1966: Hip(py)er than 1066

"Some cheered, some booed, some simply walked out," reads the back cover of Bob Dylan's new release Live 1966: The 'Royal Albert Hall' Concert, a 2-CD set from Sony Records. The official release of the most bootlegged and one of the most controversial performances of all time has perpetuated so much hype about "The Poet" going electric that one would confuse the album's only value to be a historical relic rather than the legendary musical performance that it was. But let's just get one thing clear: Bob Dylan's Live 1966 is the greatest popular music concert you will ever hear.

Maybe you know the myth, maybe you don't. It simply doesn't matter. Forget all your preconceptions about Bob Dylan--the poet-troubadour, the over-rated 60's protest-song writer, Mr. "Blowin' in the Wind", or even the man with a voice that sounds like a cat choking on a hairball. It simply doesn't matter--Live 1996 will surprise Dylan-lovers, haters and I-don't-knowers alike.

Dylan's May 17, 1966 performance in England was not made a "legend" by his work alone. The tapes were supposedly purposely mislabeled as Dylan's final 1966 performance in Royal Albert Hall (it was actually recorded in Manchester, England). The reasons for its misidentification are the subject of much speculation--could it possibly have been to build up the myth even more? At the end of July that year, Dylan was thrown from his motorcycle, breaking his neck and going into total seclusion until November 1967. He returned with a haircut and a beard, releasing the calm and far less angry John Wesley Harding. 1966 seemed like a different world, a different life, and so began the myth.

"Judas!" taunted one dissatisfied listener. "I don't believe you," Dylan sneers back, hauntingly echoing the words of an earlier song, "you're a liar". If not for this exchange, Dylan's performance might have been regarded as merely a dissatisfaction to the audience, rather than pure treachery. To them, Bob Dylan was supposed to be the protector of the "Old Guard" against Rock and Roll, a crusader for the rights of the common people through his songs--the liner notes suggest that this concert marked him as "a traitor to the proletariat cause."

But it was never Dylan's desire to be an icon. He never meant to be compartmentalized as a protest-song writer. Indeed, his refusal to play at Woodstock and his later Christian revival period speak very strongly to his discomfort of being idolized as the father of a generation. Live 1966 was another repudiation. This is the angriest that you will ever hear him.

But Live 1966 is also some of the best you could ever hope hear from him. If you had ever stopped yourself from listening to his music because you fear his voice, fear and loathe no more. Just listen to track three on the first disc, which contains the first half of the concert, done solo and acoustic. Arguably his best and most comprehensive song, "Visions of Johanna" is one of four songs performed for the concert from one of his best albums, Blonde on Blonde--released just two days prior to the concert. Other songs from this album included on Live 1966 are "Fourth Time Around," "Just Like A Woman," and "Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat." On "Visions," Dylan's tone is full and resonant; his articulation is absolutely astounding. "But Louise, she's alright, she's just near, she's delicate, she seems like the mirror, but she just makes it all too concise and clear that Johanna is not here." Brilliant, right? Well it's even better when he's singing it. But Dylan was also up to something--"Ain't it just like the night, to play tricks when you're trying to be so quiet." Those words must ring so wickedly in retrospect. Dylan was up to some mischief.

So much of his tone that night hinted at the treachery that was to ensue. Dylan took full advantage of the polite reception that his solo acoustic performance was receiving. On "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," every "s" is hissed like Shakespeare had intended. "The emptyhanded painter from the streets is painting crazy patterns on your sheets" cut through the silent night air like an icecovered blade. It is actually quite sickening how quiet the audience was. They clapped as if they were at tennis match. It was as if Dylan was singing to an empty room. Dylan continued his phonetic retort, savoring every "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me. I'm not sleepy and there's no place that I'm going to!" He spits out the word "to" as if he was disgusted.

But this is not to say that the whole concert was filled with antics such as these. In "Desolation Row" and "Just Like A Woman," Dylan is unabashedly gentle. In particular, "Just Like A Woman" on Live 1966 is a striking contrast to the version on Blonde on Blonde. Indeed, the Blonde on Blonde version, highly criticized by feminists, sounds almost misogynistic. But that night the words "She takes just like a woman, yes she does! She makes love just like a woman, yes she does! And she aches just like a woman, yes she does! But she breaks just like a little girl" would have even broken Gloria Steinam.

Dylan walks out after his acoustic set with electric guitar and his backup band, the Hawks (later to be renamed The Band), in tow. After rocking through "Tell Me, Momma," Dylan introduced his next song "I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)" from Another Side of Bob Dylan, proclaiming "it used to be like that, and now it goes like this." Didn't the audience get it? Obviously not. They kept falling for Dylan's antics again and again in hopes that his former self might resurface. But this night, there was no chance.

Following more yelling from the audience, Dylan mutters some incomprehensible words under his breath, tricking the audience into silence, and then kicks into high gear "One Too Many Mornings." In "Ballad Of A Thin Man" Dylan feasts on his victory, taunting the unhappy members of audience with some bars of solo piano but then offering "You know something is happening, but you don't know what it is. Do you Mr. Jones?" as a blatant challenge. Even the heckler, accusing him of personifiying Judas, could not stop Dylan. He turned to the Hawks, and uncharacterlistically cursed, "Play fuckin' loud!" They then ended the show with a eight minute noise-fest of "Like A Rolling Stone." A quick and curt thank-you and he disappeared off stage and into legends. Ungratuitous subliminal message: Buy this album, it will change you life! Other songs include "She Belongs To Me," "Baby, Let Me Follow You Down," and "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues."