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Watch: Jackson Browne enlists Phoebe Bridgers in his new “My Cleveland Heart” video

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Phoebe Bridgers features in the new video from Jackson Browne for his latest song “My Cleveland Heart” – you can watch the clip below.

The track is taken from Browne’s forthcoming solo album Downhill From Everywhere, which will be released on July 23 via his own Inside Recordings.

Browne stars in the official video for “My Cleveland Heart”, which was released yesterday (May 19). The Alissa Torvinen Kouame–directed clip sees Browne undergoing robotic heart surgery in front of an audience of doctors, with Bridgers assisting in the procedure.

“I thought it was really appropriate to take out my worn-out, useless heart and hand it to Phoebe,” Browne said about the video to Rolling Stone. “Who better to hand [it] to than somebody young, strong and possibly as cynical as me?”

You can watch the unsettling video for Jackson Browne’s “My Cleveland Heart” below.

“What an honour to collaborate with Jackson,” Torvinen Kouame, who also directed Bridgers’ “I Know The End” video, said in a statement about the new Browne clip. “His creativity is inspiring, not solely in music, but in everything he puts his energy into.

“We came up with a script for the video very serendipitously, and Phoebe joining us was a wonderful surprise. The way she received Jackson’s heart and the shot of her watching from the wings… perfectly dark and poetic and Phoebe.”

The Complete Bob Dylan

A meticulous, left-field guide to Bob Dylan’s outstanding output since 1962. Inside: studio albums, singles, EPs, films, live albums, the Bootleg Series, deep cuts, hairstyles, books, and much more from the world of Dylan – all reviewed and ranked for your enjoyment.

Warning: contains multitudes!

Buy a copy here!

Listen: Billy Gibbons shares new single, “My Lucky Card”

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Billy Gibbons has shared a new song, “My Lucky Card“, from his forthcoming album Hardware – take a listen below.

My Lucky Card” is the third single from the ZZ Top guitarist’s upcoming third solo album, which follows 2015’s Perfectamundo and 2018’s The Big Bad Blues. Hardware is due out 4 June via Concord.

The single was released alongside a music video directed by Harry Reese, who also shot the videos for Hardware’s first two singles, “West Coast Junkie” and “Desert High“.

The setting for the music video, Pappy & Harriet’s Pioneertown Palace, has hosted the likes of Paul McCartney, Lucinda Williams and Peaches. In a statement, Gibbons said the iconic location “reflects the rough-and-tumble high desert vibe that was the inspiration for the album”.

Besides Gibbons, drummer Matt Sorum (ex-Guns N’ Roses) and guitarist Austin Hanks play on Hardware.

The track listing for Hardware below:

  • My Lucky Card
  • She’s On Fire
  • More-More-More
  • Shuffle, Step & Slide
  • Vagabond Man
  • Spanish Fly
  • West Coast Junkie
  • Stackin’ Bones (featuring Larkin Poe)
  • I Was A Highway
  • S-G-L-M-B-B-R
  • Hey Baby, Que Paso
  • Desert High

John Lennon and Yoko Ono documentary ’24 Hours…’ is now available to stream

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The mini-documentary about John Lennon and Yoko Ono, titled 24 Hours: The World of John and Yoko, is now available to stream on Amazon Prime Video US.

The 30-minute film is available to watch in full for the first time since its initial release on the BBC back in 1969 through Amazon’s Coda Collection.

“Last seen more than 50 years ago, and having aired just once on TV, this intimate documentary – captured over a five-day period – shows a day in the life of John and Yoko while Lennon was still a member of The Beatles, controversies raged and activism became a central concern in the couple’s everyday reality,” an official description reads.

24 Hours… was directed by Paul Morrison and delves into Lennon and Ono’s creative process, with filming having taken place at London’s Abbey Road Studios, Lennon’s Tittenhurst Park estate and the HQ of Apple Records.

You can watch the full film here (a subscription or free trial is required).

Journalist Alan Light provided a new editorial to accompany the new release of 24 Hours: The World of John and Yoko, in which he describes the documentary as “a fascinating snapshot of a hugely transitional moment for John and Yoko” (via Rolling Stone).

“[It is] a portrait of two energised and inspired artist-activists, with a strong sense of purpose and a fearless attitude, even in the face of resistance and ridicule.”

Meanwhile, John Lennon’s debut solo album John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band was reissued for a new ‘Ultimate Collection’ box set last month. A special edition of Tim’s Twitter Listening Party also looked back on the 1970 record, with Yoko Ono, Sean Ono Lennon and original Plastic Ono Band member Klaus Voormann among participating guests.

Send us your questions for Rodney Crowell

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Last week, Texan singer-songwriter Rodney Crowell unveiled his powerful new single, “Something Has To Change”. It’s a pretty unequivocal statement from a songwriter who’s never felt bound by the sentimental nostalgia of the country music establishment, on his lifelong mission to present the truth as he sees it.

Cutting his teeth in the honky-tonk bars of Houston, Crowell honed his songwriting chops as part of Guy Clark’s Nashville symposium, alongside the likes of Townes Van Zandt and Steve Earle.

He caught his break when Emmylou Harris recorded his song “Bluebird Wine” before recruiting him to join her ‘Hot Band’. His songs were covered by Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson, and he helped launch the career of his then-wife Rosanne Cash in the early ’80s.

But it wasn’t until 1988’s Diamonds & Dirt that Crowell broke through as an artist in his own right, with all five of its singles hitting No 1 on the Billboard country charts.

Since then, Crowell has established himself as a godfather of Americana, reuniting with Harris for a pair of award-winning duet albums in the 2010s and dispensing wisdom across numerous solo records for the likes of Yep Roc, New West and more recently his own RC1 Records.

And he’s poised to dispense some more wisdom as he submits to interrogation by you, the Uncut readers, for our latest Audience With interview! Send you questions to audiencewith@www.uncut.co.uk by Friday (May 26) and Rodney will answer the best ones in the next issue of Uncut.

REM to reissue 1981 debut single, “Radio Free Europe”

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To kick off their 40th anniversary celebrations, REM will reissue their 1981 debut single “Radio Free Europe” on 7″ vinyl on July 23.

Although “Radio Free Europe” was later re-recorded for REM’s 1983 debut album Murmur and released as its lead-off single, this particular mix has not been available since its release on Hib-Tone 40 years ago.

The reissued single will be accompanied by a reproduction of REM’s 1981 three-song demo, Cassette Set, limited to 1500 copies worldwide.

Cassette Set features the songs “Sitting Still”, “White Tornado” and “Radio Free Europe”, recorded at Mitch Easter’s Drive-In Studio in Winston-Salem, NC – essentially his parents’ converted garage – on April 15, 1981, and has never been reissued until now.

Cassette Set’s version of “Radio Free Europe” did make it onto the REM compilations Eponymous and And I Feel Fine…The Best of The IRS Years 1982-1987, mislabelled as the ‘Hib-Tone Version’ – whereas the actual Hib-Tone version, remixed by Jonny Hibbert, hasn’t been available since that 7″ single release in 1981 – copies of which now sell for upwards of £100.

You can pre-order “Radio Free Europe” and Cassette Set here. More special REM 40th anniversary releases will be announced in due course.

Inside Uncut’s July 2021 issue – Prince, George Harrison, Jackson Browne, Liz Phair and more

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A quick note of thanks to everyone who’s been in touch about last month’s Bobfest – we’ve printed some of your letters further in this month’s Feedback pages. Dylan, of course, is the owner of rock’s pre-eminent archive and for this issue’s cover story we have tried to work out what still languishes in another legendary music vault – this one located beneath a certain Paisley Park complex in the suburbs of Chanhassen, Minnesota.

HAVE A COPY SENT STRAIGHT TO YOUR HOME

The work done by Uncut’s crack team of archaeologists has unearthed numerous fresh insights and revelations that, combined, present a parallel history of Prince’s career – from his earliest days in Minneapolis up to the remarkable run of secret gigs he played in the UK during 2014. You will discover, among many eye-opening disclosures, the startling existence of symbol-branded toilet paper, his searching questions regarding late-’80s British indie bands and the truth about his formidable tea-making skills.

Elsewhere, please enjoy Klaus Voormann’s moving account of his long, fruitful friendship with George Harrison – who knew about the Fish Fingers? – as well as new interviews with Jackson Browne, Liz Phair, Lambchop, Bobby Gillespie, Kurt Vile, Tracey Thorn, Ann Peebles, Dot Allison and The Orb. There are also definitive reviews of new albums from Faye Webster, John Grant, BLK JKS, Red River Dialect’s David John Morris and Lucy Dacus, as well as reissues from the wonderful Spirits Rejoice, The Yardbirds and Joni Mitchell.

As you might have gathered, there’s a lot going on this issue. As ever, please let us know what you think, either over on the Uncut Forum or by writing to letters@www.uncut.co.uk.

Take care.

ORDER HERE FOR HOME DELIVERY

Uncut – July 2021

CLICK HERE TO GET THE NEW UNCUT DELIVERED DIRECT TO YOUR DOOR

Prince, Liz Phair, Bobby Gillespie, George Harrison, Lambchop, Ann Peebles, Kurt Vile, Jackson Browne, Gary Bartz, Tracey Thorn, Faye Webster, BLK JKS, The Orb and Joni Mitchell all feature in the new Uncut, dated July 2021 and in UK shops from May 20 or available to buy online now. As always, the issue comes with a free CD, this time comprising 15 tracks of the month’s best new music.

PRINCE: For decades, his vaults have been rock’n’roll’s own El Dorado – a mythical place filled with untold treasures. We carry out an extensive archaeological survey into this legendary archive and discover – via revelatory eyewitness accounts from 3rdeyegirl, Pepé Willie, Dez Dickerson, Shelby Johnson, Matt Thorne and Paisley Park Records’ manager Alan Leeds – a trove of lost albums, mysterious side-projects and secret gigs that amount to an entire parallel history stretching far back to his earliest days in Minneapolis.

OUR FREE CD! DIAMONDS & PEARLS: 15 fantastic tracks from the cream of the month’s releases, including songs by Liz Phair, Lambchop, Faye Webster, Lucy Dacus, Loscil, Billy F Gibbons, Anthony Joseph, Rose City Band and more.

This issue of Uncut is available to buy by clicking here – with FREE delivery to the UK and reduced delivery charges for the rest of the world.

Inside the issue, you’ll find:

LIZ PHAIR: After an 11-year absence, she has returned to reclaim her title of fearless songwriting superstar. But how has a song about Lou Reed, a country-rap crossover hit and her own trailblazing debut helped prepare her to re-enter the fray? “I’ve had to pick myself up from being dead many times…”

BOBBY GILLESPIE: Primal Scream’s inveterate rabble-rouser has written a memoir about his early life and recorded an album of heartworn duets inspired by the country greats. He’s even – finally – come to terms with his early records. But where is all this soul-searching heading? “People want us to take their heads off. But I don’t know if that’s the kind of music I want to keep on making.”

LAMBCHOP: The pandemic has brought back into focus the qualities that inspired Kurt Wagner to make music in the first place. But as a new album ushers in yet another new era for his band, there’s no danger of him dwelling on his many former glories. “Hopefully, I can live up to the future…”

JACKSON BROWNE: From Greenwich Village to LA’s Troubadour and beyond, Jackson Browne has always written songs about love, hope and defiance – but with his new album Downhill From Everywhere these themes have taken on a bold, new urgency. “I’ve always been connected with people who are trying to make things better…”

GEORGE HARRISON: He was a “cocky little boy” of 17 when he met Klaus Voormann during The Beatles’ formative residencies in Hamburg. They remained close confidants and Voormann enjoyed a ringside seat – as friend, flatmate and collaborator – during the Fabs’ imperial phase and, later, Harrison’s own blossoming solo career. Uncut listens as Voormann recalls tales involving fish finger diets, late-night phone calls from “Herr Schnitzel” and the making of George’s very own masterpiece…

KURT VILE: On his role in a brand new tribute to The Velvet Underground. “It was powerful as hell…”

TRACEY THORN: The Everything But The Girl star answers your questions on the New Romantics, working with Paul Weller and how her knitting is going…

ANN PEEBLES: The making of “I Can’t Stand The Rain”.

