Remember a Day

Category: 1965

  • The Beatles – Help!

    The Beatles – Help!

    Studio Album and Soundtrack | Released August 6th 1965 | Recorded between February 15 to June 17 1965 at EMI Studios, London | Parlophone Records | Produced by George Martin

    For me, this is the moment the Beatles started getting really good. Before this, the British pop invasion superstars had it freaking made. Their albums and movies had already had a dramatic impact on the music world. A Hard Day’s Night had revolutionized the way a band could be displayed in a film. Their touring schedules had been nuts. They were rocketing through space at a bombastic rate. By 1965, the key relationship between Lennon and McCartney was nearly a decade old. They had gone past any realm of whatever success they’d imagined for themselves. That success was only possible thanks to biblical levels of hard work, uncanny songwriting ability, and cheeky Britishness. But what do I know about that?

    Everyone in this world needs a little help sometimes. Beatlemania had these blokes worn out, I’d have to reckon. They started writing songs about how they actually felt, not about what they were trying to express to the birds in their lives. This album was them branching into full musical maturity. The film Help! had its premiere on July 29. Amidst working on the album that year came huge tours of Europe and the US, including the iconic Shea Stadium concert. The change in their music came out of that huge shift in popularity, and a strain against the light-heartedness of their previous film with Richard Lester, A Hard Day’s Night. Super cheeky, they’d say. As a formula, Help! is about the same as A Hard Day’s Night. But now we have each Beatle singing their own songs, by themselves. How different.

    After A Hard Day’s Night, George Harrison said:

    “We’re still basically the same, but now we can afford things.”

    The most glaring example of the nucleus of the Beatles breaking was the title track. Lennon is screaming for help because the guy needed help. Most people hear this song as just another one of their popular singles, but it’s a serious expression of emotion, unlike anything the Beatles had done up to that point. The turn in the music of the era, meaning Bob Dylan’s work at the time, had a serious effect too. Lennon saw what Bob was doing, writing rock and folk with real emotion, and it led him to write songs about growing up, love, and relationships. Put all of this together, and Help! begins the second era of the Beatles, where the focus was on songwriting, incredible incredible songwriting. That’s what makes Help! fantastic, and a true statement of the mid 60s rock scene.

    The Beatles touring amid all this is just ridiculous to consider. They were playing massive concerts, touring the United States for the first time, and doing it in stadiums, something that just wasn’t done before. The rocket was blasting into the stratosphere, and the culmination of this moment in time was an insane concert at Shea Stadium in New York City. Over 55,000 fans. A dizzying display of the intense power of rock and roll, and just one of the best concerts to ever happen. Watch the footage of it, listen to how good they sound even amid the screams. They couldn’t hear a thing, but they stayed together. It’s mesmerizing, and each time they look at each other it’s a serious “holy shit” moment.

    The touring was taking its toll. It had gotten to be too much. They’d peaked. They had to tone it back, and they would. Every new record after this one would benefit from touring taking a back burner. Rubber Soul came after Help!, and that would be their first serious studio experiment. They’d go from playing music they intended to perform live to playing music that was purely about expression.

    The Film

    Help! was the Beatles’ second full-length film. This time the budget was bigger and the plot was… different? It’s in color, and the locations are all over the world. The plot centers on Ringo, and it’s strangely lavish, so much so that the band members said they felt like guest stars in their own movie. It was a product of their fame, and of their misgivings about the fact that EVERYONE wanted a piece of the Beatles at this point. Everyone was scrambling to capitalize. Bubble gum royalties. They were living like politicians. They needed HELP. They didn’t need the film, they needed the help, you see.

    The final product just isn’t as good as A Hard Day’s Night. It was the second go-around at making a movie, the excitement wasn’t there, and all the outside forces, the money, the executives, the endless touring, made things different. Also, the Beatles were stoned most of the time. It all just made things different and weird.

    The Object

    My copy is a solid Parlophone reissue. It keeps the original track listing, seven songs from the film on side one and seven original studio recordings on side two. I think this copy was picked up by my wife at Independent Records in Colorado Springs, Colorado. If that’s a store you’re familiar with, good for you, because you know good record stores. For my two stints living in Colorado, both times stationed at Fort Carson, Independent Records was my go-to. I haven’t kept up with the place, but I hope it’s still there.

    The album art is an image from the film, all four Beatles standing in a row, facing the camera against a white background. They’ve got their arms out in what looks like flag semaphore. The story goes they were supposed to be spelling out HELP, but the photographer, Robert Freeman, thought the actual semaphore for those letters looked lousy, so he arranged them for the best-looking shot instead. Which means the poses don’t spell anything. On the UK sleeve, the arms come out to something like NUJV.

    The Music

    The Help! record, in its original Parlophone form, contains 14 tracks: seven featured in the film, and seven other studio tracks from 1965.

    Help!

    An opening blast. A real statement. With that one word, you understand: this is a new Beatles, a new sound. Written by John Lennon about his inner thoughts and struggles with Beatlemania and the skyrocketing fame of being in such a group. Being a prisoner to your fame. Being unable to just walk around and get a coffee somewhere. It’s a legitimate concern. John struggled the most with all the success the Beatles gained.

    Lennon would say he always loved this song, and that he meant every word of it. It came out of a desperate period, the “fat Elvis” period. For what it was at the time, and for Lennon, it’s a stunning admission that needing help from others is a perfectly okay thing to make clear to a LOT of people. If you’ve been there, you know what it’s like. This song seems to connect with people in that way. It does for me.

    The music is effective, and people responded so well that it topped the charts in both the USA and the UK. For all the shortcomings of the film, this song stands on its own. The record surpasses the film in quality, and for myself, I recognized this record’s greatness well before I ever got acquainted with the movie.

    The Night Before

    McCartney’s great follow-up to the Lennon intro song. Paul’s on lead here, and it’s a tight, punchy little rocker with a great back and forth between the vocal and the guitar, plus some electric piano filling it out. Not a headliner, but a strong one, and proof of how deep the bench was on this record.

    You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away

    Lennon’s beautiful ode to Bob Dylan. An acoustic-led track, simple, but it fills the space musically. It also features a really good flute part at the end. This sound was a sign of things to come, foreshadowing Rubber Soul and the experimental, emotional side the Beatles would explore soon after. It’s one of their most stripped-down, acoustic recordings to that point.

    When you’ve listened to a lot of Dylan, like I have, you can just make out Lennon imitating the bard. The phrasing, the “head in hand” resignation, all of it. He’s wearing the influence right on his sleeve, and it works.

    I Need You

    This is a George Harrison song, one of two he landed on the record, which was a real step up in his presence in the group. The guitar is simple as hell, and gives no hint that it’s a small revolution in style. But it is. Those chords are so uncanny, and there really wasn’t anything like this sound happening at the time. It’s jangly, and the Byrds would later build on that, but the real innovation here is the guitar volume pedal, the band’s first use of one, giving each chord that swelling, breathing quality as it fades in. It’s a perfect example of how the Beatles could be incredible and simple at the same time. The lyrics don’t get preachy or weird. They’re basic, and the chords are simple too.

    Another Girl

    A McCartney tune, and he handles the lead guitar himself on this one. It’s bright and a little cocky, a guy more or less bragging that he’s moved on and found somebody new. It doesn’t reach for much, but it’s got a swing to it and moves right along. Filler, sure, but the kind of filler most bands would kill to have.

    You’re Going to Lose That Girl

    Lennon and McCartney really do great work on their vocals here. The song comes off essentially as a filler track, but it’s still extremely solid. It’s pretty simple, but the real joy is hearing Lennon’s hard-edged lead against Paul and George’s answering lines. Ringo does killer work on the drums and bongos on this one too.

    Ticket to Ride

    Another of the Beatles’ instantly recognizable hits. For some it’s the first guitar lick they ever learn, for some it’s a nostalgia trip. For others, the “ticket to ride” double meaning becomes clear the more you learn about what the Beatles were up to in the early 60s. For some it’s just about the tambourine. Lennon called it “heavy,” and he wasn’t wrong. That droning, dragging rhythm was a real step toward something new, and it closes side one on a heavier note than anything around it.

    Act Naturally

    Ringo’s moment on the record. He takes the vocal and the drums on this Buck Owens country and western hit from 1963. It would be the last cover the Beatles cooperated on until 1970 and “Maggie Mae.”

    It’s a perfect song for Ringo. In the films and in his public persona, the song was pretty much him. I suspect he was playing it that way, and that Ringo is just about anything but an act-naturally kind of guy. But that’s my opinion. The song’s whole idea is that he just needs to be himself and he’ll be famous. That seemed to work out for Ringo.

