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This is a bootleg recording of Dylan in Melbourne I think 1966

Terrible recording but this could be the best version I have heard of this song

Not much music and the vocal in slower motion but sounds great

A friend gave me this but haven't really listened before

Has come on an alphabetical listing of all Bob's songs


Edited by keyse1
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  • 2 weeks later...

I scored a 1974 original pressing at a market last year for $15 but havent listened to till i read this thread.

BOTT is close to my favourite all time album. 'favourite' actually is a silly and shallow word and doesnt come close to describing what this album meant to me as a callow 19 year old - it described and explained the world to me and i cant imagine a world where i hadnt discovered and been changed by it. It definitely was in another lifetime but every note and syllable is recorded somewhere deep in my synapses.

But irrespective of nostalgia which I try to resist and have no time for, it really is a wonderful album full of extraordinary songs. And its a real album, not a collection of songs.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Ordered and paid for the basement tapes deluxe edition from jb hifi

6 CDs

Have not been so excited about a record release in decades

I don't usually look forward to things

I don't want to get older any quicker than is necessary but am now counting the days

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I scored a 1974 original pressing at a market last year for $15 but havent listened to till i read this thread.

BOTT is close to my favourite all time album. 'favourite' actually is a silly and shallow word and doesnt come close to describing what this album meant to me as a callow 19 year old - it described and explained the world to me and i cant imagine a world where i hadnt discovered and been changed by it. It definitely was in another lifetime but every note and syllable is recorded somewhere deep in my synapses.

But irrespective of nostalgia which I try to resist and have no time for, it really is a wonderful album full of extraordinary songs. And its a real album, not a collection of songs.

Not nostalgia to listen to records from the 60's and 70's

The best music ever made was made in those decades

But great music is being made all the time

Between cars trucks and my garage I listen to music all the time from across the decades including the last few weeks

In the garage it is usually by complete record but in the cars on random play

Some records and BOTT is one actually get better as you age

Sort of like wine or whiskey

Or people

Or me

I hope

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Not nostalgia to listen to records from the 60's and 70's


Its not necessarily nostalgia to listen to anything, but it flips into nostalgia when you listen to something because it reminds you of the past rather than for what its giving you in the present. This is why I like Dylan, he gives me something new, some new insight or pleasure that isn't based on stimulating some memory of lost youth. No time for that - might as well give up.

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  • 3 weeks later...

who would have believed it

63 years and 7 months old and just as exited as i was waiting for Blood On The Tracks

In Canada with only an an 8 track player and car speakers from memory

and now there it is

45 years reading about

now playing on my computer and monos and kef speakers

sounding weird

need a few years to soak it up

can't listen to much now

off to Brisbane to see Halfway and Robert Forster free gig

only me and Bob in the car and 1967 though


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Must get this. Is this the 2 cd  version? I'm tossing up whether its worth getting the 6 cd version.


Don't even think about the 2 cd

This is warts and all

Bits and pieces


30 second tracks

I will eventually playlist the really good stuff but for next few weeks will just run it through

Will look up track by track info and listen to it properly over time

Read some of the reviews by proper writers like Greil Marcus to get an idea of what is on the 6 CDs

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6 CDs For fanatics only

So be warned

Lots of bits and pieces of songs

Songs as works in progress with nonsense lyrics

The good stuff and their seems to be a lot of it is as good as it gets for Bob fans

Have only scratched the surface so far with 3 CDs

Bob Dylan.com has a song by song guide which will be worth bookmarking to read along with the songs

Had 1 cd in the car all the way to Brisbane last night and it may be a lot of this will sound better there than in my garage


I hope no one obsessed with sound over content reads that


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6 CD version is essential for anyone who loves Americana


the two bootleg collections (Tree With Roots, Basement Tapes...) all had BASS.  The 1970's LP did not, it was not well mixed.


So should you just go with the 1970's album, in better sonic quality?  No.  Songs like Ferdinand the imposter, Quinn the Eskimo, and so on, are all of interest to anyone who enjoys Dylan and the Band.



It's the full 6 CDS, and well worth it.


$130 from Amazon in Germany including shipping, $165 from the local independent record store who is obliged to follow the record company's pricing diktats.

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  • 3 months later...

wonderful speach by Bob

says more about him and his songs than  a book

well worth the time to read it

As the recipient of the MusiCares Person of the Year 2015 awardBob Dylan delivered a 30-minute acceptance speech that was equal parts riveting, confessional and controversial. During the speech, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame legend thanked his many supporters and the artists who covered and spread the message of his work, while also singling out his "detractors" with sharply prepared barbs. 

A source close to the Dylan camp provided Rolling Stone with a transcript of the singer's speech, taken from Dylan's own notes. Read the entirety of Dylan's epic MusiCares Person of the Year 2015 comments below:

There are a few people we need to thank tonight for bringing about this grand event. Neil Portnow, Dana Tamarkin, Rob Light, Brian Greenbaum, Don Was. And I also want to thank President Carter for coming. It's been a long night, and I don’t want to talk too much, but I’ll say a few things.

