Bob Dylan: Rolling Thunder Review: The Review of the 1975 Live Recordings Album



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Rolling Thunder Bob Dylan's review did not last long. From conception to dissolution, it lasted a little less than a year for a career that is entering its seventh decade. Perhaps this is why Dylan professes that he ignores the inspiration of his traveling carnival Rolling Thunder Review: A Story of Bob Dylan by Martin Scorsese, long titled documentary that recently made the premiere on Netflix. The singer-songwriter says in one of the film's new interviews: "I'm trying to get to the heart of what the Rolling Thunder problem is, and I have no idea because It's nothing! It's just something that has happened 40 years [ago]And that's the truth.

Other people however remember a lot of Thunder Rolling. Since the last few months of 1975, when Dylan traveled New England with a group of ragged musicians, playing in small halls down, the magazine became the legend of Dylan conoscenti. Much of his mystique lies in the way the first high incarnation of the tour lasted only the duration of a torrid summer storm. A second step followed in 1976, but according to all the evidence, Dylan was delicate and withdrawn, argument supported by Downpour, a 1976 live set, which was Rolling Thunder's only official document until the 1975 show selections were compiled in 2002 as Dylan's fifth volume. Bootleg Series.

Certainly, The Bootleg series, vol. 5 is easier to digest than The Rolling Thunder Review: The 1975 Live Recordings, a box of 14 CDs released to accompany the film Scorsese. Containing the Dylan sets from the five professionally recorded Rolling Thunder concerts, as well as three rehearsal discs and a CD of curiosities from the tour, the case arouses great interest from the listener: a set of 39, a duration of ten and a half hours is not for the dabblers. This unpleasant sprawl suits the Rolling Thunder Revue, conceived not as a mere night of entertainment, but rather as an immersive theatrical experience.

Much of this dramatic sense of drama diminishes on the record, but one can still feel it, and the big box sometimes does a great job in suggesting that the circus unfolds both on and on stage. All these repetitions help create an atmosphere. Here, Dylan and his group of old folk, new rockers and strangers become familiar, playing chestnut and songs for which he just cut songs. Desire, which will be published only after the end of the first part of the tour. The harmonies are shredded and timid tempos, but the bonhomie is palpable. What is also evident is the nature of Dylan's song: an open, bold and clear soul, qualities that are lacking Before the flood, double album of his return on stage in 1974.

The concerts extracted on Before the flood were meant to be a show. Dylan had not played live since his motorcycle accident in 1966, and he was supported by the group, which had made the transition from its full star support group. Although the 1974 tour was a resounding success, Dylan got tired of playing in arenas and this boredom, combined with personal unrest, was the catalyst for his attempt to recreate his coffee roots via the Rolling Thunder Review. Surrounded by characters from his past – his old defender and principal Joan Baez, Ramblin 'Jack Elliott, Bob Neuwirth and Roger McGuinn – Dylan, also bloodied. He ended up having a drink with Mick Ronson, David Bowie's latest album, Spiders From Mars. So he invited the guitarist to be part of the unruly group that would become known as Guam. He saw Scarlet Rivera wander the streets of New York with his violin in hand, so she took him to the sheepfold. Above all, he stumbled upon Jacques Levy, the director of the 1969 Off-Broadway hit Oh! Calcutta!, and the pair did so well, they wrote most of Desire together and decided that it was time to organize a show.

Levy mounted the Rolling Thunder Revue as an old-fashioned circus, encouraging Dylan to indulge in her theatrical side – the singer often performed with a face covered in white makeup – and this sensibility reverberated throughout the production. With its ever-increasing number of characters and its guerrilla marketing – the troupe often arrived in town without warning and unattractive to its star attraction – the Rolling Thunder Revue had hinted that anything could happen. Like any theater, it was an illusion. The details may have changed on a given night, but the skeleton of the series is immutable, what this big box – which boils down to an extravagance of four hours boasting scenes involving Bob Dylan – is clear.

Every evening, Dylan appeared at three specific moments of the show: he was walking on the stage without announcing by singing "When I paint my masterpiece" with the band, playing a duet with Baez, then closing him – even the show. For each of the three phases of the Review, it was held on an essentially static selection list. Deviations from the norm were rare and many of them are featured on the final disc, which is sufficiently shredded to be worthy of Rolling Thunder's reputation. Some of these tracks were captured at unusual locations – a skinny and almost annoying version of "Simple Twist of Fate" was performed in a Massachusetts mahjongg show, an empathic retaking of "The Ira Ballad" "Hayes" given at a Native American Reserve, while others offer a variation of a familiar melody, such as a slow "Isis" in which the group seems on the verge of collapse. In this context, an almost whispered hotel room plays Smokey Robinson's "The Footsteps of My Tears" and an off-the-wall version of "It makes you laugh a lot, it takes a train to cry", starring Robbie Robertson at the guitar, plays the role of revealing notes of grace, showing how the Rolling Thunder Revue could be heartbreaking and galvanizing.

Nevertheless, the heart of the boxes lies in these five complete concerts, all sharing the same basic impetus, all distinguished by passion. The vigor does not belong to Dylan. Guam's group is heavy and enthusiastic, taking the time to let all their disparate voices mingle. Rivera's refined gypsy violin brings a wild character to the scene, while Ronson's guitar gives meaning to the music whenever it threatens to become too folkloric. Dylan is Ronson for his electrifying wit, singing with a cheerful bravado and unhindered freedom distinctly different from the primitive howling he used during his fabulous 1966 tour with the band. Despite this kinetic kick, the Rolling Thunder Revue is basically a hootenanny, an equally serious and nerdy home bash. The role of Joan Baez as co-star and foil Dylan is obvious. Baez helped bring Dylan to fame at the height of the early 1960s folk boom. She is determined to let the public know that they are on an equal footing, harmonizing and sometimes dominating Dylan during their duets. .

As briefly as this happens, hearing Dylan happily share the spotlight highlights the charms of the Rolling Thunder Revue, particularly the way he sought comfort in a community setting. If the tour was just a reconnection, it was little more than a footnote in Dylan's story, but the act of nostalgia was strictly superficial; the form was perhaps familiar, but the individual performances were minute and thrilling at the moment. Dylan plays with rage-eyed fervor, partly inspired and partially shocked, and he's not surrounded by sycophants, but old friends who recognize his bullshit and find it amusing. Why would they want to sign up to play in the Rolling Thunder Review? On purpose, the tour has erased the barrier between cunning and reality, and this deliberate and perverse confusion is as fundamentally dylane as the fact that it lasted for a few weeks, then disappeared, its vibrant spirit having never been evoked by its creator.

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