GARY BARTZ: Album by album with the lifelong sax explorer.

FAYE WEBSTER: New album I Think I’m Funny haha is reviewed at length, while the wunderkind sheds light on her favourite guitar, fake fadeouts and the beauty of Atlanta.

CLICK HERE TO GET THE NEW UNCUT DELIVERED DIRECT TO YOUR DOOR

In our expansive reviews section, we take a look at new records from Lucy Dacus, BLK JKS, John Grant, Faye Webster, Billy F Gibbons, Vincent Neil Emerson, David John Morris, Anthony Joseph, and more, and archival releases from Spirits Rejoice, Joni Mitchell, The Yardbirds, Hailu Mergia & The Walias Band, Squarepusher and others. We catch Tame Impala and Moses Boyd live online; among the films, DVDs and TV programmes reviewed are First Cow, In The Earth, 1971: The Year That Music Changed Everything and My Name Is Lopez; while in books there’s Buzzcocks, Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers and Kristin Hersh.

Our front section, meanwhile, features Jim Morrison, Kurt Vile, Dot Allison and Cedric Burnside while, at the end of the magazine, The Orb’s Alex Paterson reveals the records that have soundtracked his life.

You can pick up a copy of Uncut in the usual places, where open. But otherwise, readers all over the world can order a copy from here.

Paul McCartney documentary series ‘McCartney 3,2,1’ with Rick Rubin coming to Hulu

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Paul McCartney has teamed up with Rick Rubin for a new documentary series on Hulu.

McCartney 3, 2, 1 will explore McCartney‘s musical history as a former Beatle, in a rare one-on-one interview with Rubin.

The six-episode series will span McCartney‘s work with The Beatles and Wings as well as his 50-plus years as a solo artist. It is set to debut on Hulu on July 16.

“Never before have fans had the opportunity to hear Paul McCartney share, in such expansive, celebratory detail, the experience of creating his life’s work – more than 50 years of culture-defining music,” said Craig Erwich, president, Hulu Originals and ABC Entertainment, in a statement obtained by Deadline.

He continued: “To be an observer as Paul and Rick Rubin deconstruct how some of the biggest hits in music history came to be is truly enlightening. It is an honour that Paul chose to return to Hulu to share this one-of-a-kind series.”

McCartney 3, 2, 1 was directed by Zachary Heinzerling, while both McCartney and Rubin are among the executive producers on the project.

McCartney released his most recent solo album McCartney III last December, and released a reworking of it alongside an array of collaborators last month, as McCartney III: Imagined.

St Vincent – Daddy’s Home

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At last year’s Sundance, Annie Clark and Carrie Brownstein premiered a mockumentary they named The Nowhere Inn. Playing augmented versions of themselves, the film cast Brownstein as a director trying to make a documentary that will reconcile Clark’s day-to-day self with her untouchable onstage persona, St Vincent. When the quotidian proves a little humdrum, the Clark character decides to heighten her St Vincentness for the sake of the movie, growing ever more spectacular, concocted and elusive. “I know who I am,” she notes. “What does it matter if anyone else does?”

The unknowability of St Vincent has provided much of her intrigue and also her appeal over the course of five albums (and one collaboration with David Byrne). Yes, there were Grammys, accolades, albums of the year, but the essential question of who really lay beneath the veneer has hovered over much of her career. Accordingly, the vocabulary used to describe Clark and her music has often suggested cleverness rather than emotional heft: arch, meta, provocative; complex, mischievous, ambitious. Critics described her work as if viewed behind glass, and at a distance.

The great surprise of Clark’s sixth album, Daddy’s Home, is its sense of proximity. These are songs that, long after first listen, you find under your fingernails, and scenting your jacket. “Gritty. Grimy. Sleazy,” as she puts it, their lyrics filled with characters wearing “last night’s heels on the morning train,” or turning up “at the holiday party red wine-lipped a little early,” carrying a Gucci purse like “a pharmacy.”

Clark has told how these songs were inspired by “music made in New York between 1971-1975” – a specificity of both time-frame and geography that might seem little more than an exercise in genre-dabbling, were the reason for the inspiration not so devastating.

Two winters ago her father was released from prison, having served time for his part in a multi-million-dollar stock manipulation scheme. Clark began writing this new collection of songs at that time, “closing a loop on a journey that began with his incarceration in 2010.” Her father’s imprisonment and subsequent release had, she explained, led her back to the vinyl he introduced her to in childhood. Records she believes she has “probably listened to more than any other music” in her entire life.

At points, Daddy’s Home can sound like a distant turn through a long-ago radio dial – half-heard flickers of half-remembered songs: “Pay Your Way In Pain”’s echoes of Bowie’s “Fame”, for instance, while “My Baby Wants a Baby” leans heavily on Sheena Easton’s 1980 release “9-5 (Morning Train)”. Throughout, the vocals of Lynne Fiddmont and Kenya Hathaway bob up like Thunderthighs backing Lou Reed.

The effect is not so much musical impersonation, but rather something more immersive; a plunge into the singer’s personal memory bank, a tangible, sensuous experience. The melding of saxophone, synths, Wurlitzer, horns, the extraordinary angles of Clark’s guitar, the stretch and snap of her voice, bring a sense of city heat: they press against your skin and wind round your legs, sultry and thirsty and fevered. Between them, three ‘Humming Interludes’ hang like a haze.

Much of Masseduction felt like a lost, lustful examination of inner emptiness – “the void is back and I’m blinking” as she memorably put it on “Hang On Me”. Daddy’s Home suggests a richer inner life, charged with internal desires: “Where can you run when the outlaw’s inside you?” she asks on the title track. “I can’t live in
the dream,” she notes elsewhere. “The dream lives in me.”

There are a lot of trapped people on this record, whether that is the incarcerated (the jelly-legged cabaret of the title track addresses her father’s jail time head-on), or those wanting to flee from a relationship (“You make a home I run away and the story starts again,” she sings on “My Baby Wants A Baby”), or the caged bird of “Candy Darling”. Others still explore all the ways we try to set ourselves free: pharmaceuticals, liquor, crashed cars, bodega roses, suicidal ideation. The result is something close, dark and airless.

And yet there is a deep and buoyant beauty here too: the combination of Clark’s voice, feathered and sweet, against surges of brass on “…At The Holiday Party”, for instance. The drowsy, inebriated drift of “Live In The Dream”. And throughout, the warm, buffering presence of Fiddmont and Hathaway. On previous records, Clark’s tales were told in a manner that was brittle and upright and shiny; here she sounds to have loosened her grip: the edges are softer, the layers are denser, the mood a little more mañana.

It would be wrong to mistake sonic warmth for knowability. Wrong, too, to suppose that these songs are any less rigidly devised and constructed. And yet, listening to Daddy’s Home brings a sense of exhalation, a filling out, an openness, that is as unexpected as it is wonderful. Yes she’s still arch and meta and provocative, still complex and mischievous and ambitious. But on this record, Annie Clark seems to stand just a little closer.

Introducing the Ultimate Music Guide to Creedence Clearwater Revival

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Buy the Ultimate Music Guide to Creedence Clearwater Revival now!

When I first picked up a copy of Willy & The Poor Boys in the 1980s, I’m not sure whether I ever got much further than “Fortunate Son”. The riff, the righteous self-definition, the rhythm driving the song forwards. It was excellent, and it seemed – to someone then far too uptight to choogle – to give me all I needed to hear.

Over 30 years later, it’s not unreasonable to think John Fogerty didn’t need to get much beyond “Fortunate Son” either. It forms the title of his autobiography, of course, and was one of the key battlegrounds on which his recent conflict with the former president of the United States was fought. It’s an urgent and passionate rock ‘n’ roll record, but also a faintly misleading one – it might sound raw, but it was anything but thrown together. Fogerty didn’t just write the songs: he gave out the parts, woodshedded his band, and also produced the records.

As you’ll discover over these 124 pages of new and archival writing about Fogerty and Creedence Clearwater Revival, this approach was the fuel for an 18 month hot streak in which many of his Creedence classics – “Bad Moon Rising”, “Proud Mary”, “Lodi”… the Dude-pleasing list goes on – were written. As contemporary reporters observe in these pages with a mixture of puzzlement and delight (“Bayou Beat” is one attempted definition of what the band are up to), the group became, in a world struggling to accustom themselves to their absence, a band as big as The Beatles were. As one contemporary observer has it in these pages: the place where The Beatles were trying to get back to is where Creedence started out.

How simple it all sounds. Fogerty’s relationship to his music, however, has proved a complex and conflicted one. As Creedence records sold in their millions, he jostled with other band members about his tight control of the music, and faced tough questions about his management of the group. His brother left the band. Having created joyful music, Fogerty began to question the terms he and the band were working under, the whole enterprise becoming intractably linked to poisonous business disagreements. After creating a one man bluegrass band, Fogerty effectively retired from music, not emerging until the triumphant Centrefield album in 1985.

His has been a unique journey, marked by periods of intense activity followed by long retreats and deep reflection on his work. In recent years, he has been revitalised by wife Julie and his family, which has lately culminated in his role as a rock Lord of Lockdown, and great Fogerty’s Factory record in which he revisits some of his Creedence classics in the company of his “family band”. His latest release, “Weeping In The Promised Land”, meanwhile, finds a blue collar American hero calling the powerful to account. As we speak, he is restless again, hard at work on preparing a new album.

Come with us, as we hitch a ride to the end of the highway.

The Ultimate Music Guide to Creedence Clearwater Revival is in shops now, or you can buy it directly from us by clicking here – with free P&P for the UK.

Paul Weller – Fat Pop (Volume 1)

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Now into his seventh decade, Paul Weller has resisted any and all invitations to write his memoir. At the last count six biographies bearing his name have been published, but ever the modernist, Weller views his creative past rather like a motorist might look in the rear-view mirror – foot on the pedal, in constant forward motion.

However, for anyone seeking a set text to lead us to the existential essence of Wellerworld, there is one book that will get you further than the others. Published in 2007, Suburban 100 saw Weller select his favourite lyrics spanning his time with The Jam, plus The Style Council and his solo years. Included almost as footnotes at the bottom of every lyric were quotes from Weller himself, shedding light on the inspirations, circumstances and intentions that helped give life to modern standards “That’s Entertainment”, “Shout To The Top” and “Wild Wood”.

Let’s look at what Weller has to say about The Jam’s second No 1 single “Start!”: “I was thinking about the power of music and the power of a pop song, how two or three minutes could say so much to so many. And what’s it always meant to me. I was stripping words back to the bare minimum at the time, just getting to the point. Pop music, for want of a better term, is the only art form that can communicate directly and emotionally on that level.”

It almost certainly wouldn’t have occurred to Weller as he alighted upon the title of his new album that 40 years had elapsed since “Start!”; a proper modernist doesn’t dwell too long on these things. But the rest of us are not bound by those rules. And so it’s oddly touching to see the title track on his 16th solo album worshipping at the same thematic altar as its distant predecessor, albeit with a lolloping funk gate, the occasional smoke plume of woodwind and garnish of G-funk keyboard, with space between those constituent parts for Weller to navigate a familiar line of inquiry: “Who raised the game when the game was poor/And sent our heads in search of more/Made you question all you’d learnt before?/Ah, Fat – Pop!”

