I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #78 - Buffalo ’66 (1998, dir. Vincent Gallo)

“Just look like we are a married couple, *spanning time*!”

Vincent Gallo’s debut feature length film is a beautiful yet twisted love story. Simple and to the point, this film pulls no punches. The viewer is provided with a bird’s eye view of a blue-collar man dealing with life after being released from prison. Through the course of one day we follow an anxious, easily detestable, nervous wreck as he evolves and his true colors shine. Gallo’s film is deceptively simple and one of the most poignant love stories of modern independent cinema.

From the moment the film opens on Billy Brown, played by Gallo himself, exiting prison, a stark ambiance is set. The film is draped in greys and a haze permeates the scenery. The compositions and scenes are well thought out and remarkably executed by cinematographer Lance Accord. We’re immediately thrown into the meat of the story when jolted by an onslaught of jarring flashbacks from prison. Billy has a need to urinate, being turned away by a variety of different restrooms he ends up in a dance studio where the camera pans through the tap students, landing on Layla (Christina Ricci). From this point the chain of absurd events begins: Billy kidnaps Layla, forces her to drive him around, pretend to be his wife, and Billy starts his hunt for Scott Woods, the field goal kicker that ruined his life.

It is almost impossible to do the story line justice in such a short piece; the film follows the basic structure of a classic love story where the guy meets girl through random happenstance and while they don’t immediately fall together they develop feelings for each other. But there is another side to the story. Jean-Luc Godard once said, “All you need for a movie is a gun and a girl” – we’ve established the girl part of this equation, but we do also have the gun. Through a flashback we learn that Billy’s stint in prison was payment to a bookie for a bet he lost when the Buffalo Bills kicker (Scott Woods) missed a field goal. Billy believes that Woods missed the kick on purpose and has decided that he must kill Woods for ruining his life and then kill himself in order to not go back to prison. While Billy reluctantly falls for the quirky Layla there still burns a fiery desire for revenge. This all culminates in the most colorful, shocking and beautiful action sequence and a somewhat unexpected ending to this tale.

But, with all of that said the question still remains, what makes Buffalo ’66 such an amazing film? The brilliance of this film lies in the passion, the subtleties, and the idiosyncratic humor that embody the film and its players. Billy is not a loveable character; he’s brash, hot tempered, awkward and anxious, but as the film plays we grow to understand what made him who he is and his walls start to dismantle, exposing him as a vulnerable person. Billy’s transformation is brought on by the quixotic, beautiful and captivating Layla.  The key to this film is the two well-written main characters and brilliant performances of the actors who play them. Gallo plays Billy with an extreme passion, yet is amazing at subtly letting vulnerability shine through. This is coupled with Ricci’s ability to convey so much through facial expression and mannerisms having while very few short lines.

In addition to the performances of Gallo and Ricci (as well as the supporting cast including Ben Gazzara, Anjelica Huston, and Mickey Rourke to name a few), the delicate black humor and scattered forays into strange surreal sequences make this film truly something special. So why would I like to turn you on to this film? Because it is one of the most tantalizing, hilarious and touching stories that will capture your complete attention. It is a story surrounding characters that we are inclined to dislike and yet can’t help but love. So give this film a chance and “span” some time with Billy and Layla.

- Edward Hill

I'd Love to Turn You On #93 - Stan Getz – Captain Marvel

Stan Getz – best known as America’s tenor sax master of the Bossa Nova – here creates a different kind of Latin fusion that’s light on the fusion and heavy on the beauty. But those who come to him familiar only with the Getz/Gilberto albums might be in for a bit of a shock in hearing the less laid back approach he uses here. It’s something he’d done before in his pre-Bossa, “cool jazz” work for the Savoy and Verve labels that flirted with bebop, but is nowhere to be found on the creamy tones employed when he’s creating a Brazilian/jazz hybrid alongside his partners João Gilberto or Charlie Byrd. But even while he’s taking a more overt rhythmic approach there is no loss of the lovely lines he develops – that’s simply pure Getz, him doing what he’s best at.

Aiding and abetting him here are three Miles Davis alumni – miraculous drummer Tony Williams, Brazilian percussionist Airto Moreira, and keyboardist Chick Corea, whose Fender Rhodes electric piano and whose compositions (spiced with what Corea called “My Spanish Heart” on one of his own albums) set the real flavor of the album – and rounding out the group is bassist Stanley Clarke, only 20 at the time of the recording. With these former Miles sidemen, it would be understandable to fear some of the notoriously brilliant fusion experiments that the great trumpeter was creating at the time, but Getz and Corea here have something less forbidding in mind, with uptempo Latin grooves dominating the album and the only audible touch of what would become known as “fusion” in Corea’s deferential Rhodes keyboards – even Stanley Clarke, soon to become one of the masters of the electric bass, is here all acoustic. But a fusion it is regardless – fusing a post-bop structure with Corea’s affinity for Latin rhythms, augmented by Tony Williams’ impeccable drumming and Airto’s sometimes complementary, sometimes otherworldly percussion accents.

And what about Getz himself? As noted, even with a more urgent rhythmic delivery spurred by his band here, he still keeps melody at the forefront and delivers the long, lyrical lines that are his hallmark throughout. And when he’s given a pair of ballads in the second half – Corea’s “Times Lie” (which kicks off as a ballad and then starts chugging once Getz lays out before returning to its mellower beginnings) and Billy Strayhorn’s classic “Lush Life” – those who know Getz from his Bossa Nova stylings will find a very familiar vibe to this record. And as a bonus, the CD includes a track recorded at the sessions that didn’t make the original album – Corea’s duet with Getz on the absolutely gorgeous “Crystal Silence” which includes a few mild interjections from Airto, but mostly finds the two players talking back and forth at the height of their powers. There are those who prefer Getz’s earlier, similarly styled collaboration with Corea, Sweet Rain, but for me the presence of Tony Williams here trumps it, makes this a more exciting collaboration overall, and Corea’s “La Fiesta” that opens this album is a show-stopper that the fine earlier album can’t touch. But they’re both pretty great – check ‘em both out.

- Patrick Brown

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #77 - Persuasion (1995, dir. Roger Michell)

The best thing about the 1995 version of Persuasion is the ending, the last two shots. Together they last barely a second, but they form a perfect and stunningly beautiful climax to a classic Jane Austen story, a romance full of subtle and delicious tension.

            It’s the story of Anne Elliot, a woman in her late twenties, from a wealthy family, unmarried, sad and bored. Eight years earlier, she had accepted the proposal of a dashing and smart young sailor named Frederick Wentworth, but he was poor and without good family connections, and her snobbish father and sister convinced her to change her mind. The movie begins at a point just before Wentworth returns from the Napoleonic Wars, a captain now, fabulously wealthy, and just as handsome as ever. It’s clear that he’s looking for a bride, the courtly way he dotes on all the women. It’s clear, too, that Anne is out of the running, the way he won’t even look at her. On a group outing he helps a younger lady across a rugged stretch of rocks but doesn’t stay to help Anne who’s following close behind. But then, late in the film, in a tense and possibly tragic moment, he’s there behind her as she climbs into carriage, and he helps her up, gently holds her at the curve above her waist, and though he still won’t look her in the eye, we know.