Bob Dylan Honored at Incredible, All-Star MusicCares Tribute »

I'm glad for my songs to be honored like this. But you know, they didn't get here by themselves. It's been a long road and it's taken a lot of doing. These songs of mine, I think of as mystery plays, the kind that Shakespeare saw when he was growing up. I think you could trace what I do back that far. They were on the fringes then, and I think they're on the fringes now. And they sound like they've been traveling on hard ground.

I need to mention a few people along the way who brought this about. I know I should mention John Hammond, the great talent scout, who way back when brought me to Columbia Records. He signed me to that label when I was nobody. It took a lot of faith to do that, and he took a lot of ridicule, but he was his own man and he was courageous. And for that, I'm eternally grateful. The last person he discovered before me was Aretha Franklin, and before that Count Basie, Billie Holiday and a whole lot of other artists. All non-commercial artists. Trends did not interest John, and I was very noncommercial but he stayed with me. He believed in my talent and that's all that mattered. I can't thank him enough for that.

Lou Levy ran Leeds Music, and they published my earliest songs, but I didn't stay there too long. Levy himself, he went back a long ways. He signed me to that company and recorded my songs and I sang them into a tape recorder. He told me outright: there was no precedent for what I was doing, that I was either before my time or behind it. And if I brought him a song like "Stardust," he'd turn it down because it would be too late. He told me that if I was before my time – and he didn't really know that for sure – but if it was happening and if it was true, the public would usually take three to five years to catch up – so be prepared. And that did happen. The trouble was, when the public did catch up I was already three to five years beyond that, so it kind of complicated it. But he was encouraging, and he didn't judge me, and I'll always remember him for that.

"Critics have said that I've made a career out of confounding expectations…I don't even know what that means or who has time for it."

Artie Mogull at Witmark Music signed me next to his company, and he told me to just keep writing songs no matter what, that I might be on to something. Well, he too stood behind me, and he could never wait to see what I'd give him next. I didn't even think of myself as a songwriter before then. I'll always be grateful for him also for that attitude.

I also have to mention some of the early artists who recorded my songs very, very early, without having to be asked. Just something they felt about them that was right for them. I've got to say thank you to Peter, Paul and Mary, who I knew all separately before they ever became a group. I didn't even think of myself as writing songs for others to sing but it was starting to happen and it couldn't have happened to, or with, a better group. They took a song of mine that had been recorded before that was buried on one of my records and turned it into a hit song. Not the way I would have done it – they straightened it out. But since then, hundreds of people have recorded it and I don't think that would have happened if it wasn't for them. They definitely started something for me.

40 Facts About the 40-Year-Old 'Blood on the Tracks' »

The Byrds, the Turtles, Sonny & Cher – they made some of my songs Top 10 hits but I wasn't a pop songwriter and I really didn't want to be that, but it was good that it happened. Their versions of my songs were like commercials, but I didn't really mind that, because 50 years later, my songs were being used in the commercials. So that was good too. I was glad it happened, and I was glad they'd done it.

Pervis Staples and the Staple Singers – long before they were on Stax they were on Epic and they were one of my favorite groups of all time. I met them all in '62 or '63. They heard my songs live and Pervis wanted to record three or four of them and he did with the Staples Singers. They were the type of artists that I wanted recording my songs, if anybody was going to do it.

Nina Simone. I used to cross paths with her in New York City in the Village Gate nightclub. She was an artist I definitely looked up to. She recorded some of my songs that she learned directly from me, sitting in a dressing room. She was an overwhelming artist, piano player and singer. Very strong woman, very outspoken and dynamite to see perform. That she was recording my songs validated everything that I was about. Nina was the kind of artist that I loved and admired.

Oh, and can't forget Jimi Hendrix. I actually saw Jimi Hendrix perform when he was in a band called Jimmy James and the Blue Flames – something like that. And Jimi didn't even sing. He was just the guitar player. After he became famous, he took some small songs of mine that nobody paid any attention to and pumped them up into the outer limits of the stratosphere and turned them all into classics. I have to thank Jimi, too. I wish he was here.

Johnny Cash recorded some of my songs early on, too, I met him in about '63, when he was all skin and bones. He traveled long. He traveled hard. But he was a hero of mine. I heard many of his songs growing up. I knew them better than I knew my own. "Big River," "I Walk the Line." "How High’s The Water, Mama?" I wrote "It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)" with that song reverberating inside my head. I still ask, "How high is the water, mama?"

Johnny was an intense character. And he saw that people were putting me down playing electric music, and he posted letters to magazines scolding people, telling them to shut up and let him sing. In Johnny Cash's world – hardcore Southern drama – that kind of thing didn't exist. Nobody told anybody what to sing or do. They just didn't do that kind of thing where he came from. I'm always going to thank him for that. Johnny Cash was a giant of a man; the Man in Black. And I'll always cherish the friendship we had until the day there is no more days.