The existence of Fat Pop is proof that music can act as a lifeline even in the most turbulent of times. Had the world not ground to a halt in 2020, much of Weller’s year would have been spent promoting and touring On Sunset, its acclaimed predecessor. For the proprietor of Black Barn Studios, set in the Surrey countryside, not far from the Woking streets of his childhood, here was a chance to maintain his momentum – and to have fun in a world which, at times, seemed bereft of it. It’s there from the outset. Vocally and lyrically, “Cosmic Fringes” dips from the same inkwell as a young Ray Davies, refracted through a bolshy persona that recalls recent Baxter Dury albums. Over a krautrock groove, Weller recasts himself as a self-styled online warrior, omnipotent in front of his screen – “Stumble to the fridge/And back to bed again” – but impotent beyond the home he never leaves.

In the tradition of previous opening tracks “Green” (Sonik Kicks) and “Mirror Ball” (On Sunset), as well as the title track to Wake Up The Nation, you suspect “Cosmic Fringes” is there to shake up expectations, ruffle a few feather cuts. For all of that, though, what sits at the heart of the record is a cluster of songs that, for all their experimental flourishes, draw deepest and most audibly on Weller’s lifelong love of soul music. Turning in his most prominent guest vocal since Kate Bush asked him to help her on her 2011 song “Wild Man”, that’s sometime Amen Corner legend Andy Fairweather Low trading lines with Weller on “Testify”. If Curtis Mayfield or Jon Lucien were still around, it’s no great stretch to imagine them assisting on “That Pleasure” – a sun-soaked call to love that feels like a sublime companion piece to a handful of cosmic soul invocations from the Modfather’s canon, most notably On Sunset’s “Baptiste” and Wake Up The Nation’s “Aim High”.

It’s in this musical and emotional postcode that most of Fat Pop’s most stellar moments are to be found. In the days of The Jam and The Style Council, when Weller wanted to find a means of imparting spiritual uplift with gospel directness, he had to borrow songs by other singers – “Move On Up”, “Promised Land” – to do it. Not any more. “Can see the good things in your life?” he asks on “Cobweb / Connections”, as a sweet holding pattern of acoustic downstrokes and handclaps is blown into the blue by a chorus that beseeches its audience to revel in the miracle of their own consciousness. On “In Better Times”, he’s the paternal confidant, trying to make his own experiences meaningful to a lost young soul whose own lack of them has cast them adrift: “What you need is to see/It’s OK to be yourself/And that with belief/The world will do the rest.” He gets to the final verse without shedding a tear. You might not.

Would the teenage Weller have baulked at the sunny universality that beams out from so much of Fat Pop? Possibly, but then so would many of his fans in their younger years. The sense that these are truths earned merely by turning up to the job of being alive on the bad days as well as the good is the heat source of so many of Fat Pop’s greatest moments. To listen to “Glad Times” is to be reminded in an instant that he’s long since found the expressive tools to become the thing he once admired from afar. Listen to the way Weller sings, “We go for days without a word/Without a kiss/Both looking for something that we missed”, and it’s no stretch to imagine Bobby Womack inhabiting the same role, urging his lover to stay strong in the turbulent now so that they can be together later, when better days ensue. The regretful self-interrogations of “Failed” are measured out over a kinetic chug that calls to mind JJ Cale. There’s a palpable ache at play here that echoes the mood of the Wild Wood album: “If everything was different now/How different would I be?/If I could change one thing around/Would that pattern still be complete?”

The Weller of 2021 is happy to mainline his inspirations but stops short of being in thrall to them. To understand how he does that, note the celestial rush of strings that eddies around Weller’s vocals on “Glad Times” and “That Pleasure”. Both arrangements by fêted electronic expeditionary Hannah Peel confer upon these songs a sense of wonder that propels them beyond their constituent parts. If Weller likes your new record, you’ll soon know about it because there’s every chance he’ll invite you to do something on his. If you’re listening to the album’s second song, “True”, for the first time, you’re likely also receiving your introduction to Lia Metcalfe of Liverpool trio The Mysterines. That’s Weller’s daughter Leah on “Shades Of Blue”, who, with her own solo debut out shortly, seems to have been as productive as her dad during lockdown.

And here, as with every album since Wake Up The Nation, is engineer and co-producer Jan “Stan” Kybert. As resident de-clutterer of Weller’s sound-world of some 10 years’ standing, it seems to be Kybert’s presence that allows Weller to blur the boundary between experimentalism and enthusiasm without losing sight of the ultimate objective: to make something that scratches the same itch that first propelled him and his audience into a record shop. This is why he’ll never make the big legacy album or reform his previous bands. To keep that hunger alive, you need to feed it with new inspirations. What you can hear on Fat Pop is the reciprocation of that care. As some promising young songwriter once put it, “What you give is what you get”. That was the theory – 41 years later, here’s the proof.

Watch a trailer for Edgar Wright’s Sparks documentary

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Edgar Wright’s documentary film The Sparks Brothers will premiere in the UK at Sundance Film Festival: London on July 29, before screening in selected cinemas across the country the following day.

Watch the official trailer below, featuring testimonies from the likes of Beck, Flea, Jane Wiedlin, Thurston Moore and Todd Rundgren:

According to a press release, The Sparks Brothers unearths “many seldom-seen, or never-seen treasures, from childhood home movies to a Mother’s Day card written by Russell, to a glimpse of the Maels in the audience at The Big TNT Show in 1966, to Ron falling off his stool during the recording of ‘Something For The Girl With Everything.'”

Manic Street Preachers announce new album, The Ultra Vivid Lament

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Manic Street Preachers have announced that their new album, The Ultra Vivid Lament, will be released by Columbia/Sony on September 3.

Listen to lead single “Orwellian” below:

According to the band, “The track is about the battle to claim meaning, the erasing of context within debate, the overriding sense of factional conflict driven by digital platforms leading to a perpetual state of culture war.”

The Ultra Vivid Lament was recorded over winter 2020/21 at Rockfield Studios in Monmouth and the bands’ own Door To The River studio in Newport with longtime collaborator Dave Eringa. It features two guest vocalists: Julia Cumming (Sunflower Bean) on “The Secret He Had Missed” and Mark Lanegan on “Blank Diary Entry”.

Anyone who pre-orders The Ultra Vivid Lament from the official Manic Street Preachers store will gain access to the pre-sale for the band’s upcoming tour – dates below. Tickets go on general sale on Friday May 21 at 10am.

New Dates
26 September, Newcastle, City Hall
28 September, Edinburgh, Usher Hall
29 September, Dundee, Caird Hall
1 October, Stoke On-Trent, Victoria Hall
2 October, Manchester, Apollo
4 October, York, Barbican
5 October, Glasgow, Barrowlands
7 October, Leeds, Academy
8 October, Portsmouth, Guildhall
10 October, Bournemouth, Academy
11 October, Cambridge, Corn Exchange
13 October, Bath, Forum
14 October, Bristol, Dome
3 December, London, Wembley Arena

Previously Announced
16 July, Cardiff, Arena (NHS workers show)
17 July, Cardiff, Arena (NHS public show)
30 July, Pikehall, Y Not Festival
7 August, Linlithgow, Party At The Palace
29 August, Alcester, Camper Calling Music Festival
10 September, Halifax, Live at Piece Hall
18 September, Jersey, Electric Park Festival

Stephen Stills on CSNY: “We were all quite full of ourselves”

With CSNY’s Déjà Vu reissue on sale any day now, here’s an expanded version of the interview with Stephen Stills that appears in the June 2021 issue of Uncut. “Déjà Vu had the most expensive album cover in the history of album covers,” Stills reveals to Peter Watts. “And that was all my fault!”

Hi Stephen, are you doing?
I am just coming out of hibernation. I got my second shot yesterday and my hair didn’t fall out so I’m still in the game. It’s been like an extended sabbatical. The initial stress lifted gradually as I realised I was comfortable and I had a good safe house, and I just switched off. It was great actually, I got a bit of perspective on things. I live in the middle of LA in the Hollywood Hills between Sunset and Ventura, a bit over from Laurel Canyon. I like it here.

How are things in the US?
It all went nuts over here for a while. I hope you guys are doing well over there. Being English, you have a bit more discipline. I lived in London and then I bought a house in Surrey and I loved it. You do rather well with your eccentrics. You let people live. It’s true, right back to the Chelsea Arts Club.

Have you been making any music in hibernation?
I have got a working arrangement with my bass player, Kevin McCormick, and we have been plonking out a few songs. I’ve been recording because I have everything I had in the 70s in the studio right here in my house.

Enough for an album?
No, the older you get the slower the come. But eventually. Right now it is pretty raw. The vocals are good and the playing is good for the most part, though there have been instances where I get to the solo and I completely forget how to play the guitar. It’s frightening actually. So I probably have about six, nearly an album, we’ll see. I had to stop myself because they were all starting to sound like limericks, talking blues and all topical and all concerning King Me – Trump. I had to wait for that to die down. But I need to get some distance on it. When I am ready I will put them down but I have to make sure the lyric police shows up. It’s like there’s the vomit draft and then you get some discipline and try to clean it up. Sometimes they fall out fully formed but quite often there’s a bit of a rewrite.

Has the Déjà Vu reissue brought back a lot of memories?
I was just reading some of the press from back then and it was a lot of bollocks. We had all come to think quite a lot of ourselves. The bless of fame was wearing off. Some people get famous and the more famous they get the smarter they think they are and they know everything about everything – that was rampant among us, but judging by what I’ve been reading in the press of the time everybody was doing a great job of covering up just how prickly it was. We talked everything to death and that would take hours. It was the adjustment to working with Neil. For myself, I was already in the process of moving and had one foot in Europe. I was ready to make an escape to find new mates to pal around with, to discover England – freshly mowed grass and lager and guineas and all the usual stuff. That was great and a tremendous load off my mind.

How did Neil change the dynamic?
Neil was one of those who wanted us to sing it and play it at the same time and be done, and the first time you get it right – that’s the take. I like a bit more polish so I’m not actually that fond of these extra tracks in the reissue. I was thinking about this last night and for me it’s like seeing the mannequins undressed in the shop window. Why do you want to put these out there even though they sound great?

Isn’t there a raw honesty to them?
Yeah, if you say so. For me it sounds like we’d just got the words correctly in the right order. Some of it is good. It was odd. I had a knee replacement last year so I was flat on my back while these were being collected and a bit distracted. They sent me MP3 files that sounded like rancid shit, the worst car radio on an AM setting. That was very hard for me to listen so I didn’t realise they had taken such a deep dive into my vault. They went on this excursion, it was like this archaeological dig, so when the final set finally turned up I was, “Wait, what’s all this?” Neil has always been the smartest one of us, he gave us three songs and kept the rest. He’s now put together his own archive over the years, and I found that quite clever actually. It’s what I was supposed to be doing but with one thing or another it went out the way. So I have mixed feelings. I’ve often got my foot stuck in my mouth so I don’t want to make too much of it. But it’s nice to remember that time and this is very reflective of it.

Fans seem to always want more.
Well, they think they do.

Neil seems to release everything.
He releases everything in huge batches. I always thought it was excessive but he seems to do it very well. I’m happy for him and look forward to be playing with him now I am free to mix and mingle.

You were all writing so many songs in this era.
I know. It was a ridiculous amount. I don’t recall much argument about which tracks we agreed to use on Déjà Vu. I basically chose to absent myself until they made up my mind, but I knew which ones of mine I wanted to use and I couldn’t control anything else. The secret was to get the best ones and then stop.