    It’s a solid vocal performance, and it fits right in as the first song of side two.

    It’s Only Love

    A John Lennon creation. A bit cheesy for a Lennon song, but by this point in the record I’m just floored by how strong the songwriting is. The jangly guitar kicks in something simple and fresh, like a relaxing day in the park. The lyrics enter on Lennon’s double-tracked vocal, and they descend and land like pure 60s British pop. It’s a style that knows itself. Lennon and the boys were at the peak of their game on this album, even when they were being twee and cheeky.

    The guitar sound came out of studio experimentation, run through a tremolo effect to get that wobbling, swimming quality. Harrison’s appetite for guitar effects was starting to show here in the mid 60s. He’d get a lot more experimental on later records.

    The best thing about this song is Lennon’s vocal and the chorus. It’s only love, and that is all, but it’s so hard loving you. Even though Lennon would later call the song lousy, with abysmal lyrics, the artist still delivered on the performance. It’s a good Lennon song, overlooked next to a lot of what he’d go on to write. Even the songs the Beatles themselves didn’t like are still great, and I like that about them.

    You Like Me Too Much

    Harrison’s second songwriting credit on the record, which is worth pausing on. Two Harrison originals on one album was a real jump in his standing in the group. It opens with a fun, clunky piano intro before settling into a pleasant, mid-tempo shuffle. It’s minor Harrison, sure, but you can hear him carving out his own room in a band that already had two of the greatest songwriters alive.

    Tell Me What You See

    A McCartney-led track that tends to get lost in the shuffle, and I get why, but there’s a nice gentle groove to it. Electric piano, a guiro scraping along underneath, some tambourine. It’s simple and a little slight, but pleasant, the kind of album cut you stop noticing until one day it’s your favorite thing on the side.

    I’ve Just Seen a Face

    Even though McCartney wrote this in the 60s, it somehow sounds like it could have come out in the 2010s. Or now. It’s a timeless vibe. Another really simple chord structure, descending, but it moves quick and the lyrics leave little room to breathe. The story of the song is basically love at first sight. The execs loved it so much they used it as the opening track of the American version of Rubber Soul a few months later. This song and “Yesterday,” the one that follows it, really elevate this record into the stratosphere. It came out of McCartney’s pressure on himself to create quality material and keep up with Lennon’s output.

    It became one of McCartney’s favorite Beatles songs, and he’d play it live with Wings on their 1975 to 1976 world tour. On the American Rubber Soul it slots right into that album’s folk rock vibe, opening the whole thing. In the UK, Rubber Soul opened with “Drive My Car” instead, and this track stayed home on Help!. The folky, country feel here is something McCartney would chase for the rest of his career, and for some listeners this song is his true breakthrough into that realm.

    Yesterday

    What a song for the time. Social upheaval was on the come-up, and yesterday sure seemed better than tomorrow, that’s for damn sure. The famous story is that the melody came to McCartney fully formed in his sleep one morning, and he was so convinced he’d accidentally stolen it that he spent weeks playing it for people, asking if they recognized it. He hadn’t stolen it. The placeholder lyric was “Scrambled Eggs” until the real words came. That makes it a song he carried around for a while before finally recording it here for Help!, and it makes a lot of sense on this record. It’s a beautiful McCartney song, definitely among his best, and it plays like a response to the desperation behind Lennon’s writing on the title track.

    It’s sad. It’s desperation, longing for another time and another person. Probably McCartney’s greatest two minutes with the Beatles, and it’s just him, an Epiphone Texan steel-string acoustic, and some strings. Those strings were the Beatles’ first use of a classical string quartet, arranged by George Martin under McCartney’s supervision.

    It’s great. It’s a song that shows how good McCartney was at melody. Each line is like its own little song. It’s one of those flawless things that seems to appear out of thin air, and according to McCartney it more or less did. He felt it was so good it had to have come from somewhere else, but it came from him.

    The song was issued as a single and stayed at number one in the USA for a month. It’s got a pretty strong claim to fame: Guinness World Records calls it the most covered and recorded song in the history of popular music. On this album, it’s just another great song in a group of great songs.

    Dizzy Miss Lizzy

    This one is a Larry Williams cover, and it’s hopelessly tacked onto the end of the record. It would make far more sense to close with “Yesterday,” but the label felt the record needed more material and a longer runtime. The group was tired from filming the movie when they recorded it, and it feels rushed and tiredly excited, like they were putting just about enough energy into the cover and no more. It rocks, and it ends the album with a lot of energy regardless. Lennon delivers a great rendition of a song by one of his favorite artists.

    Closing

    Help! was a turning point for the Beatles. They figured out that movies maybe weren’t their bag, baby. They had acting chops, sure, but any acting talent is so easily surpassed by their musical talent. The record produced three number one singles, and the album itself went platinum. After it was released, the band went on another US tour, and that tour opened with the Shea Stadium performance on August 15, 1965, which would become one of the most famous films of a rock band playing live anywhere, ever. As if that wasn’t enough, they kept the studio momentum going straight into recording a truly innovative, game-changing record, Rubber Soul. Possibly my favorite Beatles record. Rubber Soul would never happen without Help!, and that makes Help! one of the most important albums in the Beatles catalogue.

    Listen to it with fresh ears, and hear the moment they became the band that would go on to change everything.

  • The Byrds – Mr. Tambourine Man

    The Byrds – Mr. Tambourine Man

    Studio Album | Released June 21st 1965 | Recorded between January and April 1965 in Hollywood | Columbia Records | Produced by Terry Melcher

    In a year full of genre and scene defining songs, including the ones I’ve already covered, came this debut record from a rock group folding folk music into their sound. They pioneered something new, the LA folk rock sound. It wasn’t quite folk, and it wasn’t quite straight rock and roll. It was purely their own, brought partly into existence by the geography and inspiring scenery of the Laurel Canyon locale. Not quite Hollywood, not quite Beverly Hills. A nice little corner of LA. The famous venues were close by, the Troubadour and the Whisky a Go Go. In a few minutes you could be in one of the clubs, then drive right back home to keep the music and the party going into the night.

    The album’s title track and lead single was a song penned by the one and only Bob Dylan. What the Byrds did with that track influenced an entire generation of rock musicians, and folk rock entered common conversation because of it. They became an international success, and the record made the top ten in both the UK and the US. It contains four covers of Bob Dylan’s contemporary songs alongside original material. This was American rock music, an answer to the British Invasion rather than a part of it. The Beatles had made their mark on rock, British and American both, and their fingerprints are all over this record, from the haircuts to the Rickenbacker. But these were California boys making something purely American.

    The original members of the Byrds came from a folk background: David Crosby, Jim McGuinn (who would later change his name to Roger), and Gene Clark. They added a bassist and drummer, Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke, at the end of 1964. They wanted the full band sound. The instrument that would become the most iconic, taken from the Beatles’ lead in A Hard Day’s Night, was the 12-string Rickenbacker guitar in the hands of Jim McGuinn.

    Much of the evolution of this group and this record grew out of the initial recording session, working out the Bob Dylan song “Mr. Tambourine Man.” Initially the members of the group were reticent about recording a folk song from Dylan. Dylan was growing his base among the rockers at the time. Nevertheless, the group wanted to merge folk with the Beatles, and some of the figures behind the band were certain that this was the song for them. It turned out to be a good move, and the single shot them into popularity with a charting hit. They kept going on that trajectory and recorded three more Dylan songs for the record.

    Alongside the Dylan covers, there’s some really great original material that fills out the rest of the record and showcases strong, burgeoning songwriting from this young group. Most of it came from Gene Clark. Every original on the album was written or co-written by him, with McGuinn as his occasional co-writer.

    The Setting

    Mid 1960s Los Angeles. Laurel Canyon and Hollywood.

    The Troubadour was essential to the formation and growth of this band. The original members had cut their teeth at that club, working out Beatlesque versions of folky and country songs.

    The members of the Byrds would frequent the clubs and venues of Santa Monica Boulevard and the Sunset Strip in West Hollywood, and when those closed down for the night, they would retreat north into the hills and hideaways off Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Today it’s still only about a fifteen minute drive, unheard of commuting for LA. My own experience in these areas is that they’re assuredly not the same quaint little hangouts they were in the 60s. The money’s taken over.

