Since the end of the 1960s, Bob Dylan, without doubt the single most important figure to shape not just popular music through that decade but contemporary culture as a whole, had made a series of desultory, on occasion undistinguished albums. At best they reaffirmed him as a songwriter beyond compare, although when not inspired, willful self-indulgence had come to the fore.
Toward the end of 1973 he reunited with his erstwhile back-up ensemble The Band, a move he had been implored to make since the the mid ’60s when they redrew the parameters’ of modern music by playing ground-breaking concerts in performing the revolutionary brand of electric folk-rock Dylan had pioneered on a run of extraordinary albums through the period. But even then the resulting ‘Planet Waves‘ L.P. (January 1974) did not quite fulfill expectations devotees had for it.
The U.S. arena tour Dylan and The Band undertook in the early months of that year had its moments, some of which were captured on the ensuing double-set ‘Before the Flood‘ (June 1974). Yet despite all the heralding of his return to frontline prominence, (the six week run of live shows from which that album was compiled his first sustained bout of touring since 1966), there was still a feeling he was treading water in a creative sense – the spokesman of a generation unable to reignite artistic fires that had not burnt at their full, unmatchable heat since the ‘John Wesley Harding‘ set of 1968.
Through the summer of 1974 Dylan spent time in New York studying art under the guidance of 73 year-old painter Norman Raeburn whose approach to the subject was philosophical rather than theoretical, his theories, according to the student, based upon ‘truth, love and beauty.’
For Dylan time spent with Raeburn was invaluable in rekindling the edge and purpose that always surfaced when he had sat to compose his most compelling work – the focus, largely absent in more recent times, suddenly returning in abundance. The muse that had been missing found a focal point on returning home to find his eight-year marriage to wife Sara, already under strain due to some (his) lascivious living while touring with The Band, had disintegrated to the point of collapse.
His personal life in tatters, Dylan began the process of setting tortured feelings to music in a batch of beguiling, breathtaking songs that conveyed battered emotions – the resulting album BLOOD ON THE TRACKS (January 1975), the greatest he would ever make and by virtue the most resonant rock record in existence.
From his self-titled debut album as a 20 year-old in 1962 ran a six-year, eight-album purple patch to ‘John Wesley Harding’ (each one a landmark recording), all having to be made in order for rock to develop as a serious art form – his poetic, analytical lyrics, setting in motion a change in consciousness that without him may have lay dormant for decades.
But ‘Blood on the Tracks‘ is the LP he needed to make as catharsis for his tormented, conflicted soul. Now 33, the questions he had once asked of society and the cultural values Dylan had put under scrutiny on any number of resounding pieces bursting with era-defining reverberation, had been ripped asunder by events befalling him personally – his words, eloquent at times beyond belief, articulating the hurt and heartbreak he feels.
Five years earlier John Lennon had picked over the bones of ‘Beatlemania’ with unflinching honesty on the uncompromising ‘Plastic Ono Band‘ while ten months later in October 1975 Pete Townshend would take a savage swipe at the concept of being a rock star at 30 on the brutal ‘The Who By Numbers‘ – but neither of those contemporaries were able to match Dylan in his astonishing depiction of emotional vulnerability.
At sessions, first in New York through September 1974 (where he recorded with guitarist/banjo player Eric Weissberg and his backing band of folk players called Deliverance) and then toward the end of the year in Minneapolis, when some of what had already been cut was rerecorded with local players, Dylan indeed infused his word-wizardry with truth, love and beauty.
True, Joni Mitchell had done likewise on her monumental 1971 ‘Blue‘ album, but nobody, nobody had come up with such a stark presentation of hurt feelings as he would draw through ‘Blood on the Tracks.’
It has often been referred to his divorce album, something he has refuted by saying, ‘I don’t write confessional songs’, despite there being abundant evidence to the contrary right across the record. Yet to view it merely as Dylan wallowing in self-pity is to miss the beautiful, heart-breaking, bittersweet moments – maturity rather than morbidity used in coping with his sadness.
For a record so nuanced in terms of heartfelt regret and humble reflection, ‘Blood on the Tracks‘ is an accessible record in spite of the abundant anguish. Many cite it as their favourite Dylan album and even those not taken by the lyrical analogies that made the early albums so revelatory or for that matter the unorthodox tone of his voice, have for years been gripped by couplets from ‘Simple Twist of Fate‘ such as:
‘He woke up, the room was bare/He didn’t see her anywhere/He told himself he didn’t care/Pushed the window open wide/Felt an emptiness inside/To which he just could relate/Brought on by a simple twist of fate.’