"Critics say I can't carry a tune and I talk my way through a song. Really? I've never heard that said about Lou Reed. Why does he get to go scot-free?"

Oh, and I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Joan Baez. She was the queen of folk music then and now. She took a liking to my songs and brought me with her to play concerts, where she had crowds of thousands of people enthralled with her beauty and voice. People would say, "What are you doing with that ragtag scrubby-looking waif?" And she'd tell everybody in no uncertain terms, "Now you better be quiet and listen to the songs." We even played a few of them together. Joan Baez is as tough-minded as they come. Loyal, free minded and fiercely independent. Nobody can tell her what to do if she doesn't want to do it. I learned a lot of things from her. A woman of devastating honesty. And for her kind of love and devotion, I could never pay that back.

These songs didn't come out of thin air. I didn't just make them up out of whole cloth. Contrary to what Lou Levy said, there was a precedent. It all came out of traditional music: traditional folk music, traditional rock & roll and traditional big-band swing orchestra music.

I learned lyrics and how to write them from listening to folk songs. And I played them, and I met other people that played them, back when nobody was doing it. Sang nothing but these folk songs, and they gave me the code for everything that's fair game, that everything belongs to everyone. For three or four years, all I listened to were folk standards. I went to sleep singing folk songs. I sang them everywhere, clubs, parties, bars, coffeehouses, fields, festivals. And I met other singers along the way who did the same thing and we just learned songs from each other. I could learn one song and sing it next in an hour if I'd heard it just once.

If you sang "John Henry" as many times as me – "John Henry was a steel-driving man / Died with a hammer in his hand / John Henry said a man ain't nothin' but a man / Before I let that steam drill drive me down / I'll die with that hammer in my hand." If you had sung that song as many times as I did, you'd have written "How many roads must a man walk down?" too.

Big Bill Broonzy had a song called "Key to the Highway." "I've got a key to the highway / I'm booked and I'm bound to go / Gonna leave here runnin' because walking is most too slow." I sang that a lot. If you sing that a lot, you just might write,

Georgia Sam he had a bloody nose
Welfare Department they wouldn’t give him no clothes
He asked poor Howard where can I go
Howard said there’s only one place I know
Sam said tell me quick man I got to run
Howard just pointed with his gun
And said that way down on Highway 61

You'd have written that too if you'd sang "Key to the Highway" as much as me.

"Ain't no use sit 'n cry / You'll be an angel by and by / Sail away, ladies, sail away." "I'm sailing away my own true love." "Boots of Spanish Leather" – Sheryl Crow just sung that.

"Roll the cotton down, aw, yeah, roll the cotton down / Ten dollars a day is a white man's pay / Roll the cotton down/A dollar a day is the black man's pay / Roll the cotton down." If you sang that song as many times as me, you'd be writing "I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more," too. If you’d had listened to the Robert Johnston singing, "Better come in my kitchen, 'cause it's gonna be raining out doors," as many time as I listened to it, sometime later you just might write, "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall."

I sang a lot of "come all you" songs. There's plenty of them. There's way too many to be counted. "Come along boys and listen to my tale / Tell you of my troubles on the old Chisholm Trail." Or, "Come all ye good people, listen while I tell / the fate of Floyd Collins, a lad we all know well.â€

"Come all ye fair and tender ladies / Take warning how you court your men / They're like a star on a summer morning / They first appear and then they're gone again." And then there’s this one, "Gather 'round, people / A story I will tell / 'Bout Pretty Boy Floyd, the outlaw / Oklahoma knew him well."

If you sung all these "come all ye" songs all the time like I did, you'd be writing, "Come gather 'round people where ever you roam, admit that the waters around you have grown / Accept that soon you'll be drenched to the bone / If your time to you is worth saving / And you better start swimming or you'll sink like a stone / The times they are a-changing."

You'd have written that too. There's nothing secret about it. You just do it subliminally and unconsciously, because that's all enough, and that's all you know. That was all that was dear to me. They were the only kinds of songs that made sense. "When you go down to Deep Ellum keep your money in your socks / Women on Deep Ellum put you on the rocks." Sing that song for a while and you just might come up with, "When you're lost in the rain in Juarez and it's Easter time too / And your gravity’s down and negativity don't pull you through / Don’t put on any airs / When you’re down on Rue Morgue Avenue / They got some hungry women there / And they really make a mess outta you."

"Very few rock & roll bands today play with rhythm. They don't know what it is."

All these songs are connected. Don't be fooled. I just opened up a different door in a different kind of way. It's just different, saying the same thing. I didn't think it was anything out of the ordinary. Well you know, I just thought I was doing something natural, but right from the start, my songs were divisive for some reason. They divided people. I never knew why. Some got angered, others loved them. Didn't know why my songs had detractors and supporters. A strange environment to have to throw your songs into, but I did it anyway.