    Dozens of artists made up this scene, and the history and setting are pretty well documented. The Byrds were there at the earliest beginnings of it. They were originators, the band that defined that LA folk rock sound. I’d suspect the sound and vibe of this group is a direct relation to the geography and scenery of the time and area. That relaxed California day and the Hollywood evening. It must have been nice. So nice, in fact, that later on, punk and DIY artists would work as hard as they could to take offense to the niceties of that lifestyle and inject a hard edge into the music. LA punk and hardcore stands as a direct anti-evolution of this late 60s and 70s scene.

    Terry Melcher’s Production

    Melcher was the man for the job, based partly on his location. He worked out of the western branch of Columbia and knew the ins and outs of California rock. It was to his benefit to record the Byrds and put the pressure on them to get this record right. He brought out something great from these sessions, something that wasn’t just the Beach Boys, sand in your toes, white t-shirt pop rock. The Byrds’ sound had more body to it, more weight. I’d say that had a lot to do with Melcher’s presence in the studio.

    When a band produces a record that later becomes known as genre-defining, as this one is, it’s often not the band’s intention. Most commonly, it’s a marketing tactic. This is a folk rock album from before that term had been fully explored or defined. The reason it wasn’t being used yet is simple: this record hadn’t been released. The Byrds had taken what Bob Dylan did on Bringing It All Back Home and made it into something pure, crystal clear. After this album there was no question about the legitimacy of blending folk with rock. It was here, and it was here forever.

    The Object

    My copy is an original mono pressing, and it sounds brilliant, close to how it was originally intended to sound. I bought it on Discogs this year to give my 1965 collection some juice and legitimacy.

    The cover is striking: a black border framing a fisheye photo of the band standing in a garden. Put it right next to Dylan’s folk rock debut, Bringing It All Back Home, and you have to wonder whether what the Byrds were doing here was an inverse of that. Dylan’s cover is warm and cluttered, a sharp-focus interior packed with objects and a woman in red, baroque in every corner. The Byrds’ is the opposite: cold, wide-angle, an exterior with five guys in casual clothes and black boots and nothing else, looking out at you through the warp of the lens. One record is maximal, one is stark. If Dylan brought it all back home, the Byrds took it back outside.

    The rear cover includes terrific liner notes, Billy James’s original “Open Letter to a Friend.”

    The Music

    Mr. Tambourine Man

    The first track recorded for the album, and the first single the Byrds released. Recorded January 20, 1965, and released April 12, 1965.

    The Byrds’ treatment of “Mr. Tambourine Man,” that pure LA folk rock sound, made a real impression on Dylan. Chris Hillman tells the story of Dylan hearing their version and marveling that you could actually dance to it. Their success is often pointed to as one of the nudges that pushed Dylan further into electric rock and toward chasing a number one hit of his own, even if he had already cut Bringing It All Back Home electric that January, before the single was even out. A big part of that danceability came from McGuinn, who took Dylan’s countrified arrangement and reworked it into a steady 4/4 you could move to.

    The timeline is worth getting straight. The group had just signed with Columbia and entered the studio to record the Dylan-penned song as a rock arrangement. Dylan hadn’t released his own version yet. That wouldn’t happen until March 22, 1965, when it appeared on Bringing It All Back Home. So the Byrds actually recorded their version before Dylan’s was out in the world. Dylan’s album came first to the public, then the Byrds’ single in April, then the full album in June. The single itself was recorded under Terry Melcher’s direction using session musicians, great ones, legendary ones, members of the famous Wrecking Crew. McGuinn was the only Byrd to play on it. The remainder of the album sessions were done with the full Byrds lineup, once Melcher was satisfied they could handle it.

    To my ears, the Byrds’ version of this track deserves the commercial praise and popularity it received. But I’ll always prefer Dylan’s version, with its complex and surreal lyricism and spooky beauty. The Byrds’ version is amazing as a pop song, and it sounds great as a full band arrangement and on vinyl.

    It’s the sound of the twelve string that opens and closes this song, and that’s fitting, because it’s the signature instrument of the Byrds’ output at this time. That opening figure has a Bach-like quality to it, instantly recognizable but foreign at the same time. It’s one of those instruments that takes some mastering, and McGuinn was indeed that.

    Not only was the sound of this song unprecedented, the type of lyrics hadn’t been used on a rock record yet either. These weren’t posh, romantic, good-times lyrics. Even though the band didn’t use all of Dylan’s verses (they kept just one, plus the choruses), these were words of poetic merit, of beauty and surrealism. For the time, listeners were getting something very new if they paid their money to hear this record in full. It was this kind of song that would influence the songwriting of Gene Clark too, as we see on the next track.

    I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better

    A song that deals mostly with heartbreak and a conceited view of romance. Written by Gene Clark, who also takes the lead vocal here. It came out of the Byrds’ early hangs at Ciro’s nightclub in LA, as Clark explained. It was about a girlfriend he’d had, and the words of the title were something he’d once said to her.

    When I hear this song, I can track a lot of other familiar bands back to this source. You can hear Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers in it, plainly. The rhythm guitar starts it out, the 12-string gets blasted on top, and there’s this whole propulsion effect brought on by both those instruments, a tambourine, and wonderful bass work from Chris Hillman. Along with all that, the vocal harmonies are pure power pop. What a pleasure this song is. At track two on their debut album, you’re along for the ride after this one.

    And don’t forget that country-tinged lead guitar solo at around 1:20. It’s a killer solo, right in the pocket.

    The track was the B-side of the band’s “All I Really Want to Do” single, released June 14, 1965. It was recorded on April 14, 1965, a couple of days after the “Mr. Tambourine Man” single came out. Despite being tucked away as a B-side, it became known as one of the band’s finest, was covered many times, and has become a staple rock release.

    Spanish Harlem Incident

    The second of the Dylan covers. This one came from his record Another Side of Bob Dylan, recorded and released in 1964. It’s named for the Spanish Harlem neighborhood of NYC.

    The Byrds add another round of their own pop seasoning to this track. Dylan’s version is strained and slow, halting at points, but it has the raw blues edge of his earlier records. It’s also a vocal from Bob that doesn’t quite match his other songs of the time.

    The Byrds improve on it with their touch. They made it theirs. The vocal fits the material better, and the rhythm and lead guitars give it the rock propulsion it needed. McGuinn does a solid Bob impression, and where it comes up short, the rest of the band fills in with their beautiful backing harmonies.

    You Won’t Have to Cry

    A track similar in sound to the others so far. This time the songwriting is shared between Clark and McGuinn. Guitar drives it through to the end.

    In its meaning and some of its sound, the Byrds are nearly in Beach Boys territory here. Still, this is an honest original. It’s true to their sound, and to me the tambourine is very effective on this track. It also sounds great on my mono release.

    Here Without You

    One of the earliest songs Gene Clark wrote, back when the group was still going by the name the Jet Set. It’s a real highlight of his songwriting ability, and one of the best tracks on the record among the original material.

    It starts with a killer guitar lick that’s essential 60s. That sound and string of notes could only come from the 60s. You had to be there, I guess. Even with that opening, the track is more harmony and melody driven than guitar driven.

    The lyrics aren’t too complex. Clark is simply relating his sorrow at being away from his girl, and the melancholy that produces. The beauty is in how he relates that melancholy, using minor chords in the melody. It sounds similar to some of the Simon and Garfunkel tunes of the period. They had that knack for expressing a darker, sadder side of things using those kinds of melodies. Here Clark shows both how good he was and his soft side all at once, in an impressive original written as the band was just forming in LA. It’s a goth song, before that was even a thing.

    The Bells of Rhymney

    The final song of the first side is another cover, but not a Dylan one this time. This track was composed by Pete Seeger, with words by the Welsh poet Idris Davies. Seeger released it in 1958. The Byrds went into the tomes, dusted this one off, and made it new again. Their version would become the most famous. Others followed after, but the Byrds’ seemed to have the widest impact.

    The text is inspired by a mining disaster in Wales in the 1920s. Several Welsh place names are mentioned across the stanzas, and it really highlights the diversity in the song choices the Byrds were making. They knew a good folk song when they found one, and this was a terrific inclusion. It adds to the legitimacy of the record and gives it a historical weight. I dig this track a lot, and it’s a great one to end the first side on.

    Side 2

    All I Really Want to Do

    The third of the Dylan covers. This has always been one of my personal favorites of Bob’s tunes. Here McGuinn is again trying to impersonate Dylan, and to my ears he comes up short. I think this track from Bob already matches the vibe of the Byrds the most, and that’s exactly why their version isn’t the best of the covers. The Byrds were at their strongest when they took a more sorrowful, sadder, or deeper Dylan song and gave it that posh shine. That ability is what made this record the brilliant debut it was.

