The band even changes key between takes; but the song seems basically set—though, on these preliminary takes, Kenny Buttrey shifts his snare beat half a minute or so into the song, and then steadily increases the layered patterns of his drumming. And with every appropriation, Dylan moved closer to a sound of his own. But at this point in the story recollections clash once again. As later related by Johnston to Louis Black, Dylan had roughed out the next song on the piano. According to most accounts, based on the logs and files kept by Columbia Records, Dylan departed Nashville, then returned with Kooper and Robertson fewer than three weeks later to finish recording. Departing from his reputation for recording rapidly, Dylan kept sketching and revising in his hotel room and even in the studio—sometimes laboriously, sometimes spontaneously, seizing on inspiration so quickly it seemed like free association and sometimes was free association. Eliot had called, regretfully, the dissociation of sensibility—cutting off discursive thought or wit from poetic value, substituting emotion for coherence. During the recording, dating back to October and through all of the changes in personnel, there had been some constants. Dylan was also still learning about how to play onstage with a band, and the Hawks were still getting used to playing with him; the kinks would surface inside Studio A.
Eliot had called, regretfully, the dissociation of sensibility—cutting off discursive thought or wit from poetic value, substituting emotion for coherence. Kooper tells of going to a downtown record store and getting chased in broad daylight by some tough guys who disliked his looks. And what has come to be remembered as the musical big bang in Nashville actually grew out of a singular evolution that turned one grand Dylan experiment into something grander. From more than a dozen angles, it describes basic, not always flattering, human desire and the inner movements of an individual being in the world. Supposedly, Dylan, in the interim, adapted and came up with the rudiments of eight more songs, most of them in the three-and-a-half- to four-minute range, closer to the traditional pop-song form. There is some confusion about what happened next. Dylan, rich-voiced, practically croons at times. And there would be many more tracks recorded that night. But at this point in the story recollections clash once again. Dylan had written an extraordinary song—he would boast of it at a San Francisco press conference a few days later—but had not rendered its sound. The singer-songwriter likened the song, which really was a rap, to a sick joke. Over the coming months, starting in Berkeley, he would perform the song constantly in concert, but in the solo acoustic half of the show. Its doomed, hurtful love affairs do not negate love, or abandon efforts to remake love, to liberate it: Reminiscences and scraps of official information have added up to a general story line. Dylan had just performed his half-electric show at Carnegie Hall and in Newark only his third and fourth concerts ever with the Hawks , and, to his surprise, received a warm response. Whether the Nashville sessions occurred in two clusters or just one, New York hip and Nashville virtuosity converged; indeed, musically, the two seem never to have been much apart. In four takes, the song is done. Al Kooper used to call it the road map to hell! Dylan, though, finally went along. It emerged in its final recorded form at the first date and inside just four takes only one of them complete. During the Highway 61 sessions, Bob Johnston had suggested that Dylan try recording sometime in Nashville but, according to Johnston, Grossman and Columbia objected and insisted everything was going fine in New York. The first day of Nashville sessions passed briskly enough, but none of the remaining marathon dates ended before midnight, and they usually lasted until after daybreak. It is now long past the midnight hour and songs are getting churned out at a rapid clip. Nobody expected it would be recorded easily. My thanks to Diane Lapson for helping to sort out the identities of the various musicians on the recordings, as well as to Jeff Rosen and Robert Bowers for guiding me to and through the recordings themselves. The recording at the fourth Nashville date began well after midnight, with a pair of run-through takes by what sounds like an ensemble of piano, two guitars one played by Robbie Robertson , bass, organ, and drums.
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