Dig deep enough into the archives, and you can find examples of what might have been. For Bob Dylan, the early versions of Blood on the Tracks are staggering. They are nothing short of honest, something Dylan has been with his audience plenty of times before and after his 1975 classic, but has managed to obscure to the point of confusion. It’s this trickery that keeps him alive, but he laid it out as clear as he ever did on Idiot Wind. There is no denying the autobiographical angle at play there, even if Dylan himself may disagree with this interpretation. The Minnesota Sessions, just like the Tell Ol’ Bill recordings which hear Dylan dissect one song over an hour of tape, is a great experience. You can hear those early versions and contrast them with the finished release, the instrumental subtleties and striking differences across the three versions found here are monumental.
Important, too. The Minnesota Sessions is more a blanket term for both the final recordings, heard on streaming services, printed to vinyl, whatever you need, and the New York Sessions. Those early versions paint an all too honest picture. Stripped-back instrumentals, gone is the sense of hope that brightens the end of the song. Even that little glimmer is extinguished. What Dylan put together when first writing Blood on the Tracks is some of the nastiest-sounding, hopelessly lost music you can get your hands on. But he was convinced to give it a brighter run through, and The Minnesota Sessions is a nice encounter with what would become one of the many outstanding Dylan tracks of the twentieth century. It may be overshadowed by the likes of Forever Young and Hurricane, both for the change in attitude to love and the contemporary, protest song continuation. But Idiot Wind paints a picture, especially those early sessions.
What Dylan managed to do on Idiot Wind, he would not manage again until I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You from Rough and Rowdy Ways. It’s a song with the reverse meaning to Idiot Wind, and it sounds just as assured. Love comes and goes within Dylan’s writing, be it for God, a wife, or the desire to wiggle, as was the case for the Under the Red Sky opener. Whatever the case for his songwriting, it always paints a picture of him as an artist under the influence of some event, be it personal or professional. There is no way Dylan can write without the impact of his life, and as much is the case for Idiot Wind, a mesmerising piece of work that captures so completely the rough heartbreak. Crucial too, is writing from the point of view of the person breaking up with the other, rather than the all-too-common inverse.
Crucially, the Minnesota session is the final release, a massive difference to the lyrics is what makes this change a spectacular listen. Dylan turns from fondly remembering the colder moments to breaking them apart. It’s a decision which still defines Idiot Wind today, with its priests and fiery recognition of this being a point of no return, What the New York sessions offer is complete heartbreak, the early moments of not knowing where to turn and banking on the future of reconciliation. But Idiot Wind is stronger in its studio release, the so-called Minnesota session, because it paints a truer picture. Dylan has had time to strip back the layers of thought which would have kept him present, kept him wanting. Idiot Wind works better as a damning song which hears out the truth, the ugliness at the forefront and the fury backing it the whole way.