    It’s simple: I just prefer Bob’s vocal on the original. He gives it the emotion it needs. The song itself is pretty simple in meaning, just a guy asking for nothing more than friendship from a past lover, wanting his distance and not making it more complicated than that.

    This was another single for the Byrds off the record, released June 14, 1965, with “I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better” on the B-side. It went to battle in the charts with Cher’s cover of the same song. Cher won that one in the US, landing at number 15 while the Byrds only reached number 40. It was the reverse in the UK, where the Byrds beat her. Maybe US audiences had gotten their fill with the “Mr. Tambourine Man” cover, or maybe they just preferred Cher’s version.

    Even so, this version of the classic Bob song is a beautiful listen.

    I Knew I’d Want You

    This was the B-side to the original “Mr. Tambourine Man” single. It’s another Gene Clark original, and he takes the lead vocal. Like the other Clark songs on the record, it’s brilliantly written, built on minor chords in the melody, predating some of the moody pop and rock that would come later in the 60s. Bands like the Moody Blues would eventually pick up on this kind of effective, downcast vibe.

    The words are romantic and suave as hell. The harmonies deliver all that romance in one brilliant package.

    It’s No Use

    Probably the rockingest song on the record. Co-written by Clark and McGuinn, it runs a tight circle around a guy who’s essentially handing a girl her walking papers, telling her “it’s no use” sticking around.

    It sounds like a garage rock song, but done well and with tremendous guitar work, especially in the solo, which drifts into psychedelic territory. That’s something they’d expand on in later albums.

    Something else great about this track is the harmonies. It’s amazing the effect all those layered voices have, even on a simple rocker like this.

    Don’t Doubt Yourself, Babe

    An interesting track, and another cover, this time from Jackie DeShannon. She was an American singer-songwriter, and one of the first women to find success in the early rock period on the strength of her own talents.

    This one sounds a little different in feel and meaning from the rest of the songs, which are mostly power pop rockers. It’s aimed at the young women in the room, talking about empowerment and the need for independence. It has a great message. I’d like to believe the intent behind it was sincere, because women of the time sorely needed to hear it. Though in another light, you could read a band trying to plant its flag in the camp of women’s support and liberation with the end goal of simply being around more women. That’d be a trite read, but I struggle with trust all the time.

    The song is guitar-driven with a Chuck Berry or Bo Diddley style riff running throughout. There’s some great tremolo and fading on the guitar that sounds better here than on any other track on the record.

    Chimes of Freedom

    The fourth and final Dylan cover, tying up the album before the semi-humorous coda that follows. Reports have it that the sessions around this stretch of the record got intense and conflict driven, and I’ve seen it suggested that some of that tension involved David Crosby reaching a breaking point. Whether that was an early sign of Crosby’s eventual exit from the band, I can’t say for certain, but the friction was there.

    Dylan’s version appeared on Another Side of Bob Dylan, the semi-transitional album between The Times They Are A-Changin’ and Bringing It All Back Home. The song showcases Bob’s shift toward surrealist and poetic tones. He wrote it around the same time he wrote “Mr. Tambourine Man.”

    It’s the final example on this record of the Byrds taking something somber or melancholy and adding a nice shine to it. They pulled great songwriting from a known friend and compatriot and made it worth money. Bob’s reaction to the Byrds popularizing his material wasn’t anger, it was appreciation, and he’d already sensed the shift toward folk rock and even country rock coming. Bob’s guitar going electric had as much to do with the Byrds as it did with his own need for change.

    Each version of this song has its merits, but Bob’s seems a little dull and strained by comparison. He sings the words with a harshness, and just a shred of hope. The Byrds’ version is all positive, and feels pleasant in its way. It’s a product of the band treatment, the register of their guitars, and the fantastic vocal harmonizing.

    We’ll Meet Again

    A final cover, and this one is basically an ode to an older time. A nostalgic piece, a Vera Lynn number from the World War years, later famous as the closing song of Dr. Strangelove. It’s an interesting footnote on the record, a fun little “hey, thanks for listening, we’ve got more in store for you” message to all the fans.

    Closing

    The impact this record had on the music business, on popular music, and on rock music is massive. It made the band members internationally famous and put them on their way to more success than they’d probably imagined. It gave radio stations and record companies a new way to describe and market pop music. It made folk music danceable. It was a huge album for 1965 and it signaled a shift in rock. And it wouldn’t be the end for the Byrds, only the beginning. They’d go on to release several successful albums after this one, building on the sound they created and eventually pursuing different avenues, into the psychedelic realm and beyond. It was all on the upswing for this young group.

  • Bob Dylan – Bringing it All Back Home

    Bob Dylan – Bringing it All Back Home

    Studio Album | Released Spring 1965 | Recorded in January 1965 at Columbia 7th Ave, New York City | Columbia Records | Produced by Tom Wilson

    If you were around in 1965, which I wasn’t, and you witnessed the release of this album and had a stake in the opinion pool on the life and work of Bob Dylan, you’d have been thrust into one of two viewpoints. You could have thought that Bob Dylan sold out. You could also have thought that he bought in. All I think, as a person born much later than 1965, is that Bringing It All Back Home is one of Bob’s greatest albums, one of the best albums ever released, and contains songs that are extremely dear to my heart, connected to life events that hold high sentimentality. That makes it one of my all time favorite albums of the 60s.

    1965 would turn out to be a peak year for Dylan, with the release of this record and its follow up, Highway 61 Revisited. Both albums changed rock and roll and initiated shifts in how people thought about the power of music, specifically rock music geared toward a new generation. In the leadup to this record, 1964 was happening. As that year was ending, Bob was on a fall tour, starting to come to grips with his fame and internally reckoning with what he was supposed to be doing with his music. It had become old for him to go up on stage with a guitar and harmonica and sing. The new wave of music was rock. The Beatles were starting to emerge and shift things in a more creative direction. Bob’s output in song energy had to change. His path from the monochrome and bleak The Times They Are A-Changin’ to more colorful music, powered by electricity, was building as 1964 closed.

    “My words are pictures, and the rock’s gonna help me flesh out the colors of the pictures.”

    How electricity and its use in rock became the new thing for Dylan came from several routes. He made it into the orbit of Mike Bloomfield of the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, a group pushing the then boundaries of blues infused rock. Bob also made the acquaintance of a group known as the Hawks, a Canadian band backing Ronnie Hawkins. As it would have it, the Hawks would eventually become Bob’s backing band and later grow into their own group, known only as The Band. Also, interesting enough, and a classic jam then and still, The Animals covered “The House of the Rising Sun,” an electrified, real moving version of the folk original.

    On Halloween 1964, Dylan played a show at Philharmonic Hall in New York and performed three new songs as a taste of things to come: “Mr. Tambourine Man,” “Gates of Eden,” and “It’s Alright, Ma.” This was new material, unlike anything he’d put down before, full of surreal imagery, existentialism, and anti-authoritarianism. Dylan’s songs had taken plenty of jabs at the man before, but with this new record his poetic mind was in deep expansion. The poetic influence was growing and definitely starting to show. The statues of Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie were getting spray painted with the symbolism of Rimbaud and Baudelaire. All to a rocking beat.

    “I don’t call myself a poet because I don’t like the word. I’m a trapeze artist.”

    Recording took place on January 14 and 15, 1965. Dylan was definitely in the lead on the arrangements. He had a full backing band behind him and instructed each of the members on what he wanted until everything came together. He was a painter with a paintbrush, to paraphrase Daniel Kramer. Most of the tracks were done in only a few takes, and three of them, “Mr. Tambourine Man,” “It’s Alright, Ma,” and “Gates of Eden,” were done in one long take, without stops.

    The Object

    My copy has been nestled safely on the shelves alongside some of Bob’s other albums since March 2025. It’s not a particularly expensive record. It’s a 1972 Columbia reissue from their Terre Haute plant, bought on Discogs. Sound quality: great. I like the early 70s reissues of late 60s rock records. To me they’re a cheaper alternative to going for something super pricey. It’s an honest copy, and it has suited me well.

    Strange enough, the songs on this record have been with me for many years. I had been deeply aware of this record’s greatness long before I had a chance to get a copy. That’s the beauty of vinyl for me. Once you finally get a record you’ve loved for years on vinyl, you’re truly acquainted with it. It’s like meeting someone for the first time who you’ve only ever spoken to on the phone.

