The official release of The Basement Tapes -- which were first heard on a 1968 bootleg called The Great White Wonder -- plays with history somewhat, as Robbie Robertson overemphasizes the Band's status in the sessions, making them out to be equally active to Dylan, adding in demos not cut at the sessions and overdubbing their recordings to flesh them out. As many bootlegs (most notably the complete five-disc series) reveal, this isn't entirely true and that the Band were nowhere near as active as Dylan, but that ultimately is a bit like nitpicking, since the music here (including the Band's) is astonishingly good. The party line on The Basement Tapes is that it is Americana, as Dylan and the Band pick up the weirdness inherent in old folk, country, and blues tunes, but it transcends mere historical arcana by being lively, humorous, full-bodied performances. Dylan never sounded as loose, nor was he ever as funny as he is here, and this positively revels in its weird, wild character. For all the apparent antecedents -- and the allusions are sly and obvious in equal measures -- this is truly Dylan's show, as he majestically evokes old myths and creates new ones, resulting in a crazy quilt of blues, humor, folk, tall tales, inside jokes, and rock. The Band pretty much pick up where Dylan left off, even singing a couple of his tunes, but they play it a little straight, on both their rockers and ballads. Not a bad thing at all, since this actually winds up providing context for the wild, mercurial brilliance of Dylan's work -- and, taken together, the results (especially in this judiciously compiled form; expert song selection, even if there's a bit too much Band) rank among the greatest American music ever made.
http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&sql=10:gifexqt5ld0e
Dylan and the Band are in fine form here--their performances are inventive, exuberant, and sublimely musical. Dylan seems to twit the audience with a loud, joyous, rocabkilly performance of "Grand Coulee Dam," a highly patriotic ditty ("[to raise the] flying fortress, that flies for Uncle Sam") at a time when anit-government and anti-war activism were at their height, and Dylan was still regarded as the patron saint of protest. Turning Guthries's topical folk song into rock and roll was outrageous but entirely appropriate, a tribute to the timelessness and energy of Woody's work. It's a fine arrangement. The Band is ragged at times but Roberton's guitar work is as delightful as it was on the '66 tour, and Dylan sings with great gusto, totally projecting himself into the song, spitting out Guthrie's 16-syllable lines as if they were watermelon seeds.
Dylan's second song is another unlikely and inspired choice, Guthrie's tribute to FDR on the occasion of his death, written like a letter to his widow ["Dear Mrs. Roosevelt"]. The arrangement is swing rockabilly, wonderfully honky-tonk (Richard Manuel's piano-playing is spot on), and Dylan sings his heart out, his genius for for phrasing and for getting inside the dynamics of each musical moment much in evidence. What comes thriough is his genuine love love for Woody Guthrie--"this world was lucky to see him born." Very moving.
A third example of Dylan's brillaince as a singer and a song rre-creator closes the set, a new arrangement of "I Ain't Got No Home (in This World Anymore)," which Dylan performed quite differently on the Minnesota hotel tape in 1961. Dylan makes good use of Rick Danko's skills as a back-up vocalist on the other two songs as well, but the harmonic refrain Dylan and Danko invent for this one is a pure triumph (and a precursor of Dylan's employment of back-up singers in his shows from 1978 on). Great piano. Great music.
1. "The Grand Coulee Dam"
2. "Dear Mrs. Roosevelt" a tribute to FDR witten in the form of a letter to his widow; and
3. "I Ain't got no Home (in this World Anymore "
(All from the early stages of Bob's career; but then came the heretofore unheard songs from the Basement)
13. The Mighty Quinn
14. This Wheel's On Fire
15. I Shall Be Released
16. Open The Door, Richard
17. Too Much Of Nothing
18. Nothing Was Delivered
19. Tears Of Rage
Tears of Rage
This Wheel's on Fire
I Shall Be Released
One hears a pure, naked emotion in some of Dylan's writing and singing -- in "Tears Of Rage," especially -- that can't he found anywhere else, and I think it is the musical sympathy Dylan and The Band shared in these sessions that gives "Tears Of Rage," and other numbers, their remarkable depth and power. There are rhythms in the music that literally sing with compliments tossed from one musician to another -- listen to "Lo And Behold!," "Crash On The Levee (Down In The Flood)," "Ain't No More Cane." And there is another kind of openness, a flair for ribaldry that's as much a matter of Levon's mandolin as his, or Dylan's, singing -- a spirit that shoots a good smile straight across this album.
More than a little crazy, at times flatly bizarre (take "Million Dollar Bash," "Yazoo Street Scandal," "Don't Ya Tell Henry," "Lo And Behold!"), moving easily from the confessional to the bawdy house, roaring with humor and good times, this music sounds to me at once like a testing and a discovery -- of musical affinity, of nerve, of some very pointed themes; put up or shut up, obligation, escape, homecoming, owning up, the settling of accounts past due.