Did you ever discuss making it a double album?
I don’t think we discussed making Déjà Vu a double. I think everybody had one foot in their solo project. I was planning mine and it turned out great because I could quickly differentiate between what was CSNY and what was solo. A lot of the stuff that’s on this record was recorded in the UK, and that’s where I recorded my first and part of my second solo albums.

How do you differentiate between solo and CSNY?
Well, it’s if it warrants harmony. Simple as that. It was e-harmony.com that brought us together.

Do any of the songs bring back particular memories?
When we first arrived in San Francisco, we went down to Wally Heider’s in the Tenderloin which is sort of like your East End. Graham and I quickly realised we didn’t have an opener, so we had this intense conversation. We were staying in this horrid motel and that’s where the lightning struck and I wrote “Carry On”. I played that for Graham the next day and said “Will that do?” and he was very happy. We were quite keen at the beginning of these sessions but then it seemed to drag on and on.

That song has an amazing harmony – did you write that?
I didn’t particularly know it was going to be those particular notes. That’s what we relied on Crosby for. He always came up with that stuff. As an aside, I am really happy that he got If I Could Only Remember My Name re-released because that is a great album.

You were all about to record great solo albums – were you holding stuff back from CSNY?
Not that I necessarily recall. There were things in pieces and you’d think, well that sounds more like a solo bit. It was logical choices like that rather than gaming it.

Did Neil offer you anything that appeared on After The Goldrush?
I’m not sure. I don’t recall him offering anything from that album which we turned down. Not that I recall, anyway. I’m not being evasive, this was 50 years ago and in the clouds of time….

Absolutely. Give me an idea of the working relationships.
For “Déjà Vu”, David insisted he could make the transition from the beginning into the really slow dirgy part, but we said just get the right one and we’ll cut it together. He kept trying and 100 takes later or something absurd, we finally heard one that worked after we’d basically exhausted him. It was close to right, but we’d heard the perfect first part a couple of takes before and the second part he’d just recorded picked up nicely, so we said, “That was great David, go home.” The minute he left the building we took it apart with razor blades and cut it together. The next day we said, “Do you like your car, we had it painted?” He surrendered once he heard it but there was a tension-filled few hours there.

What do you remember of your own out-takes that feature here?
There’s one track on here that everybody says I played all the parts, but it sounds to me like it’s all of us together. That’s the song “Ivory Tower”. It was eventually released under a different name with Manassas. I recorded it four or five times, this is the second one. Then I stepped back and thought the lyrics were kind of mean so I lightened up again and released it under the title “Little Miss Bright Eyes”. That song was originally about all of us. We were all quite full of ourselves and it was that teenage angst at almost 30.

David had lost Christine [Hinton] at this point – what do you remember about that?
He put all the energy into making the record but he was grieving mightily.

Would you have treated David differently now?
Shoulda woulda coulda – I dunno. I don’t think like that.

Was Joni Mitchell ever around during the sessions?
Joni wasn’t around but we cut “Woodstock”. I went and played her my arrangement and asked for her permission. We were isolating ourselves in the tradition of all self-indulgent rock bands, lock the door so we could do whatever the fuck we wanted. I played her my version of “Woodstock” and years later I regret not using more of her really good strange notes. I made the melody a little straighter and in retrospect I wonder… I played on Blue not long after this. I played any time she asked me. Some were used, some were forgotten but I didn’t care, it was Joan. What do I remember of Blue? Not a lot. Everything was moving very fast, so the minute I had a spare couple of weeks I was over recording with her. I’d come in, figure it out and when I got the thumbs up I was gone until the next time.

I’ve always loved “4+20” – it’s such a strange song.
“4+20” captured that mood and juvenile thought and laid it to rest immediately upon singing it. I like the take I did with the catch in my voice best of all but we did a second one for reasons unknown and then put both on here. I like the original best, the one with the catch. What do I like about it? I like I have a catch in my voice. It sounds like what it should be, a first take and very passionate, getting straight into that mood and then quickly extracting myself. We all liked that one but they made me do it again just in case 50 years later they wanted to cobble together a loosely associated amalgam of all the out-takes as a last gasp before the frigging copyright ran out. At this point, you have to laugh.

What was Neil’s contribution beyond his own two songs?
Neil played on “Woodstock” but fuck if I remember. It was that time, everything was going on. Neil was pretty hard to catch, but he’s still my best mate. We still have that ferocious thing we do when we play together but we never left any room for it on the records. We saved that for live, when we can play right over the top of each other so it starts chording and stuff. I haven’t done that for a while but we have this Light Up The Blues thing planned, that’s my wife charity for autism. We were going to do it live but we are going to do a Zoom cast, I guess. We’ve had to reinvent the wheel, but if the Democratic National Convention or the Colbert Show can do it, then it should be all right.

Are you talking to Graham and David?
I’ve talked to David and as I said I’m glad he got that album out because I’ve always thought that album was the bollocks. I haven’t spoken to Graham for ages. The proof is in the pudding. What’s the difference? I don’t care anymore. It was a long time ago. I had a good time, then I didn’t. We had our big stadium tour, that was fine and we kept going. The last tour we did of Europe was just the most fun. David and Graham were at each other’s throats, but I had a great time. Everybody was looking at me saying, “Oh, my God. Who knew? You turned out to be the sane one.”

Do you have plans to tour?
The last tour I did with Judy Collins about two years ago, I knew when I got off the bus I was so beat up I had a feeling that would be it for a while. Then I got my knee replaced and then the Pandemic hit. So I have basically been a lazy dog for quite a long time and I kind of like it. The road – I loved playing, but the travel with all these nagging injuries you get at this age? I dunno, I paid my dues.

Tell me something about Déjà Vu you’ve never told anyone.
Well, it had the most expensive album cover in the history of album covers and that was all my fault. Because I thought of that concept of the old picture and the old photo album and then the art director took it and made it perfect. Ahmet [Ertegun] never let me forget about it. He changed it back to a photo of the mock-up as quickly as they could. Couldn’t Atlantic afford it? Tell them that! I’m still trying to find out if they double billed for the sessions. I’m biting the hand that feeds, so I’d better stop before I talk myself into too much trouble.

Watch a video for Rodney Crowell’s new single, “Something Has To Change”

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Outlaw country stalwart Rodney Crowell has announced that his new album Triage will be released own his own label RC1 through Thirty Tigers on July 23.

Watch a video for lead single “Something Has To Change” below:

Triage producer Dan Kobler recounts the process of making the album: “On December 1st, 2019 Rodney and I began to work on a group of new songs. In fits and starts, the process of refinement, reconstruction, and realization took us through the new year and into this new era of isolation.

“Seven out of ten songs started with a band in a room at my studio, Goosehead Palace. With Rodney on an assortment of vintage Gibson acoustic guitars, one crew consisted of Steuart Smith (guitar), Larry Klein (bass), and John Jarvis (piano) – the other Audley Freed (guitar) and Lex Price (bass) – both anchored by Jerry Roe (drums). Later, Jen Gunderman and Kai Welch came in and coaxed sounds out of analog keyboards; Rory Hoffman played harmonica; Eamon McLoughlin and David Henry fashioned a string section out of a fiddle and cello; I added guitars and synths and organs; Wendy Moten, Tanya Hancheroff, Ruth Moody and John Paul White lent their singular voices in harmony.

“When the pandemic set in, some version of the record was near completion. But with Rodney’s tour schedule wiped clean, he found himself quarantined with his wife, Claudia, two dogs, and a pen and paper. More songs presented themselves. Old songs were discarded. New and improved verses came more clearly into view. Masked up, he returned to the studio to re-record new lyrics and lay down the framework for three more songs. Two were sent around to various friends for remote collaboration: Greg Morrow, Joe Robinson, Michael Rhodes, Kai Welch, Kris Donegan, Catherine Marx, Craig Young and Ray Mason; the third was sent to its co-writer John Leventhal who built a world of acoustic instruments and familial voices.”

“Not a moment of this album is unconsidered. Time and time again the question was asked: does each word, each note, every instrument and sonic choice serve its song? Is each song in service of the spirit of Universal Love? If not, it had to go. The result is a piece of work both Rodney and I take immense pride in.”

Check out Rodney Crowell’s tourdates for the rest of 2021 below:

May 27 in Savannah, GA @ Savannah Music Festival – SOLD OUT
July 27 in Baton Rouge, LA @ Manship Theatre?
July 29 in Houston, TX @ The Heights Theater
July 30 in Austin, TX @ The 04 Center
July 31 in Dallas, TX @ The Kessler Theater
August 19 in Atlanta, GA @ City Winery
August 20 in Decatur, AL @ Princess Theatre Center For The Performing Arts
August 21 in Oak Ridge, TN @ A.K. Bissell Par
August 22 in Charleston, WV @ Mountain Stage at The Culture Center Theater
September 10&11 in Gstaad, Switzerland @ Country Night Music Festival
October 8 in Boothbay Harbor, ME @ Opera House
October 9 in Brownfield, ME @ Stone Mountain Arts Center
October 10 in Boston, MA @ City Winery
October 12 in Fall River, MA @ Narrows Center for the Arts
October 14 in New York, NY @ City Winery
October 15 in Philadelphia, PA @ City Winery
October 16 in Vienna, VA @ Wolf Trap
October 17 in Hopewell, VA @ The Beacon Theatre
October 27&28 in Franklin, TN @ Franklin Theatre
November 6 in Menomonie, WI @ Mabel Tainter Center for the Arts
November 10 in Stoughton, WI @ Opera House SOLD OUT
November 11 in Chicago, IL @ City Winery
November 12 in Grand Rapids, MI @ St. Cecilia Music Center

How Bob Dylan made Blood On The Tracks

As part of our celebrations to mark Bob Dylan’s 80th birthday, here’s our oral history of the Blood On The Tracks sessions that first appeared in Uncut’s November 2018 issue.

As More Blood, More Tracks plots a revelatory path through the making 
of Blood On The Tracks (The Bootleg Series, Vol 14), Nick Hasted talks to Dylan’s key collaborators from both the album’s New York and Minneapolis sessions. A picture emerges of the artist at his most creatively restless…

New York

DAY 1: 
SEPTEMBER 16, 1974

Sessions begin at A&R Recording Studios, 799 7th Avenue in the early afternoon. At first, it is just Dylan and engineer Phil Ramone – accompanied by Ramone’s assistant, Glenn Berger. Later in the evening, a band is convened…

GLENN BERGER [assistant engineer]: I was 19 in September 1974, working for Phil Ramone as an assistant engineer at a time when multi-track recording was making production central to the artistic venture. My first session had been with Paul Simon, who could take 
a year to make a record. And then Dylan came in and appeared not to care about the production at all. He didn’t care who the musicians were. There was no producer. Phil was just the engineer. It was mind-boggling. He asked Phil to put a band together, and Phil bumped into Eric Weissberg, a great musician who played on a lot of folk records, as well as “Duelling Banjos” from 
the Deliverance soundtrack. 
Eric brought in his band. These musicians were absolutely psyched to work on the new Dylan album.

THOMAS McFAUL [keyboards]: 
I held Dylan in high regard as an artist then and now. Playing on a Dylan date was a big deal.

BERGER: There was a special feeling about it because Dylan was coming back to Columbia, and to 
the studio where he’d recorded his earliest stuff. John Hammond [who signed Dylan to Columbia in 1961] came into the control room, thrilled to be there. But Dylan didn’t interact much with anybody, except [Columbia executive] Ellen Bernstein, who was his protector. We were warned that we needed to protect his privacy. 
Phil made a special point that nobody was to talk to him. You know, the faultiness of memory is weird. I don’t remember him coming in solo before bringing in the band. I was really shocked to find that out. If Dylan had started out intending to make a folk-style record, and then brought in the band and thought, “It’s not going to work and I just won’t do it,” it would certainly explain a lot. But it didn’t appear that calculated.