    Bob envisioned a cover photo vastly different from anything he’d wanted prior. The cover appears like a mosaic, or a mirage on a hill, or a collage of psychedelic imagery. And there’s a cat. The beautiful woman is Sally Grossman, wife of Albert Grossman. Bob’s previous album, Another Side of Bob Dylan, appears in the back of the shot, surreptitiously placed near the large fireplace. Other seemingly random pieces of imagery, LPs, and miscellaneous ephemera appear throughout. The kitten Bob is holding was his pet at the time, named Rolling Stone. The other two characters in the photo, Bob and Sally, give off that feline air themselves, that lounging chillness paired with intensity that cats possess. The rear cover contains several photos from Daniel Kramer of the artist in various situations, people surrounding him, Joan Baez and Allen Ginsberg among them. There are also musings from Bob published that year, writing that would make up a piece of his book Tarantula, published later. It’s a nice package of surrealism from Bob. One of the all time great record cover photos.

    A Word on Dont Look Back

    Before getting into the music, the companion piece to this record deserves its own mention. D. A. Pennebaker’s Dont Look Back captures Bob touring England in the spring of 1965, in that strange pocket of time when this record wasn’t out yet. You can hear test pressings playing in the background of hotel rooms. The film was Albert Grossman’s idea, and Pennebaker himself didn’t know much about Dylan going in, which might be why it works. There’s no reverence in the camera, just observation. What came out of it is one of the first great rock documentaries, and the alleyway cue card sequence for “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” with cards lettered the night before by Bob, Bob Neuwirth, Joan Baez, and Donovan, is arguably the first music video. The film also catches the critics of the day dismissing Bob’s new output as bad poetry, which tells you everything about how far ahead of the room he was.

    My favorite moment is the hotel room rendition of “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue,” right after Donovan plays his song. Bob one ups him, but there’s no malice in it. It’s sincere, and you can just see his greatness in that scene. If you own this LP, the Criterion release of Dont Look Back is the companion physical media to it. The record and the film are two halves of the same moment, and having both on the shelf feels like the complete picture of Bob in 1965.

    The Music

    Side 1 is the electric side.

    Subterranean Homesick Blues

    Recorded in one take on January 14, 1965.

    This would turn out to be a huge song for Bob. It was his first exploration into electric rock music, and it was his first single to chart in the U.S. It was also accompanied by a pop art video, seen in the documentary Dont Look Back by D. A. Pennebaker. That doc is seminal in its own right as one of the first rock docs. Dylan’s cue card moves along with the lyrics were cutting edge music and film combined at the time. You could call that little segment one of the first ever music videos.

    It’s a pretty simple song as far as the structure of the lyrics goes. It has a repetitive nature to it, and with that severe twanging guitar, hearing this for the first time in the 60s must have been a blow to the head. The lyrics come at you quick. It’s beat poetry, essentially. Every line is a couplet, and each allusion can be taken as anti government, anti establishment, or simply a slogan for the general beat vibe and culture of the era.

    The opening couplet, by today’s rationale, is museum quality art. A perfect encapsulation of not only Bob’s life at the time, but the entire zeitgeist of the mid 60s. Something’s cooking below, while the people are out in the open, questioning the man and his purposes. And his decision making.

    Johnny’s in the basement

    Mixing up the medicine

    I’m on the pavement

    Thinking about the government.

    Several warnings to the “kid” appear throughout the song. Possibly Bob’s words were intended toward himself, or his own life. What you can read into those warnings is that there’s grace in giving up, but be careful while you do it. There’s a sense of giving in here, to me. In all of this whirlwind of getting by, all we can really do is get by and try to get our kicks while we can. The idea that there’s something that can be done is starting to fade away from Bob’s protest songs. What’s replacing it is an amplified guitar, a general disdain toward the square community, and the idea that art is king. And rock is art.

    Inspiration for how this song sounds, and for its title, was either stated explicitly by Bob or alluded to. Dylan said the song came from Chuck Berry, a little “Too Much Monkey Business,” and other scat songs of the 1940s. The title is speculated to have come from a Jack Kerouac novella, The Subterraneans.

    She Belongs to Me

    Recorded January 14, 1965.

    This song is one of my favorite love songs of Bob’s career, unlike the love songs he’d put out up to this point in both sound and demeanor. The electric guitar and rhythm section add the shades of calmness and depth that the words rely on. With the sound of this song, you can start to see the direction Bob was going with his calmer love tunes. This song and “Love Minus Zero” were a sign of things to come, well before the almighty brilliance of Blood on the Tracks.

    But with this song we still need to consider who it’s written for. At this time, Joan Baez and Bob were still well within each other’s orbit, each jabbing the other with words of steel along their life paths. By this point Bob was obviously headed in one direction and Joan in another. It could also have been written about Suze Rotolo, whose relationship with Bob was beginning to fizzle out. New flames had emerged elsewhere. The figurehead, whoever manifested her in Bob’s physical life, is given reverence as a stunning character in both mind and shape. And with the gracious acceptance of the narrator, she belongs to him.

    The title itself brings into question whether this is even a person. Could it be a place, a town, a country? Ask many and they’d say that one person can’t belong to another. The narrator asks the listener to bow down to her on Sundays. Could this be a religion or a religious figure? It may refer to all of the women in Bob’s life at that time, or it may refer to his muse herself. Unable to sustain, unable to satisfy, but well maintained and kept away.

    I love the swaying gentleness with which the lyrics come over you. The simplistic structure gives it that soft feeling. Definitely not a mean sounding song. Even as Bob is tearing eardrums on the song before and the one after, he’s offered us a walk down a pleasant path as he displays some of the feminine inspirations in his life.

    Maggie’s Farm

    Recorded January 15, 1965.

    Following the delightful love song prior is another absolute rocking banger of a track. Five verses of heavy steel rock and roll, right out of the factory. Fast and loose. Story has it that this was the final song recorded for the record, and it only took one take, again. They more than likely blistered through it, but what appears is an adept band version of a loose blues rock song.

    This one is central to the legend of the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. The energy and attitude of this song were a perfect match for the energy, attitude, and lack of thought in the decision making of Bob and his band as they essentially crashed the festival with a short electric set. Entire books have been written about that event and its context, and the Timothée Chalamet vehicle A Complete Unknown benefits a lot from that moment of cultural change as its source material. The powers that be, the ones involved, may claim that negative reactions to the amplified instruments weren’t the impetus for the semi riot that occurred. Some folks were probably just upset at how loud it was compared to everything else. If you’ve surrounded yourself with soft spoken, nice folk music, sung by nice, put together dandies and delicate women, and then you hear the headliner lash out a guitar riff like the one starting this song, well. It would be like Cat Stevens opening up for Black Sabbath.

    The subject matter across the five verses is representative of anti labor, anti government, and anti establishment mechanisms. The power is in the people who refuse to fall in line. Over and over there are references to the life of the laborer in this track. Some place Bob himself in the narrative, finding issue with and going against his record company executives. Easy to interpret it that way, as he was currently doing just that by recording this music.

    In the first verse, the worker’s mental state is explicit. There are ideas in his own mind that are driving him insane. The work is getting to him. It’s incessant.

    The second verse brings in the hypocritical and unrepentant nature of hard labor. A nickel is given, a dime is given. A fine is given for every minor infraction. You’re stuck.

    The third verse brings the government into the mix. Maggie’s pa is the one putting out a cigar on your face just for fun, and the National Guard has posted up around his door. The White House.

    The real puppet master of the whole operation is behind the fourth verse. The ma fills the servants’ brains with information about man, God, and law. Useless drivel, words and rules and faith to keep them in line. And meanwhile she lies about her age. Hypocrisy.

    The final verse sounds the most sincerely like it comes from Bob’s own mind, a declaration that he’ll keep doing his best to be exactly who he is, no matter how badly everybody else wants him to be just like them. A perfect line for the Newport crowd.

    Love Minus Zero/No Limit

    Another sweet and calm love song, one that sort of builds off the concept of “She Belongs to Me.” Bob is still deep in poetic land, describing a love he has. What happens in this song is that a figure of affection is placed in a context. It’s like he has a person, likely a woman, in mind, and he’s building the beautiful painting around her. If you sit and let the words wash over you, Bob Dylan’s songs can appear like images, or abstract or surrealist art. Good poetry does that, and with each listen you hear or can visualize something new. That’s where I get the most enjoyment out of Bob, coming back to his songs over and over. There’s always a little new swash of color that gets added each time I hear a song like this one. A little more clarity. A new line takes it out of me each time.

