Chopping Block: Bob Dylan & The Band

When it comes to double albums, Bob Dylan & the Band’s The Basement Tapes is a weird one. First off, it was never meant to be a double album, or even an album at all.

In the summer of 1967, living in ‘Big Pink,’ a rented house located in West Saugerties, N.Y., Bob Dylan was recovering from a motorcycle accident (not to mention the sky-high pressures of being a reluctant generational spokesman) and writing a few dozen songs to keep himself amused.

Many of these songs turned up as bootlegs, as well as Music From Big Pink, the Band’s 1968 debut. But when 24 of the best songs were officially released, eight years later, Dylanophiles the world over regarded The Basement Tapes as nothing short of a treasure trove, evidence of the fascinating collaboration between rock’s greatest songwriter and one of the most influential folk-rock bands of the 1960s.

(Ever wonder when and where obnoxious Boomer nostalgia first occurred? My bet would be in September of 1975, in Rolling Stone writer Paul Nelson’s breathless, bordering-on-nonsensical review of The Basement Tapes.)

That glittering appraisal still holds true, though it helps if you’re already a Dylan fan. If you happen to be one of those people who just doesn’t ‘get’ Bob Dylan, who can’t stand the sound of his voice and thinks his lyrics are claptrap, The Basement Tapes isn’t likely to change your mind.

Unless, maybe, you just hit the highlights:

Opener Odds and Ends is the perfect starter, an energetic swell of punchy guitars, manic drums and barrelhouse piano backing Dylan at his silliest (opening line: I plan it all and take my place / You break your promise all over the place). Clocking in at 1:47, it’s little more than a promise of fun to follow.

Second song Orange Juice Blues (Blues for Breakfast) features the Band’s Richard Manuel on vocals. Not to damn this song with faint praise or anything, but Manuel is just about as good a singer as Dylan. Let’s keep it. Million Dollar Bash is another sampling of Dylan the comedian (I looked at my watch / I looked at my wrist / I punched myself in the face with my fist), though this one also features a very pretty refrain and some calliope-like organ trills.

Back to the Band: Yazoo Street Scandal boasts a gangsta bass line, the better to serve the lyrics, which may or may not be about a guy whose girlfriend introduces him to a witch who creates a 40-day flood. ‘Old, weird America,’ indeed.

Goin’ To Acapulco was well regarded upon its release, mostly because it wasn’t available in any kind of bootleg form. It’s all right when judged on its own terms, though it sounds a whole lot like the superior Tears of Rage. Plus, Dylan seems to be singing out of his normal range, which kind of makes your ears hurt after a couple minutes. And that guitar solo during the fadeout sounds like crap. This might be nitpicking, but I’m going to cut Goin’ To Acapulco for these reasons.

There’s a serviceable little pop tune at the heart of Katie’s Been Gone, but here it sounds under-rehearsed, as Manuel strains to hit the high notes while the band barely keeps it together. Chop. Lo and Behold! is next, and Dylan (on vocals) still sounds like he’s having the time of his life. It’s quite possible that, on this tune, the guy is consciously trying to make each verse sound dumber than the last one.

When a five-disc bootleg titled The Genuine Basement Tapes -- featuring the hundred or so songs Dylan & The Band recorded during this period -- surfaced in 1992, it was obvious that Robbie Robertson, who arranged and produced the The Basement Tapes, had included a disproportionate share of Band-written songs, perhaps to make the collaboration appear more equal. He’s almost forgiven with Bessie Smith, written and sung by the Band (Dylan can be heard on backup vocals), because it just might be the best song on the entire collection.

Clothes Line Saga follows. It ain’t much more than shaggy dog tale about watching clothes dry, plus it sounds like it was recorded at around four in the morning. We can drop it without much regret. Drunken sing-along Apple Suckling Tree has its charms, though, probably because there’s about ten words to the whole thing. That’s Dylan on piano, by the way.

Please Mrs. Henry is more Dylan nonsense, and this time even he seems to know it, seeing as he cracks up about three quarters of the way in. Joke’s getting a little old, Bob. Chop. The first half finishes strong -- really strong -- with Tears of Rage, a gorgeous lament about an independent, headstrong daughter. Both lyrically and musically, it crushes the Beatles’ She’s Leaving Home, recorded that same year.

Like most two record sets, the second half of The Basement Tapes is the weaker twin. Too Much of Nothing might start off bluesy and cool, but some ill-advised chord changes ruin the whole thing before the first verse is out. Chop. Yea! Heavy and a Bottle of Bread is yet more Dylan-led silliness (sample lyric: ‘Slap that drummer with a pie that smells’). Chop-chop.

The second half justifies itself with Ain’t No More Cane, another awesome Band number, even though it’s a cover of a traditional number written sometime around the turn of the century. Dylan’s nowhere to be heard, and that’s just fine, since the Band infuses this clean, catchy tune with just the right zydeco touch.

The poet returns for Crash on the Levee (Down in the Flood), which is one of those songs you’re absolutely certain is a cover of some ancient blues tune until you read the liner notes and find that Dylan wrote it. Let’s keep it. Ruben Remus (lyrics by Robertson, vocals by Richard Manuel) is a barely-in-tune clunker. Let’s lose it.

Even in this ramshackle, home-recorded setting, Tiny Montgomery sounds terrible (I don’t know if the recording is to blame, but Dylan sounds like he’s three sheets to the wind). You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere is an all-smiles winner, though its placement here seems weird: Shouldn’t this be the one to end the album? It sure as heckfire beats Don’t Ya Tell Henry, which is barroom crud except for some inventive piano work by Garth Hudson.

Nothing Was Delivered finds Dylan in serious mode, though he seems to be feeling generous enough to advise the listener, ‘Take care of yourself, get plenty of rest.’ Come to think of it, this too would make for a good closer to this album.

No such luck. Open the Door, Homer (Is anyone keeping track of how great these song titles are?) is next, and it’s about as negligible as classic era-Bob Dylan can get. Long Distance Operator is the last shot of actual rock and roll on the record, what with some nice harmonica accents on top of a boogie-woogie piano riff.

We finish up with This Wheel’s On Fire, which is one Dylan’s best known songs, thanks to that godawful cover that was the theme to British sitcom Absolutely Fabulous. It’s a decent closer, I guess.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the new and improved The Basement Tapes:

Odds and Ends, Orange Juice Blues (Blues for Breakfast), Million Dollar Bash, Yazoo Street Scandal, Lo and Behold!, Bessie Smith, Apple Suckling Tree, Tears of Rage, Ain’t No More Cane, Crash on the Levee (Down in the Flood), You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere, Nothing Was Delivered, Long Distance Operator, This Wheel’s On Fire.

Comments

[Jamie]

ain't no more cane was recorded in a studio not at big pink, the band wanted to include more songs with them singing etc. this was one they recorded for that reason

[TK]

I suppose people will be listing their My Favorites till the end of time. But why do I bother reading claptrap like this? I don't know. Maybe I keep thinking I'll stumble across like-minded Dylan fans who can appreciate his lesser-known works. Quite frankly Clothes Line Saga is a hoot, an incredible piece not unlike a page from Faulkner set to a lovely melody.

[Chud]

It's funny to watch people pretend to be tough critics. "Chop!" As if. Anyway, Clothes Line Saga and Please, Mrs. Henry are keepers for me. (The latter is funny, which you don't often see Dylan doing.)