            What makes this romance a classic is the sea. We see it from the film’s beginning, when Anne’s father speaks loathingly of navy men, to the pivotal moment when everyone gathers for a feast in candlelight, Wentworth the guest of honor, and he declares that he’ll never have a woman on his ship because it’s impossible to make a ship suitable for one. All the women at the table gasp and laugh, but his sister, who is married to a retired naval admiral - she’s crossed the Atlantic four times, she’s been to the West Indies - she says, “None of us want to be in calm waters all our life.” In that moment we see in Anne’s eyes a great longing, not overstated, and we see it again later on when her family accompanies Wentworth to the coast for a holiday. They all stroll together along the shore and there’s Anne looking out across the waves at the ships. Amanda Root plays Anne brilliantly, reserved and restrained yet plainly full of passion and desire. She carries so much of the story with her eyes.

            Persuasion was the last novel Austen completed, and the story is one of her most nuanced and sophisticated, and this film version (there are three that I’m aware of) best captures the subtle friction between its characters, and its theme, delivered by the symbol of the sea, of seizing life and going as far with it as possible.

               - Joe Miller

I'd Love to Turn You On #92 - The Feelies - The Good Earth

In 1986 when The Good Earth came out, the smoldering wreckage of disco, new wave and punk lay on the sonic shoreline like so much tsunami debris, waiting for any band to make a move. Grunge was starting to gain traction on the west coast, and back east there were a few bands starting to shake off the historical dust of the last decade and seeking a new (or old) sound that made sense for the approaching 90’s. In Haledon, New Jersey The Feelies had been quietly playing their brand of layered, guitar-based psychedelic folk for almost a decade. They had made one previous album, Crazy Rhythms, which was a favorite of critics and other bands, but had won them few fans out of Jersey and even fewer sales. The truth is, there is no happy ending to this story. They never got the recognition or the sales they deserved, never had a hit, never got rich, but over the last 40 or so years they have sporadically released five albums, toured occasionally and remained one of the real high spots of the end of the last century in my opinion.

The basic Feelies approach is a folky song structure with dreamy, yearning lyrics that almost invariably becomes a trance-inducing raga as drummers Stan Demeski and Dave Weckerman set up a precision tribal assault while guitarists Glen Mercer and Bill Million lay on piles of Byrdsian, Velvetish, Neilworthy textures and leads, weaving in and out of each other’s lines like a basket of snakes. The Good Earth is ultimately a guitar album. Although there are virtually no extended guitar solos, the Feelies sound is defined by the walls of strummed acoustic guitars against mountains of electric chords, all the while mercury leads slide along the bottom, buzzing and giving melodic depth to each song. One never feels like they are listening to a wank-fest - nobody ever takes center stage with The Feelies; they define the ensemble concept in rock. It made perfect sense that the first time I saw them they were opening for Lou Reed. Lou had certainly developed a signature voice and sound, but his groundbreaking work with The Velvet Underground also explored the concept of a small group of players creating a droning cosmic wail by playing simple, parts that, together, work like a musical jigsaw puzzle. Listen to “The High Road” to get the idea. An unfailing rhythm sets up a memorable melody with the perfect use of drums and tambourine to drive the song, counterpointed by a simple but haunting bass line, while the guitars roil and shine to meet the lyric: “Gonna rise and carry us home tonight.” It is sublime, and it is the kind of song every band wishes they could write. The Feelies toss them off like rolling off a log.

There is something remarkably comforting to me about The Good Earth. When I have just about had enough of this or that kind of autotuned, fake-beat, sampled, bullshit noise, and I want to hear some “beautiful hippie music” I reach for this album as a balm. The Feelies wrote great songs, and played them in a way that I can relate to. There are absolutely no gimmicks, or nods toward current fashion. It’s pretty simple, don’t assault the listener, give them something of lasting value.

- Paul Epstein

Move Me Brightly – A Documentary Concert Film Celebrating Jerry Garcia's 70th Birthday

In general I have avoided too much Jerry-ana. I loved Jerry's singing and playing, and found him an endlessly compelling thinker and talker, but I have a problem with the cult of personality that has grown up around him. Many are incapable of seeing the feet of clay on their heroes. Either way, his body of work stands as its own judgment. Move Me Brightly is a heartfelt and musically rewarding tribute to that body of work, and to a lesser extent a nod to the personality as well.

Led by Garcia's loyal sidekick, Bob Weir, Move Me Brightly finds a revolving cast of Garcia contemporaries paired with a tasteful group of younger players immersing themselves in some of Garcia's best songs. Weir, Donna-Jean Godchaux, Phil Lesh and Mike Gordon are joined by Jonathan Wilson, Cass Mccombs, Harper Simon (Paul's son) and members of The Hold Steady, Vampire Weekend, Ryan Adams and The Cardinals, Black Crowes, Yellowbirds and others for a hypnotizing couple of hours of truly great music.

Weir comports himself with dignity and generosity as he lets each guest shine on vocals or their respective instrument. Many times he guides the assembled into an ensemble wall-of-sound utilizing up to five guitarists on stage at the same time. Because of the careful rehearsal that went into this event, along with the beautiful sound achieved, there is almost no stepping on other people's solo, and each instrument is beautifully clear and adding to the whole. And the whole is an emotionally and musically satisfying event. There are many highlights, including Jonathan Wilson's haunting version of “Mission In The Rain,” and Neil Casal's overwhelmingly emotional reading of “Ship Of Fools.” Weir tackles “The Days Between” and “Shakedown Street” with just the right blend of ownership and borrowing, a balance he has increasingly struck with authority.

 

I kept waiting to be let down, but I never was. The playing was phenomenal throughout, and the taped interviews with four of Jerry's daughters, ex-wife and brother are illuminating as well as humanizing. Other musicians like David Hidalgo, Carlos Santana, both Dead drummers, Perry Farrell, Dave Schools and Mike Campbell all spill their love for Jerry without getting sappy, and the overall feeling one is left with is profound dignity. It is hard to imagine that a movie without an actual appearance by Jerry Garcia could say so much about his music and legacy, but Move Me Brightly does just that. Not to be missed!

- Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #76 - Re-Animator (1985, dir. Stuart Gordon)

In the opening scene of this film, set at a hospital in the University of Zurich, two policemen are lead by employees of the hospital to investigate the source of crashing sounds and unearthly screams emanating from Dr. Gruber's locked office. The police break in to find Dr. Gruber seizing on the floor, with Herbert West (played with terrific zeal by Jeffrey Combs) hovering over him with an empty syringe. West is pulled off by the police, shouting that he needs to record the data of Gruber's vital signs and that a vital experiment has been interrupted. Gruber screams, squeezes his head until his eyeballs burst and then collapses on the floor, dead. One of the employees accuses West of killing him, to which he calmly responds "No I did not. I gave him life." Herbert West is a little cracked. Maybe more than a little. But with his calmly clinical attitude he’s also the man you want in your corner when the shit hits the fan, as it most assuredly does later in the film.

Re-Animator is an over the top horror film with tongue planted firmly in cheek, based on a series of stories by H.P. Lovecraft but just as equally indebted to the Grand Guignol theater in its depiction of graphic horrors with very little in the way of any moralizing. Providing the film’s moral center is the couple Dan and Meg – Dan (Bruce Abbott) is a promising medical student at Miskatonic University (an invention of Lovecraft’s), an ivy-league college in New England, and Meg (Barbara Crampton) is the daughter of the dean of the school. This is our normal couple about to enter into the maelstrom and madness unleashed by Herbert West. After the tragic demise of Dr. Gruber, West relocates to Miskatonic, bringing his re-animating solution that can give new life to dead tissue – a scientific research gone awry as he pursues results further and further afield (at one point he’s hovering over a recently deceased corpse yelling at Dan’s qualms about reviving the corpse with a curt "Every moment that we spend talking about it costs us results!"). Rounding out the central characters are Meg’s father, an old-fashioned, out-of-touch fuddy-duddy, and Dr. Hill, the school’s star brain surgeon and “grant machine,” played as a perfectly arrogant, slavering creep by David Gale. Conflicts between Herbert West and Dr. Hill are set up from the get-go as West accuses Hill of stealing Dr. Gruber’s ideas, and Meg has an understandable and immediate dislike of West’s cold and creepy demeanor when he asks to move in with Dan and set up a crude laboratory in the basement of his house.

As West demonstrates the effectiveness of his re-animating serum to Dan, things quickly begin to slide downward for everyone involved and before long we get to witness a re-animated head, several severed limbs, mind control via laser brain surgery, and many other ghastly horrors, all delivered in a spirit of gleeful excess by director Gordon (a founder of the noted Organic Theater Company) and his cast, who do the film a great service by playing it completely straight. It’s to their credit that despite the film’s panoply of grotesque (and funny) horrors they also make sure that its characters read as true – too often horror films populate their casts with clichés just waiting to be bumped off so it’s always nice when one spends the time to make us believe the people we’re watching, even if we know that they’re actually going to play second fiddle to a shambling headless corpse at some point.

Along with other horror films of its time like Evil Dead 2 and Dead Alive, Re-Animator marries comedy to the horrific proceedings in a perfect mixture and would certainly be a lesser film if it merely went for scares. And though they pay homage to Lovecraft’s spirit, they take his ideas pretty far out in a way the author himself never did in his preference for horrors insinuated and alluded to rather than displayed. And that’s where it comes back to the Grand Guignol’s displays of excess and gore. And despite being very much of its time in the spirit of what other horror films were doing, there’s just something about its rootedness of Gordon’s work with his actors and his experience on stage that makes even the most outrageous effects and scenes of the film seem like they’re as natural as the characters they’ve made. It’s a spectacularly entertaining film, certainly not for everyone, but if you’ve read this far, it’s most likely a film for you.

- Patrick Brown

I'd Love to Turn You On #91 - Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band - Doc at the Radar Station

Maybe you know the good Captain’s music, maybe not. There probably ought to be two separate reviews for those who do and those who don’t, because your approach to this album will be different based on whether you know what you’re getting into or not. Those in the know can skip ahead a bit; those who don’t have any Beefheart in their heads yet should read on.

Captain Beefheart’s music has a reputation – completely earned, of course – of being weird and difficult. This is, in part, due to the reputation of the titanic 1969 double album Trout Mask Replica, an album I have a hard time listening to all the way through without getting a headache (even though I enjoy it in smaller doses) and one that is often the album people come to first to hear his music – sometimes never to return. It placed #60 on Rolling Stone’s 2003 “500 Greatest Albums of All Time” list and is a regular feature of other such lists. Encouraged by his producer and friend Frank Zappa to indulge his wildest musical and poetic impulses, Beefheart and his crack band essayed a bizarre combination of guttural Delta Blues, experimentally primitive rock, surrealist poetry and psychedelia that certainly sounded like nothing else that existed at the time, and still sounds like nothing else except the Captain’s own music. He’d make a slightly more user-friendly version on his next album and continued to make more accessible work over the next few years. But by the later part of the 70’s he was again on track with an album that hit a good middle ground between his compromises and his artistic impulses (1978’s terrific Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller)) and that leads us right to this 1980 album. Realizing that his watered-down versions of Beefheart weren’t making him any more money than the undiluted Beefheart, he stripped his music of the pop trappings (psychedelia had long since fallen by the wayside) and left only this corraded version of his music, winnowed down to its weird and exciting core of blues-influenced art-rock.

Where Trout Mask and its immediate follow-up Lick My Decals Off, Baby flaunted their jagged and shifting rhythms and colored their ensembles with fruity instrumentation, spoken word interjections and sound effects, by the time of Doc, Beefheart et al had streamlined their music to an efficient machine and Beefheart’s own production managed to make even the most challenging rhythms and strangest poetry and vocal inflections here sound like they flowed naturally. Take "Sheriff of Hong Kong" here: it never settles into a groove that lasts more than a few bars, the Captain screams and growls his head off, uses weird words and dissonance at will, and yet set alongside some of his challenging earlier works it sounds positively rocking, as opposed to some aural art piece to be appreciated by connoisseurs and hipster cognoscenti and closet surrealists only. And though there are frequent and unexpected Mellotron intrusions throughout the album, the art quotient here seems subservient to the rock values, which makes it a fine entry point into the Captain’s catalog for the uninitiated. Even though it doesn’t sacrifice its basic weirdness and angularity, somehow the jaggedness grooves here where it's at cross purposes on Trout Mask, highlighting the alienating strangeness of it all. And it doesn’t hurt that it kicks off with four killers in a row – “Hot Head” and “Ashtray Heart” are simply two of the Captain’s finest songs, period, while “A Carrot Is as Close as a Rabbit Gets to a Diamond” gives a lovely breather for keyboard and guitar and “Run Paint Run Run” again finds the band in a rocking groove that you could even dance to, if so inclined. They run through two artier numbers and the first side is done. Second side kicks off with another killer in “Dirty Blue Gene” with its rocketing guitar riffs and double-tracked screams and then moves into the oddly optimistic “Best Batch Yet.” Next up is the uber-paranoid “Telephone” and another gorgeous interlude with Gary Lucas’ solo guitar piece “Flavor Bud Living” before the six-plus minutes of “Sheriff of Hong Kong” move us up to the finale – the utterly bizarre and profane “Making Love to a Vampire with a Monkey on My Knee.” And that’s it – a cool 38 minutes and change, not the nearly 80 headache-inducing minutes of Trout Mask Replica. And though the band’s back cover/insert photo looks like they’re daring you to give the album a try, none of them smiling, it’s actually quite absorbing and accessible – well, within the Captain’s weird world, anyway.

Maybe there will be another album in his catalog that speaks to you more – Trout Mask’s uncompromised weirdness certainly has many admirers and even I tend to lean toward the friendlier Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller) or Clear Spot when I want to play something that other people can enjoy more readily, but Doc at the Radar Station is, for me, the perfect mix of the Captain’s best artistic impulses and his ability to allow others a view of his weird world that won’t scare them completely off.

- Patrick Brown

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #75 - A Fish Called Wanda (1988, dir. Charles Crichton, John Cleese)

"Don't Call Me Stupid!"