Or ‘A change in the weather is known to be extreme/But what’s the point of changing horses in midstream/And I’m going out of my mind/With a pain that stops and starts/Like a corkscrew to my heart/Ever since we’ve been apart,’ which starts another extraordinary verse of ‘You’re a Big Girl Now‘ – although the man himself finds no solace in admiration it has generated in others:
‘A lot of people told me they enjoy that album,’ Dylan once remarked, ‘It’s hard for me to relate to people enjoying that type of pain.’
As the songs poured from him, marital strife was a recurring theme but not the sole emphasis of his ruminations on life, be it the one he was living or by the characters he created to play out episodes in the eventful, old west parable ‘Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts‘, although even then there is little obscurity in the narration as one scene shifts to another.
Indeed, ‘Blood on the Tracks‘ is that rarest of rock albums being one of the very few (at least four of his being in this category), where not a single line is forced or wasted. Much like the dialogue in a gripping film or chapter of a well-crafted novel, every phrase he sings is continuation of the previous utterance and prelude to the next.
This incredible immediacy is straightaway established in the astounding ‘Tangled Up in Blue‘ that opens the record. Spread across seven verses the scope and ambition are remarkable in themselves, Dylan creating an elegiac road movie where the protagonist offers up his experiences, at times in a conversational style, in reflecting upon love lost, found and then lost again. The story moves between the past and present, each fragment giving the plot an engrossing, engaging twist – none more so when he is handed a book of 13th century Italian poems:
‘And every one of them words rang true/And glowed like burning coal/Pouring off of every page/Like it was written in my soul/From me to you/Tangled up in blue.’
In what amounts to the most dazzling set of rock lyrics ever written, (‘Tangled Up in Blue‘ stupendous even by his standards), Dylan conjures half-forgotten reminiscences into a melting pot of memories, delivered in the first and third person. By the end his search for meaning has come back incomplete, the song closing to the refrain of a shrill harmonica and rhythmic acoustic guitar – the journey, however, will continue as the narrator attests:
‘So now I’m going back again/I got to get to her somehow/All the people we used to know/They’re an illusion to me now/Some are mathematicians/Some are carpenter’s wives/Don’t know how it all got started/I don’t know what they do with their lives/But me, I’m still on the road/Heading for another joint/We always did feel the same/We just saw it from a different point of view/Tangled up in blue.’
Up next is the first piece in the song-cycle of romantic melancholy, ‘Simple Twist of Fate‘ another to pass back and forth between once upon a time and the present day. The poignancy is unmissable in what must stand as the most moving lament ever written.
With disarming tenderness the writer is achingly candid in describing the end of a love affair that has left both parties bereft – Dylan weaving between storyteller and sufferer, until he can no longer avoid full admission of his awful predicament:
‘People tell me it’s a sin/To know and feel too much within/I still believe she was my twin/But I lost the ring/She was born in spring/But I was born too late/Blame it on a simple twist of fate.’
He is no less affecting and if anything even more personal in ‘You’re a Big Girl Now.’
As the title infers his estranged lover is mature enough to realise romantic aspiration has given way to a feeling of having loved and lost – she dealing with the disconnect better than he:
‘Our conversation was short and sweet/It nearly swept me/Off of my feet/And I’m back in the rain/Oh, you are on dry land/You made it there somehow/You’re a big girl now.’
From track to track Dylan delivers a set of brilliant vocal performances, amounting to the finest singing he has ever produced in a studio setting. On moving recording activity from New York to Minneapolis, drums and organ were added to a number of tracks and as the ramifications of his break-up with Sara became more pronounced, he took the decision to recut the vocals which under the circumstances increased in haunting vulnerability.
But on the caustic ‘Idiot Wind‘ he sounds bitter and antagonistic in committing to tape his most angry song since ‘Positively 4th Street‘ nine years before.
Against the backdrop of a swirling organ and understated drums, from the outset it is clear he has a bone to pick, (‘Someone’s got it in for me/They’re planting stories in the press/Whoever it is, I wish they’d cut it out quick/But when they will, I can only guess‘), Dylan never more tetchy and vitriolic than he is through these eight acerbic minutes.
Few escape his wrath, the recriminations stretching near and far:
‘People see me all the time/And they just can’t remember how to act/Their minds are filled with big ideas/ Images and distorted facts/Even you, yesterday/You had to ask me where it was at/I couldn’t believe after all these years/You didn’t know me, any better than that/Sweet lady.’
In contrast, side one closer ‘You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go‘ breezes in, despite the connotation of the title, as a jaunty acoustic guitar/harmonica affair – Dylan showing he is a master at finding humour amid the horrible turn his life has taken, ‘You’re gonna make me wonder what I’m doin’/Stayin’ far behind without you/You’re gonna make me wonder what I’m sayin’/You’re gonna make me give myself a good talking-to.’
