There is no greater cultural sacrifice than a person to art. For all the mystified material which paints a picture of Bob Dylan as an unknowable man, an enigma of the art world, Bringing it All Back Home brings, at the very least, his intentions into clear view. Whether we know the meaning or not is irrelevant. What we can see is the workaholic, the active subconscious and a departure, as many Dylan albums offered, from the norm. Sixty years on from Bringing it All Back Home and those feverish controversies, the outrage and sparks of triumph in the studio, are still felt in the groove. Red wine tinged, cigarette smoke-stained words from a man regarded as a prophet. Even introducing Dylan as a mythical figure feels cliche. All this scene-setting is pandering, sucking up to a revolutionary artist. But it is crucial, too, in how Dylan must be viewed during this period.
Consider the frequent recording sessions for Bringing it All Back Home. An impressive ensemble of musicians was collected, from future The Band members Robbie Robertson, Levon Helm and Garth Hudson, as well as John H. Hammond, whose work had already been in line with the electric overhaul Dylan was pursuing at the time. But why electric? Why choose to move on from protest folk and, in the process, create anger in the minds of those who propelled Dylan to where he was. Part of it, it must be said, is separation. The concept of an artist as product or pet of dedicated fans is nothing new, nor was it at the time with The Beatles roaming the United States. Whether it is Taylor Swift or Johnny Cash, there are fans out there who hold a parasocial relationship with the musicians who impact their lives.
It is as the same time understandable as it is unhinged. Dylan moving away from that with the protest fans who swooned whenever he and Joan Baez stood on stage is not just necessary for the survival of his sound, but of his ongoing service to music. It may also be the case of being too far ahead of those listening in, even passively. In an interview published in Esquire earlier this year, Dylan claimed he had often already moved on from the music people wanted him to play, such was his writing process. He said: “The old records I used to make, by the time they came out I wouldn’t ever want them released because I was already so far beyond them. I was always moving on to something else, and I always felt that calling.
“Not because I wanted to be different, or change, or was looking for the next new thing. I never was looking for nothing. But I discovered it all.” In discovery there is accomplishment and in accomplishment there is closure. For Dylan, sticking to the protest sound, the acoustic charms of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan or The Times They Are A-Changin’ would not just have been a disservice to the artist as an individual, but the genre itself. Bringing it All Back Home marks a necessary but controversial change. No artist can truly stick with one genre and find enough of interest to make a fully-fledged and complete career. Cash waned in the 1980s, modern indie rock from the likes of Catfish and the Bottlemen or Oasis, while popular, is of the times. It is music which reminds of the time it was released, and for Dylan, an album like Bringing it All Back Home is an example of the opposite.
Where the 1990s may be remembered through Definitely Maybe (nostalgia is a vortex after all), Dylan’s Bringing it All Back Home is a cornerstone of the 1960s. We do not remember the 1960s and then the album, but the reverse. Part of that is the continued push from Dylan to not just be ahead of the times, but to redefine them. His encounter with The Beatles and a soft, developing rivalry between the two fuelled an ongoing expression of interest in being considered one of the greats. It may not be referred to or admitted, but the stream of writing, the almost constant desire to improve, is clear. From sessions in the lead-up to Bringing it All Back Home, which were scrapped entirely, to sitting up through the night at a typewriter, it is dedication like this which sometimes fuels the very best works.
Joan Baez summaries it well, saying: “Bob stood at the typewriter in the corner of his room, drinking red wine and smoking and tapping away relentlessly for hours. And in the dead of night, he would wake up, grunt, grab a cigarette, and stumble over to the typewriter again.” So few can afford this dedication, but those in the creative sphere, must. Why the constant urge to write? Dylan already answered that for us. “I always felt that calling.” That calling is not up to a listener, nor an outraged public. Those who felt the anger of a move away from protest simply did not understand the calling of the times. With hindsight, we can see Dylan was right. He was not always correct, as evidenced by some questionable studio choices in the 1980s, but irrespective of their merit, he has followed the calling. He has entertained the ideas which came to him.
That urge to push on irrespective of what had just been released is crucial to Bringing it All Back Home. Both Mr. Tambourine Man and Gates of Eden had been written around the time of Another Side of Bob Dylan. Mr. Tambourine Man, a defining track from Dylan’s career, was pulled from those sessions and formed the core of Bringing it All Back Home. The rest to follow, freewheeling, rap-like vocal work on Subterranean Homesick Blues to the upbeat electric crunch of Maggie’s Farm, is still in line with the broader expectation of Dylan’s sound. He said it himself, in an interview from 2012, that the old and the new must be blurred to keep an audience on side. If not on side, then opposed.
“The thing about it is that there is the old and the new, and you have to connect with them both,” he said. “The old goes out and the new comes in, but there is no sharp borderline. The old is still happening while the new enters the scene, sometimes unnoticed.” It is the unnoticed blur which made Bringing it All Back Home such a controversial listen. To call the electric guitar a controversial instrument now is trivial, but at the time it felt like a revolutionary act, a defiant statement from Dylan. Crucial to the success of the album, sixty years on is it still feels that way.
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