As the credits for A Fish Called Wanda begin and we realize that John Cleese and Charles Crichton co-wrote and directed what we are about to see, what follows should be a guaranteed comedic masterpiece. A glorious melding of minds that gave us Monty Python and what is probably the masterpiece from the Ealing Studios, The Lavender Hill Mob. With these two geniuses at the helm, what could go wrong? The answer of course (and in the most British manner) is everything!

The story fools us right away, posing as a typical heist film. We quickly meet all the characters as they prepare to steal a large stash of jewels. The actual heist lasts a few minutes at most, as it quickly becomes apparent that the film is far more interested in the absurd idiosyncrasies of its irresistibly naughty characters as they constantly try to rip off and one up each other.

I will reveal very little plot, because this perfectly oiled machine offers up rapid paced hilarity that will keep you giggling and guffawing throughout its breezy runtime. Pay close attention to the smaller side characters throughout the film as they deliver some of the best lines.

A Fish Called Wanda is the ultimate refresher for those tired of typical American comedy. It’s no surprise coming from John Cleese that the characters, on paper, would read as simple stereotypes. But, in the hands of these gifted actors, they become living, breathing train wrecks that we simply cannot take our eyes off. Cleese himself plays the pompous, uppity barrister who is simply hopeless if a pretty girl with cleavage bats her eyes. Said girl is played pitch perfectly by Jamie Lee Curtis (in what I would argue is her finest role). She plays Wanda, the gorgeous American girl duping Englishmen left and right and doing whatever she pleases, all with a beautiful smile and a healthy dose of glee.  Michael Palin plays the fish obsessed (he gets to deliver the titular line), stuttering man who is terrified of the foolhardy American man's sexual advances (Kevin Kline giving his career best). Kline's character is my personal favorite, a wonderful over-exaggeration of the insecure American man. When he needs to "think" he fires a gun, when he needs to relax he stares at himself in the mirror as he plays with delightfully phallic swords (an hysterical pre cursor to the opening of American Psycho, which offers up skewering satire about half as well) and an absolute obsession with not being called stupid under any circumstances.

A Fish Called Wanda is break-neck paced comedy unlike any I've seen before or since. Unlike the typical comedy we see nowadays (formulaic crap like The Hangover or Date Night), nearly every moment is jam packed with substance, subtext, creativity, ingenuity, expert comedic timing, Buster Keaton-esque slapstick and vicious, biting satire. This film fears no one and gives us some delectably disgusting humans to cozy up to. Certainly an influence (whether conscious or not) on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and any comedy that attempts fast paced, witty dialogue. If you like your comedy a little amoral and a good amount dark, look no further than this 1988 masterpiece. 

            - Will Morris, House Manager, Sie Film Center

I'd Love to Turn You On #90 - Rick Wakeman - The Six Wives of Henry The VIII

In the world of music appreciation there is the silly, pointless and irresistible game of: “who is best?” If you are a lover of an instrument you are drawn to those who have given themselves over to its mastery. Right?  Ahem, I, of course, am above such petty squabbling. I understand that different players excel and innovate in different areas of musical accomplishment whether it be composition, precision, speed, improvisation, accuracy or any one of the dozens of other variables that qualify as greatness, but secretly, we all, even I, have “our guy.” For rock music, and especially the sub-genre known as progressive rock, I must admit, I have no other guy: Rick Wakeman is it! No other player comes close or is even in the same arena for my money. I have to go to jazz or classical to find any other player with Wakeman’s chops and intellect. When he is great, he is magnificent. When he is not, he is um, er, kind of an embarrassment. Like all my favorite guys, I can think of major parts of the careers of Coltrane, Miles, Dylan, Zappa, Lennon, Hemingway, Kerouac, Crumb, etc., etc. that are just plain bad. That is part of reaching for the stars: sometimes you bump into the moon. Rick Wakeman has had plenty of absurd moments in his long career, but when he finds the right context, he is sublime. He found the right context on the first three or four Yes albums he appeared on (Close To The Edge, Fragile, Tales From Topographic Oceans, Going For The One) but perhaps showed his greatness as a player most efficiently on his 1973 solo debut The Six Wives Of Henry The VIII.

It came as a shock to many Yes fans upon its release, being an entirely instrumental album. A highbrow, Anglophile, concept album about the unfortunate women who married the bloody Tudor, the music on this album is a heady mix of rock, jazz, classical and funk loaded with guest musicians from Yes, The Strawbs and other corners of England’s musical geography. But the star is Wakeman’s unbelievable manual dexterity and battery of keyboards (at least 15 are specified in the liner notes). Each piece is driven not only by Wakeman’s proficiency and expertise on this fortress of instruments but, more importantly, by his genuinely wonderful sense of melody and composition.

A classically trained musician, Rick Wakeman proved with the Strawbs, Yes and on countless other historic sessions that he had the greatest understanding of the entire history of keyboard music of any musician of his generation, and he takes it a step further on Six Wives. His regal pipe organ playing on “Jane Seymour” or his jazzy piano on “Anne Of Cleves” or “Anne Boleyn,” and his crazed synth, moog and mellotron work on “Catherine Of Aragon” and “Catherine Howard” provide satisfaction for fans of his work with Yes as well as those who yearn for something even more focused and accomplished. Much of the music on the album will be familiar to fans of Yes because Wakeman incorporated many of the most memorable bits into his solo segments of their live shows over the years, but the album taken as a whole is an entirely rewarding and unique musical experience. By the time you get to the final wife, “Catherine Parr,” Wakeman has pulled out all the stops creating a memorable, stomping beauty of a theme that he drives home with soaring synth lines, organ fills, church bells and a Copland-esque finale that will have you cheering in the aisles. At his best here, Wakeman combines virtuosity, taste and an irresistible, wink-wink attitude toward genre rules that can only be born from true mastery. He is the best and this is his best album.

            - Paul Epstein

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #74 - The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007, dir. Julian Schnabel)

“I’ve decided to stop pitying myself. Other than my eye, two things aren’t paralyzed. My imagination and my memory. They’re the only two ways I can escape from my diving bell.”

            Imagine being completely paralyzed aside from one eye, yet you’re completely aware, your brain fully functional. Follow this imaginary tangent and imagine that a form of communication has been developed for you using the alphabet and specifically placed blinks in order to demarcate one letter at a time.  This is the true story of Jean-Dominique Bauby.  He was able to communicate, one blink at a time, in order to write his memoir, the very work upon which this film is based.

After re-watching Julian Schnabel’s The Diving Bell and the Butterfly in preparation for this piece I found myself at a loss for words. Upon reflection I remembered feeling the exact same way after my first viewing; it’s hard to imagine that such a seemly direct story could hold such power. In this film, as well as the memoir of the same name it’s based on, we get the chance to live Jean-Dominique Bauby’s life for a spell. While the subject matter does surround a man who has gone through a massive stroke and suffers from locked-in syndrome, the film is not an entirely melancholic affair. Schnabel’s glorious visual realization of the memoir is truly an imaginative journey into an intriguing life filled with moments of wonder, frustration, melancholy (of course), tenderness, and a lively amount of sarcastic wit. With the use of cinematic technique and imaginative style the film sweeps the viewer through life in Bauby’s “diving bell.”

            The reason it’s difficult to find the words to describe this film is its visual nature; words just can’t describe the sway of its images. Much of the power of this film lies in the ways that Schnabel has chosen to convey this extraordinary memoir and the gorgeous images shot by Janusz Kaminski. For the majority of the film the camera lens truly becomes Bauby’s eye, it’s blurry when he first wakes up, images distort when his eye is strained, and everything in frame is immersed in water when he tears up. We even watch from his perspective, as one of his eyes is sewn shut to prevent ocular sepsis. In conjunction with this technique we are also provided his inner monologue as well as a front row seat, and/or his perspective shots, during a variety of flashbacks and imaginary dream sequences. Sometimes we even get a metaphorical look at how Bauby feels, stranded on a dead end pier in the middle of the water or screaming inside a lifeless diving suit. All of this comes together to truly place the viewer in his mind, not as merely a voyeur alongside the author.

            In addition to the way the story was told, the acting throughout the film is subtle and spot on. Mathieu Amalric is perfect both as the locked-in Bauby and the lively figure in memory. The entire supporting cast was spot on; Max Von Sydow even graced the screen as Jean-Dominique’s beloved, yet somewhat senile father. With every actor and actress the key seemed to be subtlety, even when the action expressed was exuberant, the true meaning is found between the lines. The fragile nature of life seemed to be a vine throughout the film.

            The bottom line is that this immersive film vividly brings to life an extremely interesting story. The subject matter could very easily have turned fodder for a cheap tear-jerker in the hands of a less capable director, but Schnabel, who’s helmed two other artist’s biopics, Basquiat (1996) and Before Night Falls (2000), brings the film to life. In place of scenes specifically placed to pull at heartstrings we get a more realistic set of acts strung together to give us both a look into Bauby’s life and his experience with locked-in syndrome. It could easily be an all too sentimental film, however the film created is beautiful, whimsical and reflective.

            - Edward Hill

I'd Love to Turn You On #89 - Marisa Monte – Rose and Charcoal

Back in 1994 when this was released, I was just stumbling into learning about Brazilian music and came to this album via its New York pedigree – my hero Arto Lindsay produced the record, she covers the Velvet Underground, Laurie Anderson has a guest spot, Philip Glass does an arrangement and so forth – but it’s Marisa Monte’s talents that held me to the record, not any of her pals. I was won over by Monte's gorgeous, lilting voice, by the sheer beauty of the tunes, and by the variety on display.

Turns out that not only was this record a precursor for the group Tribalistas she later formed with two of her cohorts here – Carlinhos Brown and Arnaldo Antunes – but it also has proven over the nearly 20 years since its release to stand strong not just as her finest hour (well, 50 minutes anyway) but as also one of the finest records out of the MPB movement that she’s a part of. MPB is short for Música Popular Brasileira, an all-embracing style of Brazilian pop music that arose in the post-Bossa Nova era and showed love for all styles of Brazilian music. Monte here takes on Bossa Nova, a funky Jorge Ben classic (“Balança pema”), an introspective Velvets classic (“Pale Blue Eyes”), some moody saudade from Paulinho da Viola (“Dança da solidão”), and a 1950’s samba, never stepping wrong at any point. But even more than showing her effortless grasp of Brazil’s musical breadth and history, it’s a showcase for the new tunes (mostly written by her and her Tribalistas pals) which are of a piece with the time-tested ones she covers and which show her and her associates’ mastery of pop music.

Kicking off with Carlinhos Brown’s “Maria de Verdade” the album sets itself quickly into a lovely summery groove before taking you on a tour of Brazil’s many styles and moods of music. And in fact, even above Lou Reed and Jorge Ben and Paulinho da Viola, Brown takes tops honors on the record, though not with the uplifting groove of the lead cut; it’s his spectacularly lovely tune “Segue O Seco” that’s the killer of the entire album. It’s a mid-tempo groover with a wistful tone, bordering on melancholy without surrendering its hope fully to that feeling – it’s simply too gorgeous to step down to that. After the strong opening songs, the record starts to jump around stylistically before settling on a more uptempo ending kicked off by Jorge Ben’s cut, then leading into the mellower Laurie Anderson guest spot and then closing out with the celebratory samba “Esta Melodia” – well, it’s celebratory until you tune into the lyrics, which are loaded with heartbreak but set over such an irresistible melodic line and surging rhythm that you can’t help getting swept up in the fun of it.

Bouncing from style to style, mood to mood, Marisa Monte’s talent is nowhere in her catalog more evident than here, on her best album. And in spite of the cream of Brazil’s modern MPB movement at her side, in spite of the great songwriters she honors (and works with), in spite of the guests she’s pulled in to help out (and did I also mention Gilberto Gil and Bernie Worrell’s spots on the album?), it’s her authority as singer, bandleader, and musician that holds the whole thing together. It’s a brilliant record, and despite everyone else I talk about here, it’s Marisa’s album - her masterpiece, in fact.

- Patrick Brown

I'd Love to Turn You On At the Movies #73 - Dark City (1998, dir. Alex Proyas)

What makes a human human? What is the soul? Are we just a collection of memories and a conglomeration of our past experiences? Or is there something else? Some spark of individualism or wisp of consciousness that makes us more than just a sack of blood, guts and impulses? This is the central question behind the visionary and disquieting film Dark City. This is not the only big question tackled by this stylish, bold film. Writer, director Alex Proyas wears his influences (German Expressionism, 1940’s film-noir and the classic era of Sci-Fi and Horror) on his sleeve and with the bold, almost over-the-top themes of self-determination and individualism he has created a film that sits comfortably next to the classics it pays homage to while pushing the genre forward.

The film begins with protagonist, John Murdoch (Rufus Sewell) waking up naked and disoriented in an unfamiliar, dingy hotel room. Things get immediately worse as he discovers a dead and mutilated woman in the room with him, and soon finds himself being pursued by police (in the person of an icy cold William Hurt) and even more ominously, a group of pale, trench-coated “aliens” known only as The Strangers. The film propels forward at a breakneck speed in a dizzying series of ominous revelations. Giving away any points of the plot would destroy the momentum the film so beautifully builds, but rest assured that, in spite of an initial sense of confusion in the viewer, all is revealed by the time it reaches its satisfying conclusion. An ambitious plot with heady themes and an intellectually honest attempt to address “the big questions” puts Dark City ahead of the pack to start, but the most exhilarating aspect is the endlessly changing and fascinating visual style it achieves.

The un-named, yet familiar city inhabited by John Murdoch is an ever-changing conglomeration of facades cast in a pallid nighttime glow. Like Metropolis, Blade Runner or Brazil before it or The Matrix and Inception after, an environment free of specific time and place references yet all too familiar exists, making us simultaneously comforted and disoriented. It is that dream-like quality of “seems like I’ve been here before” similar to deja-vu experiences that make Dark City unforgettable. Rarely has a film gotten the look so right. As though stepping into an M.C.Escher painting, stairways exist and we have an intuitive sense of how they work, but in this dream the laws of gravity, time and space have been recalibrated so that the familiar is changed, our past experiences prove to be a broken compass pointing somewhere unknown. Landmarks and institutions that should provide clues to what is happening just reinforce the sense of being lost.

I realize all of this description gives you no idea what the movie is really about. Simply put, it is science fiction of the polemic, revelatory school, like a big budget, grown up version of Star Trek or The Twilight Zone. There are special effects, themes lifted from mythology, beings from other planets, revocation of the laws of physics and ultimately a cosmic battle for the very soul of man. It is a hugely ambitious film that succeeds on many levels. At points during the finale it might veer a little too much into the hands of the special effects wizards, although in its favor is the fact that being filmed in 1998 almost none of the big action is CGI; however the conclusion is satisfying by a fairly rigorous intellectual standard. The idea that mankind is a rare and wonderful animal whose very existence would drive other species to jealously covet what we alone have: our humanity is a theme that can be endlessly and creatively explored. Alex Proyas’ Dark City is an essential entry into the canon.

- Paul Epstein

On The Cover: Adam Goldstein covers Bob Dylan Blood on the Tracks. Opening: Roger Green

Twist & Shout continues its support of the great monthly series, On the Cover, taking place the last Wednesday of every month at the Hi-Dive. For On the Cover, local musicians tackle classic albums that have been an influence on them, performing them in their entirety live and on stage. Check out this month's series in which Adam Goldstein takes on Dylan's Blood on the Tracks and offers some insight as to why he's chosen to perform this masterpiece.

Bob Dylan always distanced himself from the drama, heartbreak and loss that mark every single song on Blood on the Tracks.

In interviews following the release of the record in 1975, Dylan claimed its ten tracks were based on the short stories of Anton Chekhov. Years later, when a radio interviewer asked him about the fact that the album had become one his most beloved among fans, Dylan demurred, insisting, “It's hard for me to relate to that. I mean, it, you know, people enjoying that type of pain, you know?” He added that the tunes weren’t pulled from his personal life, saying he didn’t write “confessional” songs.

For anyone who knows and loves this record, those claims are hard to believe.

Blood on the Tracks stands apart in Dylan’s oeuvre for its immediacy, for its rare glimpse into the heart of an artist who made enigma, distance and mystery such a big part of his creative persona. Beneath the convoluted lyrical twists on “Idiot Wind,” beyond the third-person narrative approach of “Tangled Up and Blue” and “Simple Twist of Fate,” under the fatalistic bravado on “Bucket of Rain,” this album offers a portrait of Dylan coming to grips with a gaping emotional wound. And that makes sense, considering that this album came out shortly after his divorce from his wife and the mother of his children, Sara Dylan.

That pain makes for a compelling work of art, one that offers lessons to anyone who’s ever known heartache. Since I started listening to Blood on the Tracks in earnest at the tender age of 14, it’s offered comfort for every failed crush, every derailed relationship and every brutal rejection.

That’s not to say this album is about self-pity. Lyrically and musically, Dylan avoids self-indulgence here in a way he fails to do on any other album. He tracks every stage of a doomed relationship across the record, from the first glimmer of obsession to the final acceptance of letting go. But he does it with lyricism, integrity and insight.

It’s quite a feat, considering the material here came from a messy creative process. Indeed, on hearing the bare-bones songs for the first time, Stephen Stills was not impressed. “He's a good songwriter ... but he's no musician,” Stills observed to Graham Nash.

That’s hardly apparent from this brilliant record.

On the album’s opener, “Tangled Up in Blue,” the tale of a drifter looking to reconnect with an old flame becomes an allegory for much larger truths. Singing over bright major chords and tasteful folk-rock rhythm accompaniment, Dylan ends up purposeful: “Now I’m going back again, I got to get to her somehow,” he promises, before adding, “We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point of view.”

Those nuggets of wisdom only get more profound. “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,” he bemoans on “Simple Twist of Fate.” On “You’re a Big Girl Now,” he cries, “I’m going out of my mind with a pain that stops and starts / Like a corkscrew to my heart.”

The accusations fly on “Idiot Wind,” before Dylan turns tender on “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” one of the poet’s most haunting and aching romantic tributes. Even the standard blues number “Meet Me in the Morning” includes nuggets of profound wisdom, as does the epic, 15-verse “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts.”

The end of the record stands as a career high point for Dylan. The imagery in “Shelter from the Storm” stands among Dylan’s most profound; lines like, “Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine” resonate for those who’ve been caught up in the bleak hopelessness of a rejection. “Buckets of Rain” turns philosophical, with lines like “Life is sad, life is a bust, all you can do is do what you must. You do what you must do and you do it well / I do it for you, honey baby can’t you tell.”

Dylan’s songwriting matches his insights. The song structures are subtle and moving. The guitar work, mostly performed in open E, is crisp; his harmonica playing never veers into overindulgence. Haunting organ lines on “Idiot Wind,” high-register bass on “Shelter from the Storm” and a funky blues band on “Meet Me in the Morning” round out the artist’s voice, strings and harp.

But perhaps more than any other album, Blood on the Tracks is all about Dylan. In peeling back layers and exposing what he usually keeps hidden behind brilliant verse and folk tradition, Dylan offered listeners a peek into the universal.

That’s the reason this record still feels poignant after every spin. That’s the reason why, nearly 20 years after I first played it through, I find new insights and deeper pathos in the tunes. That’s the reason why, after I can play this entire record through, I’m ready to listen to it again.

I'd Love to Turn You On #88 - Steve Hillage – L

Cosmic

a : of or relating to the cosmos, the extraterrestrial vastness, or the universe in contrast to the earth alone

b : of, relating to, or concerned with abstract spiritual or metaphysical ideas

2: characterized by greatness especially in extent, intensity, or comprehensiveness <a cosmic thinker>

Psychedelic

 : imitating, suggestive of, or reproducing effects (as distorted or bizarre images or sounds) resembling those produced by psychedelic drugs <psychedelic color schemes>

When trying to describe Steve Hillage’s mind-bending 1976 album, the words cosmic and psychedelic seem the most apt descriptors, so I thought a Webster’s definition might be enlightening. They actually do provide some adjectival ammunition to help slay this musical beast. Just start with the cover. A soft focus shot of perfect British hippiedom – Steve Hillage in a purple robe with some Egyptian looking jewelry hanging at his throat. Eyes shut, head tilted heavenward, he is backlit so that his head and especially his guitar are haloed - glowing with mystic energy. Whoa! When I first saw it on the rack in 1976 I just bought it as I did so many things in those days: because it looked cool. I had no idea how cool. After looking over the liner notes I realized that I knew a lot of the people involved; Todd Rundgren produced it, and his new band Utopia backed Steve Hillage and synthesizer player/vocalist Miquette Giraudy, both of whom I would later learn more about. Hillage especially would become a favorite trainspotting target as I found him in bands from 60’s psych obscurities Arzachael and Khan to the great Gong and into the present in his groundbreaking ambient electronic music with The Orb, System 7 and others.

But L remains my favorite throughout the years and every time I listen to it I find more and more to like about it. If you are a fan of Rundgren, especially his Wizard/Utopia period, you will adore this record. It is dense with Todd-esque production tricks - lots of clever edits, backwards masking, layered vocals, chiming wall-of-sound electronic madness. Opening with a cover of Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man” it is immediately obvious this album is reaching for some big universal truth. A crunching power chord gives way to synth washes and jazz great Don Cherry playing some exotic horn. Hillage starts singing like a lost disciple wandering the desert while the song builds into a triumphant guitar anthem. It builds skyward, faster and faster, Hillage’s guitar leading the way, so intensely that Rundgren can only match the intensity of the music by actually speeding up the tape and bringing the song to a thrilling, almost cartoonish finish, terminating in the toning of a Tibetian bell as if to bring us back to the weighty matters of the cosmos. Immediately, on the first song I’m slain. Everything I’m looking for. Then the second song, “Hurdy Gurdy Glissando” is a 9-minute exploration of outer space with Hillage and Rundgren stacking up eastern drums and whooshes of guitars and synths around Miquette’s Giraudy’s space whisper of a vocal. Thinking the third song “Electrick Gypsies” might be a momentary breather from the overwhelming headiness of the first few tracks, I was again thrown into the vortex with the most blatant hippie lyrics on the album - terms like “cosmic rainbow” and “psychic surf” are tossed about like life is one big acid trip and we have an endless stash. This is some classic hippie shit right here. Hillage’s tasteful vocal and heavenly guitar are the perfect tools for Rundgren’s thick aural stew.

Track 4, “Om Nama Shivaya” takes a further turn eastward with Indian lyrics chanted over Hillage’s impossibly liquid guitar - thanks to some brilliant Todd editing. The penultimate song, “Lunar Musick Suite” is a 12-minute guitar tour-de-force that shows Hillage to be in a class by himself as a lead player. Rundgren creates a pulsing, driving mountain of a song with Hillage standing at the top tossing off lines like rock and roll lightning bolts. It brings to mind the best work of Gong, Yes, King Crimson and even Zappa, Weather Report or Return To Forever. The album closes, perfectly, with another cover, this time one of George Harrison’s best Beatles lyrics; “It’s All Too Much” is an optimistic, cautionary tale with equal parts acid tongue and comforting arm around your shoulder. Hillage’s tender voice lends the lyric just the right note of knowing vulnerability for the song while Rundgren pulls out all the stops in recreating - and even topping - George Martin’s ambitious original production. With another heroic guitar solo, Hillage takes this classic song into the stratosphere. Instead of crashing to the ground like a meteor, L goes into audio orbit like some fantastic day-glow rocket. This amazing album never lets up in intensity, bringing the listener along on peak after peak very much like a profound LSD experience. Good old Webster's - always has just the words I need to describe the indescribable.

- Paul Epstein

Bob Dylan – Bootleg Series Volume 10 Another Self Portrait

Bob Dylan – Bootleg Series Volume 10 Another Self Portrait

For the first 20 or so years of its life, Bob Dylan’s Self Portrait was the subject of much derision by the critical and fan community. Somewhere in the last 20 years it has gone from derision to acceptance by some and downright adoration by others. As usual the truth lies somewhere in between. I always found the original album to be the perfect accompaniment to a stoned Sunday afternoon of rootsy pleasures. It had a real country authenticity and the comfortable relaxed vibe that characterized Dylan’s late 60’s/early 70’s material. After the societal crucible of Dylan’s 60’s material this more pastoral take on life and music was a jarring change of pace and thus the cries of sellout and schlock-merchant started to dog Dylan’s steps as they have at every juncture of his career. As he said himself “Everybody wants me to be just like them…I just get bored.” Another Self Portrait allows the listener to evaluate this pivotal album in a new historical and musical context. The deluxe version is made up of several components.

First, and perhaps most importantly are the unvarnished work tapes from spring and early summer of 1970 that finds Dylan accompanied by David Bromberg on guitar and Al Kooper on various keyboards. They run through a gamut of material that would find its way on to Self Portrait and New Morning six months later, as well as some songs that have never seen the light of day until now. None of these versions have been heard and it is safe to say that they are a revelation. Dylan is in fine form, strumming guitar and trying out the different voices from the era - swoon, croon, hick and folkie - and he lends each an authority that can only be born from genuine love and knowledge of the subject. On most of these cuts, David Bromberg shows himself to be a priceless accompanist as he unfailingly finds the melodic heart of each song giving Dylan the freedom to really explore his vocals and the material. Al Kooper as well offers such insightful arranging and keyboard service that one might start to think of him as an almost “Zelig”-like figure in Dylan’s career. The next pieces are a handful of assorted odds and ends from the period that help fill in the gaps and more fully illustrate the sound Dylan was striving toward. There are a couple of cuts left off Greatest Hits Volume 2, a session with Dylan intimate George Harrison, and some other tasteful rarities. The third element of the set is the first legitimate appearance of Dylan and The Band’s entire performance at The Isle Of Wight Festival on August 30th 1969. Finally, there is a meticulously remastered version of the original Self Portrait. Self Portrait may have been a head-scratcher at the time of its original release for many people, but Another Self Portrait makes everything crystal clear. It’s all about context. When one looks at Self Portrait as the follow up to Dylan’s unprecedented and incomprehensibly accomplished mid-60’s work it is hard to understand. However when one looks at it with the helpful clarity of 40+ years it makes perfect sense. Within the context of The Flying Burrito Brothers, Doug Sahm, The Blasters, X, Uncle Tupelo, Drive-By Truckers etc, etc. it makes perfect sense. In fact it predicts, executes and beats the lot of ‘em at their own game before they even thought of it. Per usual Dylan was, and remains on the cutting edge of his own universe - we’re just lucky he let’s us listen in. Here are my thoughts on my first two listens.
Disc 1
1) “Went To See The Gypsy” - The New Morning song as it was meant to be - a spare, spooky mystery - Bromberg shines.
2) “Little Sadie” - stripped of overdubs, the menace and elastic p.o.v. of this traditional narrative are returned to Dylan’s original vision.
3) “Pretty Saro” - an outtake from Self Portrait that shows Dylan penchant for sentimental folk balladry. Just beautiful!
4) “Alberta #3” - A fabulous take of the song that appears on Self Portrait twice. This is by far the best version as Dylan offers the most straightforward vocal and a nice simple acoustic setting highlighted by Kooper’s subtle piano fills and Bromberg’s dobro.
5) “Spanish Is The Loving Tongue” - another outtake that did appear on A Fool Such As I but here is just Dylan solo at the piano showing a real vulnerability and a horrendous Spanish accent.
6) “Annie’s Going To Sing Her Song” - A Tom Paxton song that finds Dylan in a relaxed voice for this poignant song fragment.
7) “Time Passes Slowly #1” - a song from New Morning, here with George Harrison adding guitar and background vocals, it has a totally different effect than the original album version.
8) “Only A Hobo” - originally slated for Greatest Hits Vol.2 this wonderful duet with early Dylan associate Happy Traum is a shining outing for this rare Dylan song.
9) “Minstrel Boy” - a Basement Tapes outtake with The Band. This nugget begs that a full Basement Tapes Bootleg Series entry be forthcoming.
10) “I Threw It All Away” - A less cluttered take of the Nashville Skyline standout where Charlie Daniels, Norman Blake, Charlie McCoy et al really shine like the Nashville pros they were.
11) “Railroad Bill” - a sweet vocal on this folk classic that was probably one of the first fingerpicking songs both Dylan and Bromberg learned.
12) “Thirsty Boots” - Dylan really gets to the emotional and melodic heart of this fully realized Eric Anderson beauty. It is hard to understand why this was left off the original. Maybe it was too much like a Dylan song.
13) “This Evening So Soon” - One of my favorites on the set. This is a fantastic arrangement with Dylan using what sounds like his “real voice” and showing genuine emotional range on this traditional number. He plays a couple of lovely harmonica breaks and Bromberg and Kooper are perfect. A real gem.
14) “These Hands” - a country hit that probably would have been schmaltzed-up if it had made it to production on Self Portrait, but here is an absolutely charming, intimate duet between Dylan and Bromberg’s guitars while Dylan sings it beautifully straight.
15) “In Search Of Little Sadie” - another version from the original album that has been stripped of overdubs and thus offers a Masters class on why Dylan is one of the greatest interpreters of traditional American folk and blues. He has a deep understanding of the material and his vocal here, unadorned by production distractions, is miraculous.
16) “House Carpenter” - another total gem. Dylan takes hundreds of years of British and American folk music and boils it down to one bluesy distillation of tradition. He owns it with such authority.
17) “All The Tired Horses” - to me this was always the most perfect moment on the original Self Portrait. Like few other pieces of music this one line proclamation of…of…of something has a complete “otherness” to it that defies description. Here, it is stripped back to just Dylan, Bromberg, Kooper and the female voices and the result is no less hypnotic than the album version.