    I love the closing image of the raven with a broken wing, tapping at his window. To me this metaphor represents an entity like a weak omen. A dark test, but with a vulnerability. Any romantic can see within this line women of questionable intent, or the tests they can put men through. But remember, they are all vulnerable, and they need your security.

    This song is connected to the Dont Look Back documentary. The subject of the song is most often thought to be Sara Lownds, a model who Bob had become involved with and would marry in late 1965. Sara was a friend of Sally Grossman, who appears on the cover of the record, and Sara was the one who introduced Bob to D. A. Pennebaker.

    There are zen like qualities addressed here. As if there’s goodness and evilness all around the figure, yet nothing bothers her. It’s also been interpreted that the love figure is his muse, a constant source of disillusionment. Success versus failure.

    Outlaw Blues

    Recorded January 14, 1965.

    This is a raw, chugging blues jam. Less imagery and less complexity than the other material here. It refers to the outlaw Jesse James and Robert Ford, his killer. Bob’s the one hanging the picture frame, which was the setting and circumstance of the legendary outlaw’s death. Here Bob is expressing his standoffishness and his vulnerability to the press, and to the fame of his moment.

    For the electric side of this great record, this may be the most energetic blues tune Bob had done up to this point. This song and the next come at you quick, and if you listen intently, you won’t miss the meaning from the good songwriter here.

    On the Road Again

    Recorded January 15, 1965.

    A seemingly simple blues track. It starts with a cliche, waking up in the morning, but devolves into obscure references and images. Blues deconstructed. Musically it’s great and rollicking. Lyrically it’s a tad dense, but typical of Bob’s writing during the time. A transient Bob, reflecting on the in-laws and their odd, over demanding ways.

    Along with other songs on the album, this one addresses Bob’s reluctance to fit in with normal society. He’s putting a mirror up against it, conflicting with it, and describing it, warts and all.

    Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream

    Recorded January 14, 1965. Intro recorded on the 13th.

    The track starts with a false start and a burst of laughter from Bob and those in the studio. A fitting intro to this track, the final one on side 1, and the longest and most sprawling on that side. It covers plenty of ground in its eleven verses. A self contained dreamscape, apparently covering the discovery of America. I think it’s a distillation of the whimsy inside Bob’s mind about his place in the United States. Every artist around this time, and probably since, along with most good Americans, goes through their own self discovery of America.

    Side 2

    Side 2 is mostly solo acoustic, and the first three songs were done in one take. Side 2 of Bringing It All Back Home is incredible. It’s hard to describe just how good it is. To me it’s Bob’s greatest side of close to any record he made, definitely of the 60s. These songs touch on a brilliance that few songwriters have known. It’s top tier stuff and it blows me away every time I spin the record on my turntable.

    All songs from side 2 were recorded on January 15, 1965.

    Mr. Tambourine Man

    The stuff of greatness. You have to give it up to the beauty of this song, and to Bob’s conviction in writing and singing it.

    The Mr. Tambourine Man of this song is most often cited as being inspired by Bruce Langhorne, guitarist and recording session mate of Bob’s. He used to sport an oversized, specialty drum type instrument that sounded like a tambourine when played. As the lead figure of the song, the title alone gives it a playful whimsy, and the song provides a counterpoint to the heavy rock numbers of the first side. It fits perfectly here as the first song of side 2.

    In line with similar interpretations of some of the other songs on this album, I’ll subscribe to this song being a sort of request from the artist to his muse for inspiration. If that rings true, then the entire album can be read as some sort of hangover come down, a snap into reality, a snap into the music world Bob wanted to inhabit. If you look at him in this time period, he’s mostly performing, writing, or out seeking inspiration. Whoever the Mr. Tambourine Man is, he brings artistic or spiritual salvation. He’s coaxing Bob into the habits of the greats, the shelter required of the famous. The sweet ship destined for the promised land. Eden comes after that.

    The melody and tone of the song have such a strong connection for me to some sort of adolescent emotional state. This may be one of the first songs I can reference in my coming online to appreciate music. It’s one of those songs that most of us will hear, or definitely should hear given the direction of today’s music, as early as possible in our lives. It’s a functional song, severely inspiring me to look for more music that either sounded this way or made me feel the emotions it did.

    Some reports say this song was written after a hazy, hungover experience post Mardi Gras in New Orleans. You can feel that psychedelic atmosphere running throughout the lyrics. There are fantastical elements to the words in some instances. Things don’t make sense, and there are strange time references. What is a jingle jangle morning, exactly? This song is a mental state, a fairy tale. It’s undeniably unique in the feelings it evokes. For me it can’t be taken word for word, or at face value. It weaves images together. Like others among Bob’s best songs, they occur like pastiches, conjured up images of broken promises, fluttering wavelike across the ether of Bob’s odd creativity.

    If we’re comparing this version with others, it’s this version for me. The Byrds took a great song and made their own precise reworking of it, and it skyrocketed Bob, The Byrds, and the song itself into the stratosphere of popularity. The Byrds version is amazing too, but I’m a sucker for some of the lines that only Bob’s version includes. For me this song is about the words, and the images those words make in my mind. There’s no imitating that style when it came to Bob. Maybe Joni Mitchell came the closest.

    One of my all time favorite songs. Every time I hear it I feel safe, like it’s playing just for me. There’s one line in the later verses [insert lyric here] that gets me every time. Those words strung together, sung in Bob’s signature voice, mixed with a simple acoustic guitar. Brilliant. A highlight of this year of music.

    Gates of Eden

    “Gates of Eden,” following “Mr. Tambourine Man,” is another song full of dream and surreal imagery. It’s Salvador Dali and William Burroughs together. The Eden of this song is not the paradise most would imagine. Each verse builds images, each line and each couplet building imagery together. Imagery that is meant to warn, to strike fear or woe.

    The song was released as the b side to the “Like a Rolling Stone” single after the release of this record. A lengthy, weighty single that one is. Two epic songs, each in their own way.

    Here Bob spins one of his all time most surreal songs, which some have compared to the poetry of William Blake. If this song fits into some sort of narrative timeline along Bob’s output, it would be a great sequel to “The Times They Are A-Changin’.” That song warns of what is coming. This song explains what’s here, now that we’re in it. There are many images produced in the lines of this song, and grasping at all of them beckons multiple themes to emerge. Overall, there is a reluctant religious faith in the undertones of this description of an Eden. Behind the gates of this so called Eden, this paradise, is not the paradise you’d likely think.

    The activities, or the wordplay implying some sort of action from the characters behind the gates, are all harsh and scary. There is a savage soldier. There is Aladdin. There is a black madonna riding a chrome motorcycle. It’s all some sort of artistic joke to call this Eden. Its title should be Sodom, or Gomorrah.

    The final verse hints at the imagination of this whole experience. At dawn the narrator’s lover comes to describe the dream of what’s occurred before. There are no attempts to dig into what each piece of it means. There’s no way to describe what’s been dreamt. There are no words to identify what was true. If there were any truth, it would be outside these gates, but Bob reassures us, or rather leaves us haunted, with the final line: there are no truths outside the gates of Eden.

    It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)

    By this point in side 2, nearly at the end of the record, your brain should be melting from the roller coaster of words you’ve just experienced, and from the beauty of simply taking these songs in. If you hadn’t had enough, this song comes and nails the top of your coffin closed.

    His most epic acoustic work up to this point, this song is one of Bob’s masterpieces, on a record that was itself one of his masterpieces.

    Just like the songs before it, this one creates more harsh imagery, and it also serves as a spiritual sequel to some of his earlier music. He’s an artist putting the past behind him, commanding American society especially to witness the shitty situation it was in. This was on the eve of all out war in Vietnam, a very heady time, 1965. Not yet full on protests in the streets and blood running into the gutters, but things were heading there. Many thought of Bob as the wizard, the harbinger who predicted all of it with his music. The song offers no hint of a solution. He’s just the messenger, describing the scene.

    Many of the scenes poke at the woes of capitalism and the fakeness and greed it produces:

    Children’s toys provide distraction rather than purpose.

    The song’s most famous line lays out a stark choice between constant renewal and slow decay. Cast off any sense of the old and get with the new, or fade out.

    Another line takes aim at hatred itself. The self proclaimed virtuous forget that real action is more effective at making change than pure hate.

    It continues as such. Each short verse, and each semi verse in between, bludgeons the listener’s mind over and over. Bob’s ability to fit maximum meaning into such short lines is present here, maybe more than in any of his other songs.