McFAUL: Dylan was already at A&R when I arrived. He was cordial at the outset, asked us if we wanted to go on the road with him, said he wanted to play only prisons. Before we started recording, Dylan was sipping grain alcohol from a paper cup, but I don’t recall him ever seeming to be intoxicated.

BERGER: Richard Crooks [drums] was in 
the vocal booth. Dylan came onto the studio floor with the musicians and started running down a tune. 
If a singer-songwriter doesn’t have 
an arranger, 
the musicians will take two 
or three hours minimum learning the tune and coming up with arrangements. We never got to that point. Dylan would just start playing another new tune without telling anybody. We were racing to keep up.

McFAUL: I don’t remember him saying much at all about the music. Sometimes he would ask to roll 
tape before running the song down all the way through even once. 
He’d say something like, “Then there’s a bridge; it’s like any other bridge, you’ll get it.”

BERGER: Phil’s approach was to make the technology as transparent as possible, so Dylan would never even know that he was in a recording studio.

McFAUL: There was no guidance at all from Phil Ramone, and Dylan’s approach was more like a concert performance than a recording session. He would ‘perform’ the song and if he didn’t like it, he would stop and say, “We don’t like that, erase it.” Dylan used the royal “we”.

BERGER: So Dylan is playing, and everyone is aware of the clacking of his buttons on the guitar. Phil was afraid to hit the talkback and tell him. Nobody dared counter what 
he was doing.

McFAUL: The big problem was 
the cue [the music audible in the headphones] and the isolation. The cue was all Dylan, none of the other instruments. My Hammond B3 organ was way in the back of the studio. I could not hear myself at 
all, nor could I hear any of the other players apart from Dylan. The setup was ridiculous, actually. How can you make a contribution as a band when you cannot hear one another? At first we complained to Phil, but Phil never changed anything. Later on, I concluded that his concern was to get as much of Dylan on tape as possible. It mattered less what we played. He isolated our instruments as much as possible to avoid leakage into Dylan’s vocal and guitar mics.

BERGER: He’s cutting “Idiot Wind”, and just spitting this mean, angry, hurtful song, and it’s so incredibly intense and vulnerable and real. And then he turns to us in the control room and says, “Was that sincere enough?” I think it was such an intense emotion that he had to make some distance from it, by making that funny remark.

McFAUL: I remember the lyric 
of “Idiot Wind” was about fame, 
and how fame is isolating, with no one telling you the truth any more. 
I was thinking how ironic that was because that was exactly what was going on at the session – no one told Bob what they were feeling.

BERGER: The band is figuring out their parts, and if somebody hits a wrong note, Dylan tells them to stop playing. Then two or three takes later, he starts playing a different song without telling anybody, so of course the guys screw up, and drop out. The energy in the studio went from incredible excitement to shock and disappointment. He essentially fired the band, without giving them a chance to do anything. Tony Brown, the bass player, was the 
only one who remained.

DAY 2: 
SEPTEMBER 17, 1974

Without the band, Dylan presses on with bassist Tony Brown. They are joined, briefly, by Paul Griffin (keyboards) and Buddy Cage (steel guitar)…

BERGER: There was no record with the band, really. It was the stuff with Tony Brown and Dylan that was powerful and compelling. We had adapted in the control room to the way things were going down. We weren’t taking the time to scrutinise takes. We were just cutting one 
song after another. It was an unconscious approach.

TONY BROWN [bass]: What made it doubly difficult for me was that Dylan had his guitar in an open tuning, yet he was fingering chords on top of that tuning. So it was virtually impossible to read the chords unless you knew the tuning, which I didn’t! However, it gave his guitar a distinctive sound, which can best be heard on the New York version of “Tangled Up In Blue”.

BERGER: Tony was just staring at Dylan’s hands, trying to figure out the next chord and keep up. There was no warmth or camaraderie. That may have contributed to the intensity of the experience, that those were not happy sessions. Certainly with the record’s content and Dylan’s marriage breakdown, there were a lot of dark feelings in the room. Bob didn’t know the 
guys from the band, he didn’t ask for them. But Paul Griffin was his idea. He was an older, straight-ahead jazz guy. He came in with a big smile on his face, and there 
was no direction, consistent with everything else. It didn’t work, 
and he walked out with the smile still on his face.

DAY 3: 
SEPTEMBER 18, 1974

The shortest day of the sessions – just four versions of “Buckets Of Rain” are recorded…

BERGER: Maybe ‘savant’ was the right word for Dylan in the studio. He was so focused in terms of his performance, but very disconnected on a human level. He didn’t know who was in the room with him. 
He was in his own universe. The electricity was when he was performing. As soon as he opened his mouth, the intensity was 
mind-boggling, and he would change the verses spontaneously from one take to the next. It appeared me that he was channelling something from a universal source. I’ve worked 
with a lot of great artists including Sinatra, and Dylan was the only 
one who appeared genius-like. Something was flowing through him. Maybe when he’s not performing, he’s turned off. 
When the switch turns on, it’s all magical power.

DAY 4: 
SEPTEMBER 19, 1974

The final day of the New York sessions. Dylan and Brown find their stride. An unexpected visitor is rebuffed…

BERGER: During the day, we were mixing the Stones’ Bedspring Symphony, a live show from their ’74 European Tour for radio broadcast, and Jagger wanted to come over. Mick Jagger was the most charming, affable guy. He could charm one person or 50,000 in a stadium. But their meeting – and I think they’d met once or twice before that – fell flat. We talked about it afterwards and Jagger said, “We could have hung out together and had fun.” And they didn’t. Dylan just wasn’t really available for that.
Dylan didn’t come to the mix sessions. That was unheard of. 
Phil and I mixed the record in a couple of nights, then we cut 
the test pressings. And we thought it was done. But Dylan now became quite concerned. He’d ring us at the studio. And I’d hear Phil going, ‘No, Bob, really, this is one of your best ever!’ But then he would call again. He was very anxious about the quality of the thing. Then Phil 
came in with a blanched look on his face and said that Dylan had re-recorded the album…

MINNEAPOLIS

DAY 1: 
DECEMBER 27, 1974

Staying with family over Christmas, Dylan worries over what he perceives as the album’s flaws. Finally, his brother David and his managerial protégé, local singer-songwriter Kevin Odegard, put together a band to re-record five songs at the city’s Sound 80 Studio…

KEVIN ODEGARD [guitar]: I’d first met Bob when I did demos for him a year or so before that. We were all from northern Minnesota. Bill Berg [drums] was from Hibbing like Bob, so the connection got even stronger. The vibe was very different in our room than it was in New York. He wasn’t the movie star with us. He was a Minnesota kid.

GREGG INHOFER [keyboards]: Kevin said, “Do you wanna do a session?” He couldn’t tell me what for. I had no idea it was Dylan.

CHRIS WEBER [guitar]: I wasn’t hired as a guitarist; I weaselled my way in. I was a singer-songwriter, but was now mainly running the Podium music store. Kevin calls me there asking about a Martin guitar, and I had a 1937 0042G. He wouldn’t say who it was for, but I was told 
to bring it to his apartment. After waiting 30 minutes, we drove to Sound 80. It was cloak and dagger.

ODEGARD: Studio 80 is an L-shaped room, with reflective surfaces everywhere, and a 
vocal booth surrounded by glass. Everything was much more state of the art than A&R. The sessions were mercifully short, and Bob cut to the chase. He knew what he wanted.

WEBER: It’s still a pretty big room, maybe half a basketball court. Everyone could see and hear each other. In my memory, Bob was wearing blue jeans, leather boots because it was 20 below outside, dark, comfortable clothes, and was smoking non-stop. He asks to see the Martin. The studio was noisy, so I said we could go in the vocal booth. We sit down knees to knees in this silent, tiny place, and my heart’s jumping out of my chest. He’s friendly and droll, and says, “Play that guitar for me.” Then he says, “I’m going to teach you a song.” He showed me the chord progression of “Idiot Wind”. It’s an odd change, a C minor to a D chord. When I replayed it for him, I changed a chord, from A minor to A minor seventh. He said, “Teach it to ’em that way.”

ODEGARD: Chris Weber told us what key things were in and got us to the first take. Bob would take us the rest of the way.

WEBER: Bob would smoke 20 cigarettes while I taught the band, then we’d record it. That became the pattern. Then he tells me, “I need you to play guitar.” It turned out he’d been auditioning me.

ODEGARD: Bob was reticent, shy. Doing a lot of scratching on little pink notes, updating lyrics. When he was sitting there silent, looking into himself, that was Bob finishing up these songs. That’s called songwriting behaviour.

INHOFER: Bob’s son Jakob was there. Someone went across to a bar to get some milk for him.

ODEGARD: The songs were startling. Especially the first thing we heard, “Idiot Wind”, which was dissonant and not pleasant. That first C minor chord was very strange. We didn’t necessarily know what to do. We kind of looked at each other. 
I was thinking, “I’m lucky I wasn’t asked to play on this, because it’s too complex for me.” He was getting comfortable, too. He started softly. All of a sudden it was take 7 or 8, 
and it started to take on aspects of Highway 61 Revisited. The organ 
that Bob overdubbed ran it into that realm. It took on the personality of those angry ’65, ’66 songs.

INHOFER: Bob wanted me to play this slidey growl on the Hammond, and I did not play a lot of Hammond then, and didn’t know how to do what he wanted. So he played organ on the overdub as I played piano.

ODEGARD: Nothing really went too long after “Idiot Wind”. Two or three takes and that was it. Bob and Bill Berg carried the rest of that session. Bill was a highly trained drummer, who’d been in a Navy marching band. He was a people-pleaser, and was there to make Bob happy. So anytime Bob nodded or moved his body, Berg responded instantly. Their chemistry made the sessions in Minneapolis stick.

ODEGARD: Billy Peterson had 
to leave at 8.30 for his jazz gig downtown at the Longhorn Club. We did one more song, “You’re 
A Big Girl Now”. Bob overdubbed flamenco guitar, and we closed up shop for the night thinking that was it, and I had not played a note. We looked at each other in disbelief, and went back to our lives. I was a railroad brakeman at the time, and ready to take a run down to Iowa when the phone rang again.

INFOFER: That weekend we got 
a call. “Bob wants you to come 
back in.”

DAY 2: 
DECEMBER 30, 1974

The band are convened for a second day of sessions. “There was a new confidence, energy and trust,” we learn…

WEBER: It all came together. 
It just rolled.

INHOFER: Bob had written down the chords to “Tangled Up In Blue” on a bit of newspaper, threw it down on my organ and said, “Here’s the next song.”

ODEGARD: There was no tension, urgency or immediacy to it. It was just another Bob Dylan song. And because by that point everyone was comfortable, I was able to advise Bob to move the song up from the key of G to A. I thought if he had to work and reach for those notes, he’d sound more like Highway 61. That was in the back of my mind. Four 
or five measures into the tune, Bob knew it was going to work. He said, “Let’s try it this way.”

INHOFER: When Bob first started showing us the song, it sounded tired and dark. When the key was up, the tempo picked up, the mood brightened, and I think he liked the challenge, because that was some of the best Bob Dylan vocal stuff I’ve ever heard. And he had a cold.

ODEGARD: I was sitting five feet from Bob Dylan singing “Tangled Up In Blue” in one take. It was the most perfect six minutes of my life. Bob was giving me cues. And he was listening to me. He paid attention 
to everybody. He had the genius ability to take it all in, and put out 
a superhuman amount of creative energy all at once.

