Bob Dylan and The Band
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 11: The Complete Basement Tapes
(Columbia/Legacy)
It’s about time. Ever since Columbia launched this series over 20 years ago, the release of Bob Dylan’s most famous bootleg has been eagerly anticipated. A 24-song version of The Basement Tapes surfaced in 1975 — freshly manicured via overdubs — but everyone knew there was much more in the vaults. With this deluxe six-disc set, comprising 140 tracks, they’ve finally released everything. In addition to the many tunes that circulated in various unofficial editions, Columbia unearthed another 33 songs that have never been heard anywhere. All in all, it’s one of the most important of archival releases.
Casually recorded in Woodstock in 1967 and 1968 while Dylan was recuperating from a motorcycle accident, The Complete Basement Tapes is a sprawling series of official song demos, sketches for tunes, and covers of folk, blues, and rock chestnuts. Cut with The Band, these songs comprise the loosest and weirdest music of his career — and some of the best. The selections veer wildly from soon-to-be pop hits (“Quinn the Eskimo”) to sublime Americana (“Tears of Rage”) to inspired goofs (“I Am Your Teenage Prayer”) to soulful raunch (“Get Your Rocks Off”) to gnostic whatsits (“I’m Not There”) to anarchic blow-outs (“The Spanish Song”).
Greil Marcus dedicated an entire book to this music, comparing its scope and ambition to Harry Smith’s legendary Anthology of American Folk Music. He persuasively argues that Dylan and the Band connected various farflung song forms and remapped the possibilities of traditional American music. This complete set contains a number of Dylan classics that have never been released, including the gospelized “Sign of the Cross,” rollicking “All You Have to Do Is Dream,” breezy “Silent Weekend,” and boozy “Bourbon Street.”
The remastering of the original tapes is top-notch. Even songs from the 1975 edition sound fresh, shorn of overdubs and other tampering. This material can feel raw, but that’s part of its charm. It sometimes sounds as if Dylan and The Band are siphoning songs out of thin air, swept away by a moment that just happens to contain an indelible melody and lyrics full of strange happenings. There’s a new two-disc distillation available, but fans shouldn’t settle for less than everything. Even seeming toss-offs like “2 Dollars and 99 Cents” and “That’s the Breaks” deepen with every spin. The set’s packaging is needlessly deluxe — entombing a lot of bland ephemera in a glossy hardcover book — but the dizzying amount of music makes it irrelevant. It’ll be years before anyone takes its full measure.