    I must mention that this song will always remind me of The Sopranos, and the final episode of that show. I won’t spoil it for anyone, but I’ll say this. The lyrics of this song, and its placement in that episode, do more than reveal what happens at the end. To me there is no question. This song gets rid of all that ambiguity. For others, it might add to it. But there are lines that reference Tony’s fate. It’s also probably the best use of Bob’s music in any TV show, possibly any movie as well.

    It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue

    Though this song comes at the end of the record, it’s not to be overlooked. To me it’s a perfect ending song. It sums up not only the record itself, but Bob’s thoughts on the music business, his place in it, and possibly one or more of his current relationships. Suze or Joan, or both.

    Bob seems to be in a different vocal register here when he’s reaching in the first part of a verse. In the second part of the verse he calms you down and makes it reassuring. In the first part it’s tense. Another great part of this song is the bass, providing a very subtle foundation that carries the weight of the lyrics so well.

    There’s been plenty of speculation over the years about who Bob is supposedly singing this song to or for. To me it’s not that important, but I’d again have to assume it was self directed. This time period was about change for Bob, and one of the things that initiates change is letting go. How do we accept the new without getting rid of the old? Things are always in a state of flux. There’s the past referenced, and then there’s the shift.

    Carpets moving out from under you: I picture movers taking old furniture out of a house while the person is still in it.

    There is a passage in this song that makes it one of my all time favorites, and for me it carries enormous emotional weight. I’m a person who has moved around a lot and changed what I’m doing several times. I’ve pursued different things and different career paths. I feel like I’m always thinking about my past self. The final verse:

    Leave your stepping stones behind, there something calls for you
    Forget the dead you’ve left, they will not follow you
    The vagabond who’s rapping at your door
    Is standing in the clothes that you once wore
    Strike another match, go start anew
    And it’s all over now, Baby Blue

    Those words I’ve carried with me for most of my adult life. It’s not okay to focus too hard on our past selves, the people we’ve come across in our lives, or the dead. In order to keep progressing, to keep going, we have to accept that all of those people, things, and places don’t have anything left for us. That past self, the one you’ve left behind, will undoubtedly come and knock on your door. It’s best to leave the door shut.

    The song has been covered by many artists and has lived a life beyond what Bob probably imagined for it. To my ears, the 13th Floor Elevators version is one of the best covers.

    Closing

    Bob’s transitional masterpiece. It’s a statement piece for Bob’s place in history. Even though it feels at times rushed and put together intuitively, the record’s purpose shines through. It’s a jab at old lovers, at society, at intellectualism. It feels smart and wiseass at the same time. It’s incredibly prophetic and dismal, but also sweet and beautiful and just plain raw. Dylan had brought together a great team of musicians to get what he needed done for the tracks on the first side, but he was often not the leader that band needed. You can feel those musicians sometimes trying to keep up on the recordings.

    For me it’s a close tie at #1 favorite Bob album, with Blood on the Tracks taking the other tie spot. Of course, the album that gets all the praise is his next one. I won’t stop short of giving that one all its due. But it’s Bringing It All Back Home where Bob was in flux. I think it’s some of his best work. It’s close to me emotionally in a few different ways. If you’re someone on the fringe, it makes sense. It always sounds new, every time I listen to it. It’s a record everyone should own. It’s one I’ll always own.

  • The Sonics – Here Are The Sonics!!!

    The Sonics – Here Are The Sonics!!!

    Studio Album | Released March 1965 | Recorded in 1964 in Seattle Washington | Etiquette Records | Produced by Buck Ormsby and Kent Morrill

    If you’ve made your rounds around the opinion farm about who the first punk rock band was, you’d find the biggest, showiest plants being the Stooges, the Ramones, or the Sex Pistols. Maybe even the Velvet Underground. But the old growth, the Ents of the music world, will lead you somewhere else entirely: a band from Tacoma, Washington, some very young guys making some very loud music. The Sonics. The original punk band. Their sound was about energy and attitude, about taking those two things and synthesizing them into pure rock that pushed every limit. The record is a blessed blow to the head every time you spin it.

    Some folks call it garage. Whatever it is, it rocks, and I’m excited to present this band here as one of the earliest examples of pure rock music, maximum overdrive, born out of the influences of Little Richard, The Wailers, and all the other acts feeding this fertile scene, the Northwest garage scene. Around 1964 and 1965, the scene took a turn toward harsher music. It was dirtier than the Beatles. It had a rough edge. This music, from this scene in particular, would go on to influence early ’70s punk.

    Very fertile ground indeed. The initial offering from the Sonics, Here Are The Sonics!!!, was a big deal for that scene. The hit single “The Witch” climbed to a pseudo number one for the local radio DJs, but the story behind it tells you everything about how far ahead of its time this band was. At the time, 1964 into 1965, a hit song about a woman with supernatural powers creeping around the neighborhood at night was just unheard of. It’s important to go back and remember that for this band’s sake and for the scene’s sake.

    Much of the band’s sound came from three main elements: the wicked guitar of Larry Parypa, the saxophone of Rob Lind backing him up, and the raucous screeching ability in the vocals of Gerry Roslie. The final lineup we hear on the debut record was a product of the scene. Players came from other bands in the area, guys who were already gigging the local clubs, looking for that chance to do something great. Reading about these groups, you tend to notice how contained the scene was, which in any respect is what makes a scene great. What drove these young guys was simply to have a good time and play good music for the people in their area. This was not music made to change the world, in no sense. It was pure rock. For the early ’60s, you have to respect that.

    By 1963 the band had formed into a solid unit: Andy and Larry Parypa on bass and guitar, Bob Bennett on drums, Rob Lind on sax, and Gerry Roslie on piano and vocals. This group started out playing purely instrumental, but at one show Gerry Roslie worked up the courage to sing, and what came out was pure and violent. From there the band’s whole motivation became aggression, pure rock energy on stage for people craving something high octane. Long before rock was metal or punk or alternative, this was something folks could dance to and also be scared by.

    As their popularity rose, it came time to record a single. “The Witch” was a song a couple of the members had worked out in the vein of the popular dance crazes of the time, like the Mashed Potato, as Larry recalls it. The Sonics sought out some help recording it from a man who was already a legend in the scene, the bassist for the Wailers, Buck Ormsby. Even with his help, the recording was anything but smooth. It was cut at Commercial Productions studio in Seattle in 1964. The original lyrics got changed, the musicians were relentless with their energy, and what was supposed to be a vampy dance number became an unhinged proto-punk anthem. After the session, almost nobody involved was pleased with what went down.

    Buck liked it. That saved the group. He insisted that what they recorded needed to be released. He had the presence of mind to disagree with anyone who said “The Witch” wasn’t a quality recording, and he understood that it didn’t sound like anything else at the time. The 45 was released with a cover of Little Richard’s “Keep A-Knockin’” on the flip side. Buck took the single and, with his Wailers clout and street cred, convinced big-name DJs to play the record.

    The popularity of the song shot off like a rocket. The single climbed the regional charts and eventually landed at number two. According to the legend that still gets told around here, the song had all the clout to hit number one, but the station management at KJR wouldn’t allow it. The policy was that a number one record had to be played at any hour of the day or night, and they figured a song called “The Witch,” too far out for daytime ears, would upset people. So they capped it at two. Petula Clark’s “Downtown” sat up top. Either way, the band had a regional smash on their hands.

    Following up on the blastoff success of “The Witch,” the band cut another original. The reason was practical. Etiquette didn’t want to keep paying Little Richard royalties for “Keep A-Knockin’” on the B-side, so the Sonics needed an original to replace it. They came up with “Psycho.” Can you just not stop to appreciate any group with an A-side called “The Witch” and a B-side titled “Psycho”? People were probably having their minds blown just reading those titles. What’s more punk than that? It worked. The band blew up. Soon they were opening for the big groups of the day, sharing stages and hanging backstage with the Beach Boys. Their wildest dreams had become realities.

    Eventually more original songs came, and their recording sessions, full of extreme distortion and blown eardrums, ended up with enough tracks to give their label, Etiquette Records, a full LP. The first record was affectionately called Here Are The Sonics!!!, the subtitle promising all sorts of scary nonsense:

    “The Witch, Psycho, Strychnine and More!!!”

    The Object

    My copy is not an original, but it is one of the more sought-after recreations of this classic. It’s pressed by Norton Records, which popped up in the late ’80s with a mission to dust off forgotten gems and repress them for an audience craving older punk. This copy is a 1998 Norton issue. It maintains the original track listing but also adds a few bonus tracks: the original “Keep A-Knockin’” B-side, along with some goofy anti-Christmas Christmas songs.