WEBER: Most of the guitar you 
hear is my Guild 512 12-string, which is a jumbo-bodied cannon, with enormous tone and a sound like an organ. Then Bob grabs the Martin and starts “Lily, Rosemary And The Jack Of Hearts”.

INHOFER: I lost concentration on that a couple of times because of how simple it was musically; you can hear a wrong chord here and there on the record. It’s really long, and it was hard to follow the story.

WEBER: My friend Peter Ostroushko arrived with his mandolin. Bob said, “Can you play 
a butterfly [arpeggio] sound?” Peter said, “The fret gets really narrow high up there.” So Bob mostly played it on “If You See Her, Say Hello”. I overdubbed the 12-string, and we were finished. When I got the Martin guitar back, it looked like it had been through a hurricane, with long scratches from Bob’s nails.

INHOFER: Did he say thank you 
at the end? Who, Bob? I saw him a couple of months after the sessions, watching the Stray Cats at a local club. I walked over and said, “Hey, Bob, I’m Gregg, I played on Blood On The Tracks with you.” And he just looked round and said, “Yeah…” Then he went back to watching the Stray Cats. I guess I didn’t make that much of an impression!

ODEGARD: What’s really amazing is, given the different temperament of the sessions, you can play Blood On The Tracks through and it 
works seamlessly.

INHOFER: The New York sessions were a lot darker. New York seems 
to me, “Here I am in despair of a breakup.” Minneapolis was, “I just broke up, but I’m going to move on.” I think there was more warmth for him in Minnesota in general.

BERGER: Most of the New York musicians ended up not on the record, and the Minneapolis guys were never credited on it. So there were a lot of unhappy people. I’m 
a psychiatrist and have analysed what makes artists great, and part 
of it is shamelessness – not to care about how you treat people, to get what you’re looking for. Sometimes it works. Dylan’s walking on the tightrope, and we’re not.

Bob Dylan – Rough And Rowdy Ways

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Prepare for Bob Dylan’s Rough And Rowdy Ways Tour arriving in the UK this week with Richard Williams’ definitive review of Dylan’s most recent studio album, Rough And Rowdy Ways…

Bob Dylan

In his 2016 Nobel Prize lecture – which he did not deliver in person but eventually published as a recording, with piano accompaniment, and a short book – Bob Dylan began with a memory of how seeing Buddy Holly in person and being given a Lead Belly record changed his life. But then he went on to talk about the books he read in school that had made the deepest and most enduring impact on him: Moby-Dick, All Quiet On The Western Front and The Odyssey. He closed his speech with Robert Fitzgerald’s 1961 translation of Homer’s opening invocation: “Sing in me, O Muse, and through me tell the story.”

This was four years after Dylan had released Tempest, his last album of original material, and while he was in the middle of recording 50-odd songs from what is now generally referred to as the American songbook: the show tunes of Harold Arlen, Irving Berlin, George Gershwin, Jerome Kern and so on. Released between 2015 and 2017 as Shadows In The Night, Fallen Angels and the three-disc Triplicate, they received a mixed reception, many turning up their noses at what appeared to be a misguided project, and certainly an overextended one. In the first place, why would Dylan attempt to perform pieces already rendered definitively by others (e.g. Frank Sinatra) when the earliest and most influential phase of his own career had amounted an organized assault on the values represented by those songs, with their moon-and-June lyrics and their neat 32-bar AABA structures?

Gradually it became apparent that Dylan might have been up to something all along, just as he had been when he recorded the Basement Tapes in the ’60s and a couple of solo albums of blues and folk songs, Good As I Been To You and World Gone Wrong, in the early ’90s, using them as co-ordinates with which to realign his musical SatNav. You can’t take liberties with Tin Pan Alley songs like “Stormy Weather” or “My One and Only Love”. You sing their finely wrought chromatic melodies as well as you possibly can, while allowing the lyrics to speak clearly; otherwise, don’t bother. And that is what, despite the effects of time on his vocal range, he did. So anyone who saw his concerts during this period – at the Albert Hall in October 2015, for instance – had to be struck by the way his attitude to his own songs had changed.

Listeners were no longer invited to spend the first minute of a song teasing out the clues to “Blowin’ In The Wind” or “She Belongs To Me”. This seemed a good thing. The technical exercise involved in phrasing the lines of the standard tunes – the sort of challenge for which Sinatra swam underwater in order to improve his breath control – must have appealed to Dylan, whose gift for shaping the cadence and internal rhythms of long lines, even when completely ignoring the melody, has always been just about his most unfairly overlooked expressive talent.

What is also perhaps underappreciated is the appeal of his speaking voice. The 101 programmes of his Theme Time Radio Hour series showed us (and perhaps him) what a wonderfully expressive reader he can be. It became hard to imagine a book of any sort that wouldn’t be improved by Dylan recording its audio edition. And that, too, has a very practical application to his new collection, in which his lyrics are spoken as much as they are sung.

As the three albums of standards made their appearance, it was also clear that his regular band of musicians were achieving a new synthesis, something much subtler than before. The new sound was softer, gentler, more fluid, carefully adapted to provide a cushion for Dylan’s ageing voice. His decision to do without the cabaret cushioning of a piano was crucial to its success. Instead there were strings of several kinds: violin, double bass, acoustic guitar, steel guitar, all blending into a flow that owed less to Nelson Riddle than to Western Swing and the Hot Club de France. It may have lacked turbulence but was never devoid of an inner energy and direction.

What he was also doing, or so it seems now, was waiting for inspiration. In the Nobel lecture, his discussion of The Odyssey is particularly animated. Homer’s poem is, he says, “a strange, adventurous tale of a grown man trying to get home after fighting in a war. He’s on that long journey home, and it’s filled with traps and pitfalls.” After describing some of them, he continues: “It’s a hard road to travel… some of these same things have happened to you. You too have had drugs dropped into your wine. You too have shared a bed with the wrong woman. You too have been spellbound by magical voices, sweet voices with strange melodies. You too have come so far and have been so far blown back. And you’ve had close calls as well. You have angered people you should not have. And you too have rambled this country all around. And you’ve also felt that ill wind, the wind that blows you no good. And that’s still not all of it.”

Maybe The Odyssey was pushing itself to the forefront of Dylan’s mind just as he began to consider the possibility of writing and recording a new album of original songs. Perhaps, in the interim, he had also read Emily Wilson’s radical new translation, in which the opening lines are rendered: “Tell me about a complicated man. Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost…”

The evidence is there, if you want to look for it, that the myths and legends of the ancient world – and of Homer in particular – formed a significant part of the library of material consulted by Dylan while he was assembling the 10 new songs making up Rough And Rowdy Ways. There’s a song called “Mother Of Muses”, for a start: the title refers to Mnemosyne, the daughter of Uranus, the god of the sky, and Gaia, the mother of the earth. Mnemosyne slept nine nights in a row with Zeus in order to give birth to the nine muses, among them Calliope, the muse of epic poetry. “I’m falling in love with Calliope,” Dylan sings. “She doesn’t belong to anyone, why not give her to me?”

Mnemosyne’s name, derived from the Ancient Greek word for “memory” or “remembrance”, was also given to one of the five rivers of the underworld. The dead drank from Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, in order to erase all remembrance of past lives before being reincarnated. To drink instead from Mnemosyne, the river of memory, was to be granted the opposite and achieve omniscience.

Perhaps only the omniscient have a licence to put together songs in the way Dylan does, creating mosaics from fragments of the past and investing the result with fresh meaning through force of personality and poetic vision. Joni Mitchell, for one, has been dismissive of his reliance on adapting other people’s work in what kinder judges call “the folk process”, but when the result is as powerful as Rough And Rowdy Ways, the method seems more like a kind of justifiable artistic alchemy.

All of it comes together in an album named after a Jimmie Rodgers song (“My Rough And Rowdy Ways”, 1929) and containing song titles lifted from Walt Whitman (“I Contain Multitudes”), William Burroughs (“Black Rider”) and Shakespeare (“Murder Most Foul”), as well as a song (“False Prophets”) borrowing its entire template from Billy “The Kid” Emerson’s “If Lovin’ Is Believin’”, a 1954 B-side. Unlike T. S. Eliot, Dylan doesn’t provide footnotes. Spotting his allusions and joining them up is part of the fun. You’re entitled to punch the air if you recognise the line “Red Cadillac and a black moustache” as the title of a song by the rockabilly artist Warren Smith, which Dylan recorded for a Sun Records tribute album called Good Rockin’ Tonight in 2002. That’s up to you. But he doesn’t hide his references. A song built on the elements of Jimmy Reed’s style – a blues shuffle, its verses punctuated by single high harmonica notes, ending with a direct quote (“Can’t you hear me callin’ from down in Virginia”) –is titled “Goodbye Jimmy Reed”.

That’s one of the tracks exploiting a roadhouse 1950s R&B style familiar, in particular, from Together Through Life, the predecessor of Tempest. It’s a style in which his musicians are steeped. Other songs exploit the lyric qualities of steel guitar and bowed double bass to create something different and more distinctive, a fluid and sympathetic accompaniment to Dylan’s current mode of vocal delivery, which veers from near-recitation to near-singing.

I Contain Multitudes”, the opener, typifies the second approach. It slides in, free from tempo for its opening verses, slipping into a Django Reinhardt groove and out again a couple of times, but with everything moving at the deliberate pace set by his voice. As with all but one of the songs, the lyric is built on sequential couplets, every verse in this case ending with a line preceding a repetition of title: “I fuss with my hair and I fight blood feuds,” “I paint landscapes and I paint nudes,” “I play Beethoven’s sonata, Chopin’s preludes…” There are mentions of William Blake (namechecking “Songs of Experience”) and Edgar Allan Poe (“Tell Tale Heart”), and a truly bizarre set of juxtapositions: “I’m just like Anne Frank, I’m like Indiana Jones / And them British bad boys, the Rolling Stones.” And still he can pluck your heartstrings: “Red Cadillac and a black moustache / Rings on my fingers that sparkle and flash / Tell me what’s next, what shall we do? / Half of my soul belongs to you.” Who could resist?

The tone is harsher and the voice more of a growl on “False Prophet”, a slow-rocking Elmore James groove with a valve-driven sound, harking back to the sort of calculated distortion Daniel Lanois brought to the production of Time Out of Mind in 1997: bruised, abraded, patinated, but now less self-consciously so. And more great piled-up couplets: “I’m the enemy of treason, the enemy of strife / I’m the enemy of the unlived, meaningless life / I ain’t no false prophet, I just know what I know / I go where only the lonely can go.” Whoever plays the bottleneck guitar does a fine job, particularly on the fade.

With “My Own Version Of You” we’re back in an strange reverie as reverbed guitars, pattering brushes and a stealthy swooping steel accompany a long recitative studded with cartoon absurdism – “I’ll take the Scarface Pacino and the Godfather Brando / Mix it up in a tank and get a robot commando / If I do it up right and get the head on straight / I’ll be saved by the creature that I create” – and artful phrasing. Listen as he delivers “I want to bring someone to life, turn back the years / Do it with laughter and do it with tears”, compressing the first line and expanding the second to match it, adding a mock-suspenseful pause before the final word — he’s knows you’ve already guessed it, as you will guess the outcome of many of these couplets, although that’s not for the worse since they convey the naturalness of speech.

I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself To You” may be the most cumbersome title of his career, but the track also one of his loveliest creations. A Neapolitan mandolin and a half-hidden marimba conjure the image of a lone figure sitting in a waterside café on a warm evening, while male voices hum a four-note melody behind him: “I’m sitting on the terrace, lost in the stars / Listening to the sound of the sad guitars / I’ve been thinking it all over, and I’ve thought it all through / I’ve made up my mind to give myself to you.” There doesn’t seem to be any irony at work here. Maybe these are the lovers from “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go”, 40 years on, still entangled in complex emotions and on the brink of a reunion. A simple, graceful guitar solo prefaces the final verse: “I’ve travelled from the mountain to the sea / I hope that the gods go easy with me / I knew you’d say yes, I’m sayin’ it too / I’ve made up my mind to give myself to you.”

