1966. How old was I – 15, 16? Just starting 6th Form at the Royal Grammar School, High Wycombe. (I was in 6T1, taking maths, physics, and economics – a combination that drove my teachers crazy.) I was listening to more classical music than pop, folk, or rock. I was most aware of the Beatles, the Stones, the Kinks, Eric Burdon and the Animals, and Manfred Mann. However there were a number of American artists getting my attention – the Byrds, who had hit with Mr. Tambourine Man the year before, and then the Beach Boys, the Mamas and Papas, and the Supremes. (The last three mostly because my best friend John Hughes never stopped playing them, and I spent a lot of time at his house hanging out with his sister, Gwyneth… but I digress.)
And then there was Bob Dylan. From my perspective, he made an almost magical transformation: one minute he was a conventional socially-conscious folk singer, hanging out with Joan Baez and the Greenwich Village folk crowd; the next, he’d become a surrealistic poet. I didn’t have any connection to the beat scene; I didn’t listen to jazz, but enigmatic poetry was cool. Burroughs. Ferlinghetti. Ginsberg. Brautigan. Even Gerard Manley Hopkins (ignoring the religious metaphors – how pretentious). With no Google to help, I carefully transcribed the lyrics to Desolation Row and Ballad of a Thin Man, and marvelled at them. Was there some deep meaning there, or were the immediate impressions the beginning and end of it? At 15, such questions can seem profound… and perhaps they still are. No matter.
For Dylan’s early fans, his “plugging in” was a really big deal. Not so to me: Dylan, along with Simon and Garfunkel, Laura Nyro, and Leonard Cohen, was primarily a poet, and in my teenage head “poetry” and “pop music” were quite distinct categories. It took a couple of years for that to break down. The Beatles didn’t do it – they were sui generis – but albums like the Jefferson Airplane’s “Surrealistic Pillow” started the rot, and with “Electric Ladyland” Jimmy Hendrix blew the doors down. And of course one of the songs on that album that did the damage was All Along The Watchtower – that guy Dylan again.
Bootleg albums? Of course: every self-respecting student in the late 60s and early 70s had a couple of bootlegs in their record collection. And I remember that I had the chance to buy the most frequently bootlegged Dylan recording: the legendary “Royal Albert Hall” set. But at the time my interests were elsewhere: I chased Cream, and Led Zeppelin’s “Blueberry Hill” instead.
Fast forward 35 years: I find myself reading a review of the official CD release of Dylan’s “Royal Albert Hall ’66” set. It turns out that it was actually recorded at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester (a venue with fond memories, but that’s another story – maybe). And according to all the critics, it’s one of the best live rock’n’roll recordings of all time. So last week I bought it. And the critics were right. It’s the best. (I guess I forgot the pantheon: Dylan, Lennon, Hendrix, Miles. Only one left….)
I sit here, trying to remember what it was like to listen to Dylan when I was 15, and then hearing the sheer presence in this live recording. The imagery of Desolation Row is still as powerful, and enigmatic, and breathtaking as ever. And when my guard is down, Leopard-Skin Pillbox Hat sneaks up on me, and I find myself savouring the glorious absurdity of:
You know it balances on your head
Just like a mattress balances
On a bottle of wine
Your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat
What a time.