    What’s awesome about this record, in any variant, is its cover, shot by photographer Jini Dellaccio, who handled the imagery for both of the band’s Etiquette albums. In 1965 it was rare to see a band photo where the members weren’t doing some sort of goofy pose, making a weird gesture, or just smiling. Here the Sonics are all intensity, looking like they want you to challenge yourself and brace for some wild music. My favorite is Bob Bennett, posing in front of his snare drum, arms crossed, defiant stare, and a sweet hairy sweater. It’s punk, but it’s the 1965 version. So great. One of the best album images of the era.

    What’s also great about this Norton reissue is the back cover, which in the tiniest font lays out the entire backstory for the group, at least what led to their formation and the recording of this LP, including some archival images. I’m appreciative of any record label that takes the time to publish a story that’s going to help people understand the music coming out of their speakers. This is part of what keeps bringing me back to the vinyl format after years and years. Here on this Norton release, it’s done very well.

    The Music

    The Witch

    The LP starts off with the song that broke the group out, the one that got them signed to Etiquette. The track is so simple in its construction, but there’s a lot going on inside it. The subject matter, mixed with Roslie’s wailing vocals, creates what all the great songs have: atmosphere. Only here that atmosphere is a riot to the eardrums. There’s a guitar riff locked in with the bass and a drum line that rattles the senses, and over the top of it all the sultry sax weaves in with the guitar.

    The recording was overseen by Buck Ormsby, a member of the Wailers and one of the founders of the Etiquette label. Ormsby was also the de facto discoverer of the Sonics. He came to see them play in somebody’s garage, watched them tear through “The Witch,” and was hooked. The raw power of their live energy had to get put on tape. That proved eventful, because the recording equipment wasn’t taking the volume well. Things were breaking. The band was reportedly satisfied only when every VU meter sat pinned in the red, which drove the engineers to despair. You can hear it even in this final version: turn it up and you catch the strain on the gear. It’s a menace.

    It begins with a sharp, quick snap of the snare, pow pow pow, and then bam, the riff hits. It’s very simple, and you can see why Larry the guitarist once claimed his playing wasn’t the best, but when you’re making music with energy like this, you can get away with less. There’s inspiration in that riff. And later in the song there’s a guitar solo worth discounting any self-deprecating thing Larry ever said about himself. It’s a blistering solo.

    The lyrics come at you the same way the riff does, in basic rhyming meter and not about anything too complex. It’s just about a witch. A spooky lady, long black hair, driving a long black car, looking fine, creeping around the neighborhood while the normies sleep.

    Do You Love Me

    The second track is a Berry Gordy Jr. cover, performed in various iterations since the Contours first recorded it in 1962. This version takes that familiar tune and turns the volume up to the literal max. The snare is a machine gun, and Roslie really gets a chance to test the staying power of his larynx. Screaming is the order of the day on this one, and Roslie does a great job with it.

    It’s a danceable tune, and it references the Mashed Potato. Worth noting that the preceding song, “The Witch,” was originally conceived as a faddish Halloween dance theme. The idea was to get people doing the Witch the same way they did the Mashed Potato.

    Roll Over Beethoven

    They just had to do a Chuck Berry song on their debut. This track was originally cut in 1956. Here, almost ten years later, the Sonics give it its due. On this cover you can really feel the energy of the room. The band sounds like they’re having a great time recording it. The songs for this record were tracked like a live show, and you can surely feel that here. It’s a great time. I think this is the track that shows most how much fun the band probably was before their breakout originals took over. It’s got that rocking Chuck Berry guitar along with the signature intro, and Larry takes another wicked solo.

    If you read the lyrics, rock is the alpha here. Rock is the beginning. Anything before it doesn’t matter anymore.

    Boss Hoss

    The second original on the record, and a classic thing to write a song about: a muscle car. It’s pure and simple. The car is fast, it’s good looking, and it pulls attention from the girls in town. What’s more pure rock and roll than that?

    A highlight here is the sax solo in the middle by Rob Lind. It’s a wild solo, perfectly placed in a track about a sweet ride. I don’t think a sax solo would have fit on “The Witch” or “Psycho,” but here it’s exactly right.

    Dirty Robber

    The Sonics here pay their respects to one of the biggest influences on their sound, the Wailers.

    The Wailers’ influence on the Sonics, and on music overall, was huge. They were pivotal to the Northwest scene, and they mattered nationally for the evolution of rock. Andy Parypa once said the Wailers were the one group that could get the Sonics into a riotous mood.

    Another fantastic sax solo turns up here, along with another guitar solo. Each instrument gets a few sweet bars to stretch out, usually punctuated by a Gerry scream. The subject matter is simple too: a woman who takes more than she gives. If you put the Wailers’ version of this Little Richard-style rocker up against the Sonics’ version, you can see exactly what the Sonics were going for with their influences. Basically, take the energy and the vocal to the ultimate max. The lyrics are screamed more than sung. The drum hits are louder. The guitar and sax combo lands like a sledgehammer against a metal door. At this point in the record, any assumption that things will calm down gets killed by this track.

    Have Love Will Travel

    Perhaps the catchiest song on the record.

    It’s a cover, originally cut by Richard Berry. This version by the Sonics is the definitive one, and it’s probably the most recognizable example of their signature sound. It’s been used in plenty of films and TV, and it earned the band a whole new wave of attention when it turned up in a 2004 Land Rover commercial.

    The trifecta of guitar, sax, and bass is sublime here, and that guitar tone is quite distinctive. Another killer sax solo is featured, with Rob Lind ripping off some real rapid-fire improvised notes. Great track, and one of my favorite covers on the album.

    Keep A-Knockin’

    The start of the bonus tracks on this Norton release. As mentioned, this was the original B-side for the “The Witch” single. “Keep A-Knockin’” was made famous as a rock and roll number by Little Richard, and it’s easily one of the all-time most famous rock and roll songs and one of his best-known tracks.

    A reworking by the Sonics, recorded right as they were getting into making their own music, makes sense. And hearing it here on this more comprehensive vinyl release makes sense too. Its value is in the completeness it adds. The tempo is cranked up, and the Sonics’ version sounds FAST. That quickness is propelled by some wicked drumming from Bob Bennett. Roslie flies through the lines like a whirling dervish of sound and syllables. His voice is rough, maybe from some serious overworking. All through the quick track, Rob Lind fills in on sax like an expert.

    It’s a great song and a great first introduction to the Sonics. If this were the first thing you heard from them back in the day, you’d be hooked instantly.

    Even years later, the resurrected version of the Sonics held onto that live sound:

    Don’t Believe in Christmas

    Another bonus track. This is pretty much the guys goofing around, being anti-Christmas. The song has a good R&B swing to it, but it lacks the energy and force of some of the other tracks. I really enjoy the organ on this one.

    Side 2

    Psycho

    Side 2 starts with essentially the second original composition the Sonics cut to lacquer. In late 1964 and early 1965 you could buy a single with “The Witch” on one side and “Psycho” on the other. That’s a heavy-hitting 45 right there. The two songs share a relationship in their subject matter: the woman in “The Witch” could easily be the woman who’s driving the man crazy here, turning him psychotic.

    It starts with something the Sonics were known for, a quick succession of whacks on the snare and then a launch straight into the first verse.

    Baby, you’re driving me crazy. The subject is basically a woman’s behavior pushing a man off the edge, turning him into a psycho. Or just “Psycho” as a statement for the state of mind a man can be driven to by his woman’s behavior, good or bad, I’d assume.

    Just the title alone must have been an inspiration to ’60s garage acts and to the punk groups that came later.

    Money

    A cover of “Money (That’s What I Want),” written by Janie Bradford and Berry Gordy and first cut by Barrett Strong in 1959. By the time the Sonics got to it, plenty of bands had taken a swing, but the Sonics do what the Sonics do: strip it down, crank it up, and ride that one greedy idea straight to the floor. Roslie sells the hunger in the lyric like he means every word, and the rhythm section keeps it locked and pounding. A simple, primal want, and the perfect kind of song for this band to maul.

    Walkin’ the Dog

    Rufus Thomas put this one down in 1963, a slinky little R&B number built around a nursery-rhyme hook. The Sonics take that slink and rough it up, turning a playful dance tune into something with more grit under its fingernails. The sax gives it some swing, but the energy stays high. It’s a fun one, and another example of how this band could grab