country.  Mathiessen’s in his ’80s.  He doesn’t have too much time left.  And he spent the last several years not writing a new novel, but taking his trilogy of related novels about Mr. Watson and the Florida of the 1900s and editing them into a single book.  There’s something to be said for that in this context, only the editor has to be us.  Dylan has now given us the archives of his work since 1989.  The four albums — different producers, a core of similar musicians — are clearly of a piece. Yes, his voice has deteriorated even further over 20 years. But we now have the materials to produce our own version of what Dylan’s been aiming for, by putting together a playlist with songs from the original albums, and the better versions, or different versions, we’ve been given.  Dylan calls his incessant road shows The Never-Ending Tour (and the live songs here, like “Lonesome Day Blues” give you a sense of how entertaining his shows still can be, if you’re close enough to the stage to get the band’s full blast.)  Let’s hope that’s an accurate moniker.  One thing that’s clear is we’ve been given all of the elements of a masterwork we can listen to forever.

Elvis Costello’s Late Inning Rally, And I Don’t Mean “Night Rally”

Posted in Music with tags , , on September 9, 2008 by johnbuckley100

Bob Dylan is the exception that so proves the rule that pop artists have golden ages, and once past them, the best you can hope for is a remembrance of things past.  I once was offended when Ira Kaplan told me the Rolling Stones hadn’t put out a really good album since “Exile on Main Street” — this was in 1980, mind you — and notwithstanding the back-to-back delights of “Some Girls” and “Emotional Rescue,” time has proved him right.  So even though I hung in there with Elvis for years, through the fat Elvis, and the bearded Elvis, the Kojak-loving Elvis, even the classical Elvis, the truth is that after “Blood and Chocolate,” it was pretty much a curved road downhill.  Until the surprising “Momofuku” came out earlier this year.

Naturally, this would be the album I’d take a pass on.  Literally, this was the first of his albums I didn’t buy, even the one with the duet with Hall, or maybe it was Oates. And naturally — I discovered to my delight — it’s the best thing he’s done since… well, since “Imperial Bedroom.”  Look, it sounds like it could have been recorded in the Dutch studio where he and the Attractions knocked out “Get Happy.”  It could be a collection of out-takes from “Armed Forces.” Have a friend who knows Elvis but hasn’t hung in there all these years listen to “Go Away, and ask her when it was recorded, and five will get you ten she says “1978,” not “2008.” It’s really that good.

Live, I enjoyed the transition to Elvis Costello and the Imposters a few years ago, but had not realized on this one Steve Nieve was back on the keyboards.  “Momofuku” was recorded in a few weeks, with the story going that Mr. McManus went into the studio without a big plan and… Elvis broke out.  Thank God it did.  Now Elvis gets to move into the same pantheon as Bob Dylan, he being the master of the late career rally.  The Rolling Stones, approximately thirty years without a great album and counting, aren’t even in this league (though their bankers don’t know it.)