Last thing I thought of was who cared about what song I was writing. I was just writing them. I didn't think I was doing anything different. I thought I was just extending the line. Maybe a little bit unruly, but I was just elaborating on situations. Maybe hard to pin down, but so what? A lot of people are hard to pin down and you’ve just got to bear it. In a sense everything evened itself out.

Leiber and Stoller didn’t think much of my songs. They didn't like 'em, but Doc Pomus did. That was all right that they didn't like 'em, because I never liked their songs either. "Yakety yak, don't talk back." "Charlie Brown is a clown," "Baby I'm a hog for you." Novelty songs, not serious. Doc's songs, they were better. "This Magic Moment." "Lonely Avenue." “Save the Last Dance for Me.†Those songs broke my heart. I figured I'd rather have his blessings any day than theirs.

Ahmet Ertegun didn't think much of my songs, but Sam Phillips did. Ahmet founded Atlantic Records. He produced some great records: Ray Charles, Ruth Brown, LaVerne Baker, just to name a few. There were some great records in there, no doubt about it. But Sam Phillips, he recorded Elvis and Jerry Lee, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash.

Radical artists that shook the very essence of humanity. Revolutionaries with vision and foresight. Fearless and sensitive at the same time. Revolution in style and scope. Radical to the bone. Songs that cut you to the bone. Renegades in all degrees, doing songs that would never decay, and still resound to this day. Oh, yeah, I'd rather have Sam Phillips' blessing any day.

The Murk and Mystique: Greil Marcus on 'The Basement Tapes' »

Merle Haggard didn't think much of my songs, but Buck Owens did, and Buck even recorded some of my early songs. Now I admire Merle – "Mama Tried," "Tonight The Bottle Let Me Down," "I'm a Lonesome Fugitive." I understand all that but I can't imagine Waylon Jennings singing "The Bottle Let Me Down." I love Merle but he’s not Buck. Buck Owens wrote "Together Again" and that song trumps anything that ever came out of Bakersfield. Buck Owens and Merle Haggard? If you have to have somebody's blessing – you figure it out. What I’m saying here is that my songs seem to divide people. Even people in the music community.

People in the critical world too. Critics have always been on my tail since day one. Seems like they’ve always given me special treatment. Some of the music critics say I can't sing. I croak. Sound like a frog. Why don't these same critics say similar things about Tom Waits? They say my voice is shot. That I have no voice. Why don't they say those things about Leonard Cohen? Why do I get special treatment? Critics say I can't carry a tune and I talk my way through a song. Really? I've never heard that said about Lou Reed. Why does he get to go scot-free? What have I done to deserve this special treatment? Why me, Lord?

No vocal range? When's the last time you've read that about Dr. John? You've never read that about Dr John. Why don't they say that about him? Slur my words, got no diction. You have to wonder if these critics have ever heard Charley Patton or Son House or Wolf. Talk about slurred words and no diction. Why don’t they say those same things about them?

"Why me, Lord?"

Critics say I mangle my melodies, render my songs unrecognizable. Oh, really? Let me tell you something. I was at a boxing match a few years ago seeing Floyd Mayweather fight a Puerto Rican guy. And the Puerto Rican national anthem, somebody sang it and it was beautiful. It was heartfelt and it was moving. After that it was time for our national anthem. And a very popular soul-singing sister was chosen to sing. She sang every note that exists, and some that don't exist. Talk about mangling a melody. You take a one-syllable word and make it last for 15 minutes? She was doing vocal gymnastics like she was a trapeze act. But to me it was not funny.

Where were the critics? Mangling lyrics? Mangling a melody? Mangling a treasured song? No, I get the blame. But I don't really think I do that. I just think critics say I do.

Sam Cooke said this when told he had a beautiful voice: He said, "Well that's very kind of you, but voices ought not to be measured by how pretty they are. Instead they matter only if they convince you that they are telling the truth." Think about that the next time you are listening to a singer.

Times always change. They really do. And you have to always be ready for something that's coming along and you never expected it. Way back when, I was in Nashville making some records and I read this article, a Tom T. Hall interview. Tom T. Hall, he was bitching about some kind of new song, and he couldn't understand what these new kinds of songs that were coming in were about.

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Now Tom, he was one of the most preeminent songwriters of the time in Nashville. A lot of people were recording his songs and he himself even did it. But he was all in a fuss about James Taylor, a song James had called "Country Road." Tom was going off in this interview — "But James don't say nothing about a country road. He's just says how you can feel it on the country road. I don't understand that." Now some might say Tom is a great songwriter. I'm not going to doubt that. At the time he was doing this interview, I was actually listening to a song of his on the radio.

It was called "I Love." I was listening to it in a recording studio, and he was talking about all the things he loves, an everyman kind of song, trying to connect with people. Trying to make you think that he's just like you and you're just like him. We all love the same things, and we're all in this together. Tom loves little baby ducks, slow-moving trains and rain. He loves old pickup trucks and little country streams. Sleep without dreams. Bourbon in a glass. Coffee in a cup. Tomatoes on the vine, and onions.

Now listen, I'm not ever going to disparage another songwriter. I'm not going to do that. I'm not saying it's a bad song. I'm just saying it might be a little overcooked. But, you know, it was in the top 10 anyway. Tom and a few other writers had the whole Nashville scene sewed up in a box. If you wanted to record a song and get it in the top 10 you had to go to them, and Tom was one of the top guys. They were all very comfortable, doing their thing.

This was about the time that Willie Nelson picked up and moved to Texas. About the same time. He's still in Texas. Everything was very copacetic. Everything was all right until – until – Kristofferson came to town. Oh, they ain't seen anybody like him. He came into town like a wildcat that he was, flew a helicopter into Johnny Cash's backyard, not your typical songwriter. And he went for the throat. "Sunday Morning Coming Down."

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
So I had one more for dessert
Then I fumbled through my closet
Found my cleanest dirty shirt
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

You can look at Nashville pre-Kris and post-Kris, because he changed everything. That one song blew ol' Tom T. Hall's world apart. He couldn't see it coming. It might have sent him to the mad house. God forbid he ever heard any of my songs.

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
You say, "Who is that man?"
You try so hard
But you don’t understand
Just what you're gonna say
When you get home
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

If "Sunday Morning Coming Down" rattled Tom's cage, sent him into the loony bin, my song surely would have made him blow his brains out, right there in the loony bin. Hopefully he didn't hear it.

"I probably left out a lot of people and said too much about some. But that's OK. Like the spiritual song, 'I'm still just crossing over Jordan too.'"

I just released an album of standards, all the songs usually done by Michael Buble, Harry Connick Jr., maybe Brian Wilson's done a couple, Linda Ronstadt done 'em. Rod [stewart] of course, even Paul [McCartney] has done some of this kind of material. But the reviews of their records aren't like mine. In their reviews no one says anything. In my reviews, they've got to look under every stone and report about it. In the review they get, you seldom see any of the songwriters' names. Unlike mine. They've got to mention all the songwriters' names.

Well that's OK with me. After all, they're great songwriters and these are standards. I've seen the reviews come in, and they'll mention all the songwriters in half the review, as if everybody knows them. Nobody's heard of them, not in this time, anyway. Buddy Kaye, Cy Coleman, Carolyn Leigh, to name a few.

But, you know, I'm glad they mention their names, and you know what? I'm glad they got their names in the press. It might have taken some time to do it, but they're finally there with importance and dignity. I can only wonder why it took so long. My only regret is that they're not here to see it.

Traditional rock & roll, we're talking about that. It's all about rhythm. Johnny Cash said it best: "Get rhythm. Get rhythm when you get the blues." Very few rock & roll bands today play with rhythm. They don't know what it is. Rock & roll is a combination of blues, and it's a strange thing made up of two parts. A lot of people don't know this, but the blues, which is an American music, is not what you think it is. It's a combination of Arabic violins and Strauss waltzes working it out. But it's true.

The other half of rock & roll has got to be hillbilly. And that's a derogatory term, but it ought not to be. That's a term that includes the Delmore Bros., Stanley Bros., Roscoe Holcomb, Git Tanner and the Skillet Lickers... groups like that. Moonshine gone berserk. Fast cars on dirt roads. That's the kind of combination that makes up rock & roll, and it can't be cooked up in a science laboratory or a studio.

You have to have the right kind of rhythm to play this kind of music. If you can't hardly play the blues, and you don’t have the hillbilly feeling, you’re not really playing rock & roll. It might be something else, but it’s not that. You can fake it, but you can't make it.

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Critics have said that I've made a career out of confounding expectations. Really? Because that's all I do? That's how I think about it. Confounding expectations. Like I stay up late at night thinking about how to do it. "What do you do for a living, man?" "Oh, I confound expectations." You're going to get a job, the man says, "What do you do?" "Oh, confound expectations. And the man says, "Well, we already have that spot filled. Call us back. Or don't call us, we'll call you." Confounding expectations. I don't even know what that means or who has time for it.

"Why me, Lord? My work confounds them obviously, but I really don't know how I do it."

The Blackwood Bros. have been talking to me about making a record together. That might confound expectations, but it shouldn't. Of course it would be a gospel album. I don't think it would be anything out of the ordinary for me. Not a bit. One of the songs I'm thinking about singing is "Stand By Me" with the Blackwood Brothers. Not "Stand By Me" the pop song. No. The real "Stand By Me."

The real one goes like this:

When the storm of life is raging / Stand by me / When the storm of life is raging / Stand by me / When the world is tossing me / Like a ship upon the sea / Thou who rulest wind and water / Stand by me

In the midst of tribulation / Stand by me / In the midst of tribulation / Stand by me / When the hosts of hell assail / And my strength begins to fail / Thou whomever lost a battle / Stand by me

In the midst of faults and failures / Stand by me / In the midst of faults and failures / Stand by me / When I do the best I can / And my friends don't understand/ Thou who knowest all about me / Stand by me

That's the song. I like it better than the pop song. If I record one by that name, that's going to be the one. I'm also thinking of recording a song, not for that album, though – a song called "Oh Lord, Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood." But I don’t know, it might be good on the gospel album too.