The subdued mood is dialed down a further notch for “Black Rider”: simple acoustic guitar and mandolin, just marking the chords, sometimes almost disappearing behind dream-like lyrics that sound as though they’re being written on water. Murmured to a rival or maybe to an alter ego, they contain perhaps the most surprising single word in Dylan’s entire recording career: “Black rider, black rider, hold it right there / The size of your cock will get you nowhere / I’ll suffer in silence, I’ll not make a sound / Maybe I’ll take the high moral ground…” The song drifts along until it just vanishes completely, like a pebble in a pond.

Goodbye Jimmy Reed” does exactly what it says on the tin. A sluggish 12-bar shuffle, patterned on Reed’s “Honest I Do” or “Baby What You Want Me To Do”, with slapping drums, several rhythm guitars probably played by guys with names like Lefty and Earl, a strong lead, a walking bass, and a striking opener: “They threw everything at me, everything in the book / I had nothing to fight with but a butcher’s hook.” It ends on a squeezed high note from the mouth-harp as the endless boogie fades on down the road.

The unamplified delicacy returns with “Mother Of Muses”, a hymn-like song making stately progress against a bowed double bass, a muffled bass drum and a finger-picked gut-string guitar. As well as Mnemosyne – “Take me to the river, release your charms / Let me lay down a while in your sweet loving arms / Wake me, shake me, free me from sin / Make me invisible, like the wind” — Dylan addresses a host of spirits, somewhat surprisingly including World War Two generals Georgy Zhukov and George S. Patton, “who cleared a path for Presley to sing / Who guard the path for Martin Luther King / Who did what they did and then went on their way / Man, I could tell their stories all day.”

Crossing The Rubicon” seems like a settling of old scores and debts: a slow, plodding, pared-back sermon from the primitive church of the blues, evoking John Lee Hooker as his most darkly simmering: “I can feel the bones beneath my skin, and they’re trembling with age / I’ll make your wife a widow, she’ll never see old age.” Someone, anyway, is going to get cut with a crooked knife.

For “Key West”, which at nine and a half minutes is the album’s second longest track, the atmosphere switches back to the gentle acoustic drift, with an accordion prominent in the sultry, drowsy mix. A story that begins in McKenley Hollow – a hiking trail in the Catskills, part of the Big Indian Wilderness, a half-hour drive from Woodstock – moves down to Key West, on the southern tip of Florida, where the Gulf of Mexico meets the Atlantic ocean and, as the song notes, Harry S. Truman established a southern White House. Hibiscus and bougainvillea are in bloom, a pirate radio station is sending inspiration from Luxembourg or possibly Budapest, and the singer is guarding against the threat of “bleeding heart disease” while musing on how he ended up here: “I was born on the wrong side of the railroad track / Like Ginsberg, Corso and Kerouac / Like Louis and Jimi and Buddy and all of the rest / Well, it might not be the thing to do / But I’m sticking with you through and through / Down in the flatlands, down in Key West.” The pirate radio signal comes and goes, unlike anything resembling winter weather. “Key West is fine and fair,” he sings. “If you’ve lost your mind, you’ll find it there.”

And so we come to the bomb that dropped on the morning of March 27 this year. “Murder Most Foul”, at almost 17 minutes, is his longest recorded song, an epic conclusion to the album in the manner of “Desolation Row”, “Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands” and “Highlands”, except that this one is rooted in an specific event at a precise and pivotal moment in contemporary history. Described in a jigsaw of detail (the triple underpass, Dealey Plaza, the grassy knoll, Oswald and Ruby, Parkland Hospital, Love Field), the murder of John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963 takes its place amid a flood of references to films and songs and books, from Frank Capra’s It Happened One Night and Dorothy B. Hughes’s Ride the Pink Horse to all the records the singer implores the radio DJ Wolfman Jack to play: “Wake Up, Little Susie”, “Lucille”, “Memphis in June”, Slim Harpo’s “Scratch My Back”, “Blue Skies”, Oscar Peterson, Charlie Parker and “‘Love Me Or Leave Me’ ” by the great Bud Powell” (which doesn’t actually exist).

On an album whose most ambitious songs are marked by the ebb and flow of slow and slow-medium tempos, on this one any sense of strict metre is abolished altogether. Piano, bowed bass, a viola (maybe a violin as well), drums and possibly a harmonium follow the chord changes together but play out of time, taking their rhythmic cues from the recitative, creating slowly rolling waves of sound that billow and recede. In a sense it’s closer to John Coltrane’s masterpiece “Alabama”, a tempo-less elegy for the four black schoolgirls murdered by white supremacists in a church bombing two months before the Kennedy assassination, than to anything Dylan has tried before in all his decades-long exploration of folk music, rockabilly, county or R&B. He can still surprise us, this complicated man.

Inside Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue: “A floating ship of crazies!”

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As part of our celebrations to mark Bob Dylan’s 80th birthday, here’s our oral history of the Rolling Thunder Revue that first appeared in Uncut’s June 2019 issue.

Welcome, then, to the Rolling Thunder Revue
Bob Dylan‘s colourful charabanc that wound its way across America during 1975 and 1976. Peter Watts talks to tour insiders and hears tall tales involving doppelgangers, Beat poets and mysterious shamen. “It was extraordinary,” recalls Joan Baez. “You just wanted to be there.”

In 1974, Bob Dylan decided, not for the first time, he wanted to do something different – only he wasn’t entirely sure exactly what. After his successful comeback tour with The Band and the acclaim of Blood On The Tracks, he could have pursued a lucrative, conventional touring model. Instead, he envisaged “something like 
a circus,” he explained to his friend Roger McGuinn. From such a loose idea, however, emerged something entirely unique: a free-wheeling, multi-artist caravan – the Rolling Thunder Revue – that began in October 1975 and finished up in May 1976.

The Rolling Thunder Revue was conceived in the folk venues of Greenwich Village and took Dylan and friends around the small towns of New England and Canada. Liberated, Dylan wore hats, scarves and flowers and sometimes performed in masks or whiteface. Venues were town halls and civic centres, where the players often arrived 
with hardly any notice. Shows lasted four hours 
– sometimes two sets a day – and culminated in mass singalongs of “This Land Is Our Land” or “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”.

The tour mixed old friends – McGuinn, Joan Baez, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Bob Neuwirth – 
with new faces like bassist Rob Stoner, multi-instrumentalist David Mansfield, violinist Scarlet Rivera and singer Ronee Blakley. There were wild cards like Mick Ronson, Allen Ginsberg and T-Bone Burnett, guest appearances from Robbie Robertson, David Blue, Arlo Guthrie, Kinky Friedman, Gordon Lightfoot and Ronnie Hawkins. Joni Mitchell played one show in New Haven and enjoyed it so much, she joined the tour.

At the same time, Dylan was making Renaldo 
& Clara – with playwright Sam Shepard as the nominal screenwriter – shooting concert footage alongside largely improvised scenes like Dylan’s visit to Jack Kerouac’s grave with Ginsberg. The first leg culminated with a benefit show for imprisoned boxer Rubin “Hurricane” Carter at Madison Square Garden on December 8.

A second leg took place in spring 1976 but didn’t have the spirit that made Rolling Thunder such a blast for performers and audiences alike. “There was so much music on that tour,” recalls Larry “Ratso” Sloman, the Rolling Stone reporter who wrote a book about his experiences, On The Road With Bob Dylan. “Music in the hallways of the motels, in the motel rooms, in tour buses, in the dressing rooms, the hospitality suite. People were jamming all night and then poured into the bus for the next show.”

“He wanted to do something different”

Ideas percolate over baseball in Malibu and in the Greenwich Village folk clubs

JOAN BAEZ: I knew it would be a great thing to do. My main memory is sitting in the audience every night to see Bob. The first leg was colourful and beautiful. There was a lot of insanity, and Bob filming it, and people I knew, and people I didn’t know, like a floating ship of crazies.

ROGER McGUINN: Bob came over to my house in Malibu one day. There was a basketball hoop over the carport and we played one and one. At one point, he said he wanted to do something different. If Bob says he wants to do something it could be, “Let’s all go to Mars”, something wild and crazy. He said, “I don’t know, something like a circus.” Then we went back to basketball. He won because he’s much better than I am.

LOUIE KEMP: I was a businessman in the commercial fish process in Alaska. Bob and I were friends since we were 11. We were hanging out in LA as he got ready to go on tour in ’74 with The Band. He asked me if I wanted to come. That gave me an insight into how the tour business worked. Eighteen months later we were in Minnesota. He had this idea for a tour, but the promoters kept discouraging him because it wasn’t commercial. He wanted to do something more down to earth that would be fun for the audiences and bands. He didn’t care if he made any money, he wanted to have fun, 
play some cool places like a musical gypsy caravan. Everybody told him it wouldn’t work, but I thought it was a great idea. He said do I want to produce it. I agreed.

RAMBLIN’ JACK ELLIOTT: I was playing in a club in Greenwich Village, The Other End or The Bitter End, they were always changing the name, and Bob showed up. Patti Smith sang solo, Bob sang a few songs and at the end, Bob said he was thinking of doing a little tour playing small halls with Joan Baez and would I be interested. I said count me in.

SCARLET RIVERA: I dropped out of Southern Illinois University and bought a one-way ticket to New York. 
I had an idea I was going to integrate the violin into contemporary music and fate made it happen. I was walking in the East Village with my violin case over 
my shoulder when a nondescript green car pulled alongside me. A guy that looked like Bob Dylan rolled down the window to ask, “Could I play that thing?” 
I was about to cross the street when Dylan saw me. If 
I had crossed one minute before he’d never have seen 
me at all – although we connected in such a deep way, 
I think it was inevitable.

LARRY “RATSO” SLOMAN: I was in Gerde’s Folk City with Roger McGuinn. We heard Dylan was at The Other End, so we walked over. Dylan was at this big table at the back. He said, “Roger, come on the road with us, we are doing an incredible thing.” And he said I should come and write about it for Rolling Stone.

KEMP: We asked Barry Imhoff, Bill Graham’s ex-partner, to be tour director. We mapped out a tour of the north-eastern states but we didn’t tell the venues who the principal performers were, we just told them it was the Rolling Thunder Revue. Then we’d break the concerts a day before, so people would wake up and hear that Bob Dylan was in town. We didn’t tell the artists where we were going, either. We wanted it to be mysterious and fun for everybody.

ELLIOTT: We started in New England, then went up to Canada and then back to New York for the Night Of The Hurricane at the Garden.

SLOMAN: This was a way for Bob to get back to his roots and bring some of those people like Joan and Jack who were meaningful to his early career.

“The spirit was new…”

Rehearsals begin in October in New York’s SIR studio. The first night of the tour takes place at Plymouth’s tiny War Memorial Auditorium

ROB STONER: I was bandleader. Every night after rehearsal, I listened to cassettes and made notes about what could be improved. I realised we’d be under a microscope. This was Dylan’s new effort and everyone would compare us to The Band. A hard act to follow.

SLOMAN: They had a solid base – Howie Wyeth on drums, Rob Stoner on bass. They could play any sort of music. Then there was T-Bone Burnett and Steven Soles and Mick [Ronson] from Hull. 
I don’t know how Ronson happened, I think it was through Neuwirth. He was the nicest guy, sweet and unpretentious.

