Between the beginning of 1965 and through 1966, Bob Dylan cut a path through music. In less than two years he radically shifted the dynamic for folk and rock, inspiring scores of artists and cutting some of the best tunes of his career. And, almost as quickly as it started, it was over; Dylan vanished and reappeared as a countrified crooner with songs like “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight” and “Lay Lady Lay.”
It was a heady period, a time of rapid growth, experimentation and substance abuse. Dylan took his backing band all around the world, playing shows in Europe, across North America and in between gigs, dragged them into the studio to bang out new tracks. And that was the more disciplined sessions; others literally had studio musicians sitting around, watching Dylan banging a new song out of his mind on the piano as tapes rolled, hoping to save something for posterity, or least something they could build on.
Every note is collected in the new super deluxe box set, The Bootleg Series Vol.12: The Cutting Edge 1965-66, which doesn’t just have every surviving scrap of studio material but everything live that’s in Columbia’s formable vault. Weighing in at 18 CDs, plus another ten hours of downloadable live material, it’s the kind of thing die-hards live for and the rest of us scratch our heads and wonder what the deal is. For the rest of us, there’s the slimmed-down (but still jam-packed) six-CD set and the double disc The Best of the Cutting Edge. Both have their joys, although I’ll be focusing on the latter.
The Best of The Cutting Edge opens with acoustic demos recorded in January 1965 and closes with outtakes from the Blonde on Blonde sessions in March 1966. So, in just a little more than a year, this set shows Dylan’s music expanding, exploding, and stretching into something unrecognizable, a dangerous, sizzling mix of rockabilly, folk music, and blues.
The most interesting feature of this set is hearing early, rough versions of songs that are so familiar they’ve nearly become invisible. At this point, everyone’s heard “Like A Rolling Stone” so many times it’s lost some of its luster. But here, it’s presented in two forms: a short rehearsal snippet that’s missing the distinctive organ part, then as a later take, where the music is sharper and edgier, where Dylan snarling as the band rushes through the song. It’s like tuning into a classic rock station and hearing a signal from an alternate dimension. (The six-disc set has an entire CD devoted to this session).
That’s just one example. There are many others: a slower, moodier version of “Positively 4th Street,” a speedy, jokey version of “Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat” that’s accented with a ringing telephone and car horn; a bluesy version of “Just Like A Woman” with jangling guitar and a driving rhythm section. It’s easy to see why some weren’t used: for example, this version of “It Takes A Lot to Laugh, It Takes A Train to Cry” has so much energy it overpowers the listener; as it is on record, it’s a refreshing change of pace between “Tombstone Blues” and “From A Buick 6.”
Of course, it’s easy and fun to jump back and forth between versions now; you can sequence your own version of Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited, and Blonde on Blonde from all the outtakes and alternates.
Also interesting are the weird little scraps that show Dylan’s approach. There’s a quick version of “You Don’t Have to Do That” where Dylan decides his approach isn’t working and cuts the song short, saying “I’m going to play the piano,” sounding almost impatient at how long it’s taking the song to come out of his head. On a take of “Lunatic Princess,” the song breaks down and Dylan says “I’m scared man, I’m scared.” It’s also funny to hear Dylan goofing off and shouting off non-sequitur titles for his songs: “Alcatraz To the Ninth Power,” “Bank Account Blues,” “Phantom Engineer,” etc.
Where this two-CD set is most successful is the way it lays out the material: it’s sequenced mostly chronologically, but it also flows as a natural progression. The Dylan on the first couple tracks – playing acoustic, mostly solo numbers – is a stark difference from the full-blown rock at the back-end of disc two; hell, his voice doesn’t even sound the same. What’s even better is the lack of repetition: unlike last year’s set, almost everything on the double-CD is previously unreleased.
The liner essays are nice, too: there’s plenty of period photographs, single sleeves and detailed information on players, session dates and locations. But I especially liked Al Kooper’s story about sneaking into the studio and playing organ on “Like A Rolling Stone” when he had no business being there. I’ve heard Kooper likes to spin tall tales, but I don’t really care how true his story is since it’s the daydream of every aspiring musician.
This short period of Dylan’s career has been written about at length and covered time and again; two of the other Bootleg Series releases focus on this period. But despite all the attention, it’s amazing that this set of outtakes is so engaging: even his leftovers are stronger than most records cut in the same period.
It’s easy to be cynical about releases like this. Really, this set’s purpose is really to prolong copyright for the material herein. And the live material was announced well after the box was released, meaning some people will have to go back and buy another set of music. That’s fine; leave the expensive stuff to the diehards. For everyone else, the double CD is well worth checking out, particularly if you think you know these songs inside and out and want to be surprised again, like you were the first time you heard them. Recommended; buy this one with one of the gift cards you’ll get for Christmas.
Rating: 4.5/5