Anyway, I'm proud to be here tonight for MusiCares. I'm honored to have all these artists singing my songs. There's nothing like that. Great artists. Who all know how to sing the truth, and you can hear it in their voices. I'm proud to be here tonight for MusiCares. I think a lot of this organization. They've helped many people. Many musicians who have contributed a lot to our culture. I'd like to personally thank them for what they did for a friend of mine, Billy Lee Riley. A friend of mine who they helped for six years when he was down and couldn't work. Billy was a Sun rock & roll artist.

He was a true original. He did it all; played, sang and wrote. He would have been a bigger star but Jerry Lee came along. And you know what happens when someone like that comes along. You kind of have to take a step back. You just don't stand a chance.

So Billy became what is known in the industry – a condescending term, by the way – as a one-hit wonder. But sometimes, just sometimes, once in a while, a one-hit wonder can make a more powerful impact than a recording star who's got 20 or 30 hits behind him.

And Billy's hit song was called "Red Hot," and it was red hot. It could blast you out of your skull and make you feel happy about it. Change your life. He did it with power and style and grace. You won't find him in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He's not there. Metallica is. Abba is. Mamas and the Papas – I know they're in there. Jefferson Airplane, Alice Cooper, Steely Dan – I've got nothing against Metal, Soft Rock, Hard Rock, Psychedelic Pop. I got nothing against any of that stuff. But after all, it is called the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Billy Lee Riley is not there. Yet. And it's taking too long.

I'd see him a couple times a year and we'd always spent time together and he was on a rockabilly festival nostalgia circuit, and we'd cross paths now and again. We'd always spend time together. He was a hero of mine. I'd heard "Red Hot." I must have been only 15 or 16 when I did and it's impressed me to this day. I never grow tired of listening to it. Never got tired of watching Billy Lee perform, either. We spent time together just talking and playing into the night. He was a deep, truthful man. He wasn't bitter or nostalgic. He just accepted it. He knew where he had come from and he was content with who he was.

And then one day he got sick. And like my friend John Mellencamp would sing – because John sang some truth today – one day you get sick and you don't get better. That's from a song of his called "Life is Short Even on Its Longest Days." It's one of the better songs of the last few years, actually. I ain't lying. And I ain't lying when I tell you that MusiCares paid for my friend's doctor bills, mortgage and gave him spending money. They were able to at least make his life comfortable, tolerable to the end. That is something that can't be repaid. Any organization that would do that would have to have my blessing.

I'm going to get out of here now. I'm going to put an egg in my shoe and beat it. I probably left out a lot of people and said too much about some. But that's OK. Like the spiritual song, 'I'm still just crossing over Jordan too.' Let's hope we meet again. Sometime. And we will, if, like Hank Williams says, "the good Lord willing and the creek don't rise."

Copyright 2015 Bob Dylan


Read more: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/read-bob-dylans-complete-riveting-musicares-speech-20150209#ixzz3RPLi1PZd 
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Listening to one of rock musics greatest singers and understanding one of lifes biggest mysteries

How did Bob's voice go from Blonde on Blonde to John Wesley Harding

The good stuff here on these 6 cds and there is a lot of it has some sublime singing which seems to come so effortlessly to American singers in and around country music bluegrass hillbilly type music

Also includes some of Dylan's best writing and a few great cover versions

Hard to believe they wern't even considered for release


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I got the new album of covers.  I must admit, I did not realise it was a covers album til after I received it - DOH  probably would not have bought it.


 Anyway, Not bad but you have to be in the mood, otherwise it can come across as pretty boring as he is singing all the songs in that 50's late jazz style.   Has amazing reviews, of which I can't fully understand.




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here is something well worth hooking the computer up to the sound system for

Bob with a punk band


Tonight Bob Dylan will return to The Late Show for the first time since 1993 and bid farewell to the retiring David Letterman as the host's final musical guest. It's a big occasion to be sure, but the performance almost certainly won’t match Dylan's first Letterman appearance as the best, or, considering how it came about, strangest set that the musician has delivered within earshot of Dave's desk. The three-song gig also, arguably, still holds a spot as Dylan's premier televised performance.

More than 31 years ago, Dylan arrived at the Late Night studio at a moment when he and the host were moving rapidly in different directions. Letterman, just two years into his run — which concludes this Wednesday night — was a comedy sensation, bringing a new level of sarcasm, irony, and Bud Melman–centric humor to a late-night format still reliant on the smooth unflappability of Johnny Carson. Dylan? Well, he was about as irrelevant as he'd ever been, having frustrated his audience with the musically slick, lyrically hectoring series of evangelical christian albums that he'd released in the late '70s and early '80s. Indeed, circa 1984, Dave was far more of more of a counterculture hero than Bob.

Still, Dylan was Dylan, one of the most famous musicians alive, and his booking on Late Night was a coup. Studio 6A had hosted some memorable acts, like R.E.M.’s network debut, but no one of Dylan’s status had yet performed on the show. (Though the fact that a new-ish late-night talk show with a deeply irreverent, acerbic host was able to book Dylan was perhaps a testament to the latter’s diminished status at the time.) 

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On the show in question, after Liberacefinished a segment wherein he cooked his famous egg casserole, Dave introduced a “legend of the music world,†and the camera panned over to the singer, showing something that even the most deeply learned Dylan devotee couldn’t have anticipated. His backing musicians that night didn’t include any members of his old running buddies the Band, or high-profile hired hands like ex–Rolling Stones guitarist Mick Taylor or Dire Straits' front man Mark Knopfler, who’d both worked with him during that period. Nor was he joined by any of his old Greenwich Village cronies. Instead, standing behind Dylan, all dressed in ratty black suits, were three unknown 20-somethings — and they were killing it. 

Guitarist J.J. Holiday, drummer Charlie Quintana, and bassist Tony Marsico — the latter two of whom were members of the L.A. punk band the Plugz — backed Dylan on three songs that night, a fierce “Jokerman†and a perfectly raucous “License to Kill,†both from Dylan’s then-new semi-return-to-form album Infidels, and a swaggering cover of Sonny Boy Williamson’s “Don’t Start Me Talking.†For 12 minutes or so, the musicians proved that Bob Dylan could be jolted out of the perfunctory performances he’d been accustomed to giving then, and suggested a future beyond the living relic circuit. 

“At the time we were so young and dumb,†says Marsico, thinking back to that show. “Years later, you pinch yourself.â€

It wasn't a dream, but it might seem like one now. After that night, Marsico never played music with Bob Dylan again. 

In the early 1980s, Dylan was living in Malibu, about an hour from the Plugz’ Hollywood base but a musical world away. While Dylan was coming down from his Christian experiment by experimenting with mild reggae, Quintana, Marsico, and Holiday were playing sneering and lean Latin-inflected punk-rock. “It was fast, aggressive, and mean,†Quintana says of the Plugz sound, “but it was also graceful and beautiful.â€

It was exactly the type of music that excited Dylan’s three teenage sons and, by extension, their dad. Under the influence of his kids, Dylan would leave his Malibu home and slip into shows by the likes of L.A. punk stalwarts X, or check out the Santa Monica Civic Center when the Clash came to town. “I always thought Bob found the punk scene cool and refreshing,†muses Quintana. “Punk was just modern folk — a little political, a little sarcastic, telling real stories about the **** going down. Bob was into that.â€

So many years later, it’s unclear exactly when and where Dylan first heard the Plugz, but the mostly likely link was a then-girlfriend of Quintana’s. “Charlie’s girlfriend was a secretary for [tour manager] Gary [shafner], who handled Dylan’s tours,†says Holiday.

By the middle of 1983, Dylan had finished recording Infidels, and the lovelorn “Sweetheart Like You†was chosen for a music video, but a drummer was needed for the taping. Thanks to his girlfriend’s connection, Quintana was tapped. “In between takes, Bob and I would chat,†recalls Quintana. “At the end of the last day, he asked if I wanted to come to his house and jam sometime.â€

Each week, someone from Shafner’s office would call Quintana and tell him when to come by Dylan’s Malibu rehearsal space. “I maybe brought a few dozen guys to the sessions,†says Quintana, before he asked Holiday, a friend from the punk scene, and Marsico to come along. “I don’t know what Dylan saw,†says Quintana. “But the Plugz had all played together before, so I guess we had a connection that he liked.â€

Often hung-over or sleep-deprived from a previous night’s gig, the trio would make the drive to the rehearsal space a few times a week, showing up around noon and then waiting for Dylan to appear — often wearing rubber boots and accompanied by Baby, his pet mastiff. Dylan didn’t live in the house — it was strictly a workspace — and the locale was tricked out with expensive audio gear and recording equipment. “I would always tell people, the first time they came,†says Quintana, “Watch what you say: There are mics everywhere.’†

The jam sessions would last a few hours, and consisted mainly of covers of songs like “My Guy†and “Gimme Some Lovin.’†They rarely played material from Infidels or the rest of Dylan’s catalogue. The tunes may have been simple enough, but Dylan’s instructions could be inscrutable. Holiday remembers him asking the band to play one song “with a stripper beat and add a marching band onto it.†

As the sessions continued into late 1983, the trio began to wonder what, if anything, they were building towards. There was loose talk of playing a gig for record executives in Hawaii, or of possibly touring South America incognito. “The way I understood it,†explains Holiday about that last idea, “Bob wanted to perform in bars, just showing up unannounced.â€

Neither idea materialized, but in March 1984, about a week before the TV performance, Dylan brought up the notion of a Letterman gig. “When he asked us,†remembers Marsico, “I remember thinking, Hell yeah, that is a hip ******* show.’†

Once the Late Night decision was made, the Plugz traveled to New York and got a taste of rock-star luxury — a new experience for the young punks. “I’d been to New York before, to play at CBGB,†says Holiday, “and to make sure that our gear didn’t get stolen, our tour manager slept in our van with a gun.†Now the group was being put up at the same Park Avenue hotel where English dandies Duran Duran were staying, and getting $30 per diem when they normally allotted themselves a measly five bucks.