Disc 2
1) “If Not For You” - a mind-boggling alternate of New Morning’s hit, this version finds Dylan alone at the piano save for an unknown violin player providing an aching accompaniment. A major find.
2) “Wallflower” - already one of the great “lost” songs of Dylan’s catalog, this version is simply Dylan strumming acoustic, blowing harp and singing in what again sounds like his “real” voice while sole accompanist, steel master Ben Keith wails.
3) “Wigwam” - no overdubs again reveal the simple melodic beauty of this Self Portrait cut. What was once difficult to get out of your head is now impossible.
4) “Days Of’49” - what was always one of my least favorite songs on the original album is made highly enjoyable by the uncluttered mix. Bromberg! - what a tasteful player, and Al Kooper seems to have some kind of telepathic instinct for what each song needs.
5) “Working On A Guru” - a funny little number featuring George Harrison playing nice lead guitar and a rhythm section of Charlie Daniels on bass and Russ Kunkel on drums making this a supergroup that never was. Good fun.
6) “Country Pie” - alternate version of Nashville Skyline’s most light-hearted song. Really shows the connection between the sessions that connected the three albums of this period.
7) “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight” - live at the Isle of Wight from the second day’s performance finds the band giving enthusiastic backing.
8) “Highway 61 Revisited” - again from Isle of Wight. A bold re-imagining that hints at Dylan’s modern performance style.
9) “Copper Kettle” - another Self Portrait song that is a complete revelation without all the overdubs. The Dylan-Bromberg-Kooper ensemble is perfect for this gorgeous bootlegger’s tale. One understands much better why Dylan chose the material he did for the original album.
10) “Bring Me A Little Water” - a fully realized New Morning outtake of this song Dylan probably learned from listening to Leadbelly, this bluesy number finds Dylan using a gospel-inflected rasp that he would exploit at great length in the late 70’s and 80’s. Very interesting and forward-looking.
11) “Sign On The Window” - interestingly, this New Morning song is an example of the opposite effect of most of the material on this set. Here we have a familiar song with extra orchestral overdubs arranged by Al Kooper. The lush result is fascinating. It is safe to say if you were a big fan of the original Self Portrait concept you will find this to be an extremely rewarding addition.
12) “Tattle O’Day” - one of the most enticing and mysterious fragments on the entire set. Left off Self Portrait this traditional lyric is a riddle wrapped in an enigma much like many songs passed down by oral tradition with layers of cultural meaning and folk wisdom. I have listened to this dream-like piece of music over and over and it won’t leave my imagination. Much like the first time I heard “Blind Willie McTell,” “Abandoned Love” or “Series Of Dreams” this song is an immediate, magical favorite in Dylan’s catalog. Even though he didn’t write it, it occupies the same country as his greatest songs. Worth the price of admission alone!
13) “If Dogs Run Free” - along with “Sign on The Window” the most radical re-imagining of a familiar song. A slowed down, beat-poetry recitation, that really changes your understanding of this New Morning classic.
14) “New Morning” - another very different take of the title song. This version has punchy, Van Morrison-like horns arranged by Al Kooper. Priceless!
15) “Went To See This Gypsy” - another version - this time with just Dylan alone at the electric piano. This is chilling, essential Dylan. A real highlight.
16) “Belle Isle” - another Self Portrait song that benefits so much to hear Dylan’s humble vocal in the perfect two-guitar setting provided by his own strong strumming and Bromberg’s heavenly fills.
17) “Time Passes Slowly #2” - a total rager. You will be amazed at how different this take is than either of the others you have heard. Charlie Daniels lays it down fat on the bass, Bromberg and Ron Cornelius are fabulous on guitar and Dylan taps into the solid rock energy he would demonstrate during The Rolling Thunder Review a few years later. Another major keeper.
18) “When I Paint My Masterpiece” - much will be made of this solo piano version of a Dylan classic. Not only is it a different and affecting version, it contains a different lyric that is uncharacteristically demonstrative for Dylan - rhyming “Victrola” with “rock and rolla” - very fun indeed and a perfect way to end this part of the set.

Disc 3
This disc contains the entirety of the Isle Of Wight Show from August 30, 1969. Dylan is accompanied by The Band, who, as expected, shine with authentic chops and sympathy with the material. Dylan’s set is a 17-song overview of his best material wrangled into manageable, tight, country-ish interpretations. It is the set that many modern fans wish Dylan would deliver. It is well-recorded and entirely enjoyable. If it didn’t follow the majesty of the previous two discs it would be considered a major addition to his catalog. In this context, it makes sense and it is really the only live performance from this period of Dylan’s career, yet it feels like a somewhat more careful outing - closer to the vest than the totally new experience of the first two discs. One is spoiled by the excitement of new discoveries. That shouldn’t take away from this important milestone in Dylan’s performing career - yet, in some way, it does.

Disc 4
The remastered Self Portrait. The previous three discs have also had an affect on this listening experience. They make me realize what singular and groundbreaking albums Self Portrait, Nashville Skyline and New Morning were, and they also help contextualize them –especially Self Portrait - in the arc of Dylan’s career and the history of modern music. I always enjoyed this album, and hearing it after further scholarship makes it sparkle with renewed interest. This set is also joined by two books that really do define the idea of deluxe; an essay by the dean of rock journalism Greil Marcus is insightful and down-to-earth and scores of beautiful photos bring the era to vivid life.
- Paul Epstein