STONER: We had these figures from his past, but I was trying real hard to guard against it being a museum piece. I wanted it to sound like contemporary arena rock music du jour. Mick Ronson was a great element. He kept it from sounding too folky, and David Mansfield’s versatility was very important. 
I tried to arrange the tunes so they didn’t sound mouldy. Fortunately I had Howie Wyeth and also Luther Rix, both very versatile drummers.

BAEZ: This was fresh and way evolved from the coffee houses of the ’60s. The spirit and the music was new. 
It didn’t feel like the old days in the Village. It was important that it wasn’t trying to repeat the past. It was extraordinary and out of the ordinary and just crazy enough that you wanted to be there.

SLOMAN: The first night was at Plymouth’s tiny War Memorial Auditorium on October 30, 1975. They were staying at a hotel that was hosting a Jewish women’s retreat. They played some songs and Ginsberg did a reading for a crowd of blue-haired elderly Jewish women.

ELLIOTT: They didn’t understand what we were singing about but they smiled and clapped. Not the best audience.

SLOMAN: It was a little old hall, but there was an electricity in the air. The second night was Halloween and Bob and Neuwirth came out in these masks to sing “When I Paint My Masterpiece”. People were astonished to see Bob in such an intimate setting. It was a thrill to be that close.

STONER: To get the crowd warmed up, the people in the band who were experienced as frontmen or songwriters each got a song. Neuwirth did a tune, I did a tune, Ronson did a tune, Soles did a tune. We were a self-contained opening act. Then we’d bring out the guest artists. McGuinn did his hits, Ramblin’ Jack would do some tunes and then to take it home for the first half, Bob would come out. We’d ease into that with him and Neuwirth singing “…Masterpiece” together in funny masks. Then there’d be 30 minutes of Bob before an intermission. Then we’d have Bob and Joan, then Joan, then Bob on his own. Then there was the grand finale with everybody on stage. We had so many arrows in the quiver.

SLOMAN: Jacques Levy was writing lyrics and he was a great stage director, so he put together the whole format.

RIVERA: Backstage on opening night there is a photo 
of Bob kneeling down in front of me with his guitar. Bob was sensitive to the fact I’d never played in front of that many people and I was nervous. He offered reassuring words so I could go out and deliver with confidence.

ELLIOTT: I’d play the last two songs of my set with T-Bone Burnett’s guitar. He was in the band that played behind Bob, they were called Guam. I played solo for about three songs, then Guam came and joined me for two hotter numbers. I did my set early in the show and then as I ran off Bob would run on and say, [does Dylan impression] “Good set, Jack.” Then he’d go on without announcement.

BAEZ: I’m limited in this sort of situation as I do covers, not hits. 
I did “Diamonds And Rust” and whatever I felt would get through. Bob was always respectful and introduced me in a polite way, but I felt a little like I did at Live Aid – “What am I doing here?” I had to find ways to keep people amused. I’d go out and dance.

RIVERA: I was fearful of so many people staring at me, so I put 
on dark glasses and painted a talisman of protection on myself. That was the beginning of the white face. I sometimes appeared with a painting on my face of butterfly wings or spider web. Bob started wearing the whiteface and I feel certain he understood 
the symbolism behind what I was painting.

“He had these prescription sunglasses…”

An unconventional blessing ceremony takes place. Frank Zappa’s tour bus is requisitioned. A young musician shows his appreciation

ELLIOTT: Bob never told us why it was called Rolling Thunder and I never asked. He just thought it was a good name. A friend of mine, a Native American medicine man from Nevada, was called Rolling Thunder. I asked Bob if he knew there was a Native American called Rolling Thunder. He said, “No, I didn’t know that.” 
That’s what Bob always says if you ever ask him any question in the world. He always says, “No, I didn’t know that.” When we were staying in Newport, Rhode Island, we all went down to the beach and Rolling Thunder lit 
a bonfire. We took turns to say a prayer and he blessed the tour with an eagle feather.

McGUINN: We danced around singing, “Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah Coco Baby Bop Dooap Bop Dooap,” and it felt good. 
I said later that it saved my soul.

BAEZ: I felt Bob wasn’t entirely comfortable with the ceremony. Bob sang his song in that way he has where he wants to get rid of it.

McGUINN: We had this tour bus we rented from Frank Zappa. It had “Phydeaux” – Fido – written on the side and a picture of a greyhound. Bob was in “the green machine”, a GMC motorhome. One time I went with him. He had prescription sunglasses and it was getting dark and he couldn’t see where he was going. That was 
a real interesting experience.

SLOMAN: I was in a rental car. Management were always fucking around with me. At one point in New Haven they actually pulled some wires in my car so the battery wouldn’t work. They were sabotaging me. They even discussed getting me a ticket and putting me on a steamer, but I don’t think they had the balls 
to do that.

ELLIOTT: Joni Mitchell performed 
a couple of shows, and then she came and joined us.

McGUINN: Joni likes to sit up front behind the driver. She had a book, a speckled exercise book, and she was always writing songs. One day I got a song from her, “Dreamland”.

ELLIOTT: At one show, a young man came to the dressing room asking for my autograph. I asked if he played guitar and he said he did. I wished him luck and asked his name. He said it was Bruce. Bruce Springsteen.

STONER: It was an evolving entity. It would change from night to night. It was always in flux, there were always surprises and it always kept you on your toes. That meant there was sheer terror on my behalf throughout the show as I knew there’d be something we’d never done and I had to hope the band could remember from rehearsal. And I had to hope Bob remembered it the same as the band did. We were all strung out, 30 feet across the stage, about eight of us, and everybody seemed to be on guitar.

SLOMAN: When Bob was on they’d all come out and watch. He was so great on that tour. A lot of these songs were epic journey songs and Bob was able to almost act them out. He was wearing whiteface. “Isis” is a great example, or “One More Cup Of Coffee”. These songs were very cinematic and you could really see him emoting.

McGUINN: Bob was amazing, full of surprises. You didn’t know what he was doing next.

BAEZ: He was spectacular. It was a stellar performance every night. I went down into the crowd. Sometimes people noticed me, but I’d just look at them and say “Sssh” and they’d not bother me.

STONER: There were all these stop-and-start type 
songs that Bob was very enamoured of at that time, like “Durango” and “Oh, Sister”. Every time they started up again my heart would be in my throat wondering if these motherfuckers would know when to go. The whole time, I’m singing harmony, conducting with the neck of my bass and watching Bob’s mouth to see when the next syllable was coming. It was a high-wire act.

“It was a big party for a long time”

Baez as Bob. Sam Shepard’s film. Muhammad Ali attends the show at Madison Square Garden. The first leg concludes

McGUINN: T-Bone Burnett would lasso me when I was playing “Chestnut Mare”. Joan Baez and I would sing “Eight Miles High” and she’d do this dance in the middle of it, a sort of boogaloo that nobody would have thought of Joan Baez.

ELLIOTT: Joan warned me in Toronto she was going to do something during my set. She came out dressed in this very funny outfit, like a bobbysoxer with striped socks and a miniskirt chewing bubble gum doing a jitterbug. Nobody knew who she was, so one of our security guards lifted her over his shoulder and took her off the stage.

BAEZ: I remember dressing up as Bob for one show. You could not tell from a distance which of us was which. He didn’t have an ass, but we didn’t turn round for the public. I did a spectacular Dylan impersonation.

ERIC ANDERSEN: I was doing a show in Niagara Falls with Tony Brown, who played on Blood On The Tracks. We went to see Rolling Thunder, then went on for the finale. Bob asked if I wanted to do a number, but I was singing choruses, having 
a good time. After the gig I went to the party and saw Joni and Ginsberg. I think there were a lot of drugs. Something had to keep it rolling.

McGUINN: It was a big party for 
a long time.

SLOMAN: As well as playing 
every night, Dylan was doing Renaldo & Clara.

ELLIOTT: The film is totally unrelated to anything that really happened. They are all last-minute made-up scenes that Bob made up. He invited Sam Shepard and his job officially was scriptwriter for this film, but we rarely had a written script.

BAEZ: The film was goofy. I had no particular confidence what would come out of the film. 
I didn’t think there were any professionals around. It was like a Boy Scout camp making a cool film, that’s what it felt like and kind of what it ended up.

SLOMAN: “Hurricane” [Dylan’s November 1975 song about imprisoned boxer Rubin Carter] was a real return to his roots. He’d done a lot of songs about racial injustice and this wasn’t new for him to pick up the cause of a black guy screwed by the justice system. The last big event on the first leg was the Night Of The Hurricane at Madison Square Garden. Muhammad Ali was there, it was amazing.

ELLIOTT: We also did a concert at Carter’s prison for the inmates. They were all black. They didn’t appreciate Joni, she was too white. They didn’t tap their feet for Joni.

BAEZ: I’m pretty good at penitentiaries. I kind of get what the inmates want, what they’re missing, and how to relate. They’re usually Latinos or black, and I have that repertoire. I remember Joni singing something wordy, long and white, and they weren’t interested, they got restless. Bob didn’t have to think about it, he’s in his own stratosphere. They wouldn’t care if he got up and farted.

RIVERA: The prison was a very sad experience. At the Garden, I got to shake Ali’s hand. That was an incredible show. But almost every show was a great show, I don’t think we did a bad one. Every night and every place. We didn’t get tired. This was music that everybody was passionate about and an experience that we all knew was never going to happen again.

“It just faded away…”

The tour ends up where it began – in New York’s Greenwich Village, where one final revelation from Dylan awaits

RIVERA: Before the second leg, we did another benefit for Carter at the Houston Astrodome. It was an all-star concert with Stevie Wonder and our guest drummer was Ringo Starr. We all deferred our salaries for the fund.

McGUINN: I think somebody decided he’d lost 
a lot of money, so they did another tour in ’76 at larger venues in the South. That wasn’t as much fun, the first half was great. I do remember we went to see Bobby Charles in Louisiana, and for dinner he had this alligator wrapped in aluminium foil on the table and a keg of beer. You poured yourself a beer and grabbed a hunk of alligator flesh. It tasted like chicken.

SLOMAN: The second part didn’t have the same spirit. You look at the footage and it’s a whole different Bob. He’s got a different outfit, he’s reinvented himself again. He was ready to move on, ’cos one thing he never does is repeat himself.

BAEZ: All the colour is gone, the pretty scarves and flowers, and with it the excitement. It wasn’t over, it just wasn’t the same.

KEMP: The second tour was similar but in a different location, so had a different flavour. It was a one-of-a-kind tour and that’s why it is legendary. No-one had done anything like it before or since.

McGUINN: It just faded away. There was never 
a wrap party. The real party was at the front hanging out at Gerde’s before we left.

SLOMAN: Every night I got to see Dylan pour 
his heart out in the most amazing fashion. At the end of the tour we were back at the Other End where it all began and somebody played “Like 
A Rolling Stone” on the jukebox. I started kidding Bob, “You didn’t even play your best songs on 
this tour!” And he said to me, “Ratso, did I ever 
let you down?”

Oasis to celebrate 25 years since Knebworth with new concert film

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Oasis will mark the 25th anniversary of their era-defining Knebworth show with a new concert film of the event, due for cinematic release later this year.

The film will be executive-produced by Noel and Liam Gallagher and directed by Jake Scott, who has previously helmed videos for Oasis (as well as REM, Radiohead, The Verve and Massive Attack).

In contrast to Mat Whitecross’s 2016 documentary Supersonic, which climaxed with the staging of the Knebworth concert in August 1996, Scott says that his film is “a story driven entirely by the music, a rock and roll experience, told in the moment, like a visual stream of consciousness that is built around the extensive archive footage from the event. No on-camera interviews or unnecessary celebrity recollections.”

A release date and title for the Oasis Knebworth film has yet to be confirmed.