The musicians had a rehearsal scheduled for the day before the televised gig, but it started late because Dylan was waiting for Rolling Stones guitarist Ron Woods’s Fender Stratocaster guitar to arrive, which he wanted to play on the show. Once the instrument arrived, the quartet practiced about 50 songs, without a clue of which ones Dylan was keen on playing the next day. “Bob likes to throw you to the wolves,†says Marsico. “He likes that energy.â€

He got it. “This is certainly an exciting moment for us,†said Letterman from his desk during the telecast, as a guitar twanged off-camera. “Please welcome Bob Dylan.†And the band is off, launching into Williamson’s “Don’t Start Me Talking.†Dylan yowls and jumps down to his knees as Holiday rips out a slide-guitar part, the rhythm section thumping away. Fast, raw, and direct, it sounds nothing like the complacent, Ãœber-professional live work Dylan had been doing back then.

“Right before we started,†says Marsico, "Dylan whispered, 'Let’s do "Sonny Boy."’ We all found the key fast.†Luckily, it was a number they’d practiced a big handful of times. Otherwise, Marsico says, “we would’ve been totally badoozled.†

After the song, Letterman comes onstage and says, “Perhaps two more songs?†Dylan seems momentarily confused before muttering, “Okay.â€

The next song, after a commercial break, was “License to Kill.†On Infidels, the song is slow and languorous, verging on torpid. Now it's impish, defiant, the band evoking some of the thin, wild mercury sound that defines Dylan’s best rock ’n’ roll. The front man feels it, too, leaning back, dipping his knees, sneaking out a smile. “It was like a Plugz show,†Marsico says. “We just rocked out.†For the song’s coda, Dylan takes off his guitar and picks up a harmonica, stomping his feet and blowing loud. When it’s over, the camera cuts to Letterman smiling at his desk. He says, simply, “Amazing.â€

Last up is “Jokerman,†a loping romp, and the one song the band always played during rehearsals. “It’s a very slow reggae song on Infidels,†offers Quintana, “and that was the one constant in all of our sessions. He specifically wanted to play it very aggressively.†The band barrels through the number with infectious glee, relaxed and rocking — despite an out-of-tune harmonica. “He was given the wrong harmonica,†Quintana says, “and he just yelled as us to keep playing.†As the song ends, Dylan punches the air with both hands. Letterman bounds onstage and asks, “Is there any chance you guys could be here every Thursday night?â€

After the show, Dylan and the band hung out backstage, talking with Liberace and having their photos taken by Rolling Stone until Dylan left, explaining he was due at a Knicks game with Keith Richards. Holiday says, “Dylan told us he would call us on Monday.†The call never came. “Whenever Tony and I see each other,†Holiday continues, “we always joke, ‘Did you get that call yet?’â€

More than 30 years later, with Letterman about to leave and Dylan, following a late-career renaissance, comfortably ensconced as a dignified elder statesman, the Plugz performance now seems like a mirage beamed in from a far different era — when Dave was young, Dylan had something to prove, and he got an unknown band of L.A. punks to help him prove it. The Plugz may never have backed Dylan again, but they didn’t disappear. Holiday went on to play in a blues band with Dan Aykroyd and Jim Belushi. He also befriended Johnny Depp and now does creative research for the actor’s production company. Quintana and Marsico morphed the Plugz, whose singles and albums hadn’t drawn much attention, into another band, the Cruzados, which signed with with Arista Records and released two albums before disbanding in 1988. Quintana spent ten years playing with countryish punk band Social Distortion — and even, remarkably, did a spell on Dylan’s Never Ending Tour before retiring several years ago. Marsico has kept active in music, recently forming a rock-roots group called Cisco & Dewey. He hasn’t seen Bob Dylan since that lone outlier evening so long ago.

 â€œAfter we stepped off the stage that night,†recalls Marsico, “the enormity of playing with Bob Dylan hit me. I thought, Hey, that was pretty coolThat clip might be around for a few years.’†

Edited by keyse1
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Side 1 of a triple cd of outtakes recorded during what is seen as a couple of not so good decades

I think it is one of his best records ever

If these songs had of been released instead of the versions that were including some of the songs left off records then the 80's and 90's would have been seen as something of a peak period for Dylan

There are 3 versions of the song Mississippi of which the first stripped down to just Bob and Daniel Lanoir I think has become one of my favourite Bob songs of all time

Also puts to rest any idea that he is anything less than a great singer


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