Yet the tune and cheery mood are deceptive as among some stunning descriptive phrases, (‘Purple clover/Queen Anne lace/Crimson hair across your face’), comes realisation a painful parting is imminent:
‘I’ll look for you in old Honolulu/San Francisco or Ashtabula/You’re gonna have to leave me now/I know/ But I’ll see you in the sky above/In the tall grass, in the ones I love/You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go.’
Sequenced to open side two, ‘Meet Me in the Morning‘ is a languid blues work out with intertwining acoustic and electric guitars. The sparse instrumentation is ideal for this downbeat acceptance of fate, ‘Look at the sun sinking like a ship/Ain’t that just like my heart, babe/When you kissed my lips?’
The 16-verse eight minute 50 seconds of ‘Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts‘ find Dylan at his most playfully verbose. This epic tale of desire, double-crossing deeds and ultimately death by knife wound, set in the wild west, moves crisply along, the engaging folk inflections keeping things brisk as the incidents and sub-plots come thick and fast.
Through the running commentary Dylan provides there are any number of sublime moments, the vista cinematic in its sweep as those involved act with or fall prey to duplicitous intentions. Even with its somewhat violent climax it still comes as light relief before the crushingly sad, ‘If You See Her, Say Hello‘ where one half of a fractured union is caught painfully between acceptance of the apparent and fading hope of reconciliation.
The words are intense and deeply personal, (‘We had a falling out, like lovers often will/And to think of how she left that night/It still brings me a chill/And though our separation/It pierced me to the heart/She still lives inside of me, we’ve never been apart‘), his pained vocal heard against a blend of acoustic guitar, organ and chilling mandolin that emphasises the unrequited pining for rapprochement.
Written from the perspective of being at the end of a long period spent in a bleak, windswept terrain, ‘Shelter From the Storm‘ is a stunning acoustic guitar ballad, the exhausted wanderer finding comfort in circumstances he cannot fully comprehend – in a historical time frame hard to be certain of:
”Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood/When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud/I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form/”Come in,” she said/”I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”
Like many of the great songs Robbie Robertson wrote for The Band, it has the essence of having been around for centuries, since the time in fact when the drama unfolds, ‘Well, the deputy walks on hard nails/And the preacher rides a mount/But nothing really matters much, it’s doom alone that counts‘. The word play through the undulating contours of a tale that summons mythic and biblical symbolism, at one point in the same line, (‘If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born‘), is stunning in its resonance and creativity.
In coming to a close, the album finds Dylan alone picking out the charming melody of ‘Buckets of Rain.’ Like the weather element of the title, the pathos also comes pouring down. The framework has origins in the blues but the lyrics are awash with dark irony, the writer unsure whether to laugh or cry:
‘I like your smile, and your fingertips/I like the way that you move your hips/I like the cool way you look at me/Everything about you is bringing me misery.’
‘Blood on the Tracks‘ is an evocative, if in places excruciating examination of individual frailty, the cost of love when reduced to disarray never articulated in such a despairing way before or since – although with the exceptional literary skills at his disposal, Jackson Browne ran it close with ‘I’m Alive‘ in 1993.
Not only is his marriage dissolving, on the cover Dylan also appears to be diminished, disappearing into the mauves and maroons of a torrid twilight zone. In the short term the emotive articulation of his despondency had the effect of forging improved relations between husband and wife – Sara seemingly not oblivious to such a public plea for resumption of their togetherness.
Indeed, the couple reunited later in 1975, only to part for good five years later, Dylan documenting the disintegration first on the absorbing ‘Desire‘ (1976) and then with bleakness in ‘Street Legal‘ (1978). But while both records had much to commend them, the latter his most undervalued album of the 1970s, neither attained the same level of emotive soul-searching as he undertook in exploring his heart of darkness of ‘Blood on the Tracks‘ – although such a rigorous study was no doubt enough for one lifetime.
On release it topped the U.S. album charts, reached number 4 in the U.K. and pretty much floored the critics in much the same way ‘Oh Mercy‘ (1989) and ‘Time Out of Mind‘ (1997) would near the end of those respective decades, each coming after a period similar to the early ’70s when his creative powers were perceived as being in decline.
In fact through the 80s and 90s, even through to the present day, a Dylan L.P. meeting with a positive critical response is invariably labelled ‘his best since Blood on the Tracks‘ – but all these years later, 50 to be precise, Bob Dylan has not made an album of its equal.
But then again neither has anyone else.
BOB DYLAN – BLOOD ON THE TRACKS (Released January 20 1975)
Tangled Up in Blue/Simple Twist of Fate/You’re A Big Girl Now/Idiot Wind/You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go/Meet Me in the Morning/Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts/If You See Her, Say Hello/Simple Twist of Fate/Buckets of Rain;
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