It sounds as well like a testing and a discovery of memory and roots. "The Basement Tapes" are a kaleidoscope like nothing I know, complete and no more dated than the weather, but they seem to leap out of a kaleidoscope of American music no less immediate for its venerability. Just below the surface of songs like "Lo And Behold!" or "Million Dollar Bash" are the strange adventures and poker-faced insanities chronicled in such standards as "Froggy Went A-Courtin'" "E-ri-e," Henry Thomas's "Fishing Blues," "Cock Robin," or "Five Nights Drunk"; the ghost of Rabbit Brown's sardonic "James Alley Blues" might lie just behind "Crash On The Levee (Down In The Flood)" ("Sometimes I Think That You're Too Sweet To Die," Brown sang in 1927, "And Another Time I Think You Oughta Be Buried Alive") "The Basement Tapes" summon sea chanteys; drinking songs, tall tales, and early rock and roll.
Along side of such things -- and often intertwined with them -- is something very different.
Obviously, death is not very universally accepted. I mean, you'd think that the traditional music people could gather from their songs that mystery is a fact, a traditional fact.
-- Bob Dylan, 1966
I think one can hear what Bob Dylan was talking about in the music of "The Basement Tapes," in "Goin' To Acapulco," "Tears Of Rage," "Too Much Of Nothing," and "This Wheel's On Fire" -- one can hardly avoid hearing it. It is a plain-talk mystery; it has nothing to do with mumbo-jumbo, charms or spells. The "acceptance of death" that Dylan found in "traditional music" -- the ancient ballads of mountain music -- is simply a singer's insistence on mystery as inseparable from any honest understanding of what life is all about; it is the quiet terror of a man seeking salvation who stares into a void that stares back. It is the awesome, impenetrable fatalism that drives the timeless ballads first recorded in the twenties; songs like Buell Kazee's "East Virginia," Clarence Ashley's "Coo Coo Bird," Dock Boggs' "Country Blues" -- or a song called "I Wish I Was A Mole In The Ground," put down by Bascom Lamar Lunsford in 1928. "I wish I was a mole in the ground -- like a mole in the ground I would root that mountain down -- And I wish I was a mole in the ground."
Now, what the singer wants is obvious, and almost impossible to really comprehend. He wants to be delivered from his life, and to be changed into a creature insignificant and despised; like a mole in the ground, he wants to see nothing and to be seen by no one; he wants to destroy the world, and to survive it. Dylan and The Band came to terms with such feeling -- came to terms with the void that looks back -- in the summer of 1967; in the most powerful and unsettling songs on "The Basement Tapes," they put an old, old sense of mystery across with an intensity that has not been heard in a long time. You can find it in Dylan's singing and in his lyrics on "This Wheel's On Fire" -- and in every note Garth Hudson, Richard Manuel, Robbie Robertson, Levon Helm and Rick Danko play.
And it is in this way most of all that "The Basement Tapes" are a testing and a discovery of roots and memory; it might be why "The Basement Tapes" are, if anything, more compelling today than when they were first made, no more likely to fade than Elvis Presley's "Mystery Train" or Robert Johnson's "Love In Vain." The spirit of a song like "I Wish I Was A Mole In The Ground" matters here not as an "influence," and not as a "source." It is simply that one side of "The Basement Tapes" casts the shadow of such things and in turn, is shadowed by them.
-- Greil Marcus
This wheel's on fire,
Rolling down the road
Just notify my NEXT OF KIN
This wheel shall exploooode!
Come to me now, you know
We are so alone
And life is brief
Well, I have my own theory. In 1967, Dylan and his manager Albert Grossman were in the midst of negotiations with MGM Records, who were very eager to sign Dylan to a long term contract, but (according to Robert Shelton's book) Dylan still owed Columbia fourteen songs. Now it could be an amazing coincidence that the original basement tapes acetate consisted of fourteen songs, but I doubt it. These fourteen songs make up the core of the basement tapes and are as follows, probably more or less in the order intended by Dylan (but who knows?):
Million Dollar Bash
Yea Heavy and a Bottle of Bread
Please Mrs. Henry
Down In the Flood
Lo and Behold
Tiny Montgomery
This Wheel's On Fire
You Ain't Goin' Nowhere
I Shall Be Released
Tears of Rage
Too Much of Nothing
Quinn the Eskimo
Open the Door, Homer
Nothing Was Deliveredfrom: http://www.punkhart.com/dylan/reviews/basement_tapes.html
Two more songs that surfaced much later and became BT classics are:
I Am Not There
Sign on the Cross
A tongue can accuse or carry bad news;
The seeds of distrust it will sow.
So unless you have made no mistakes in your life,
Be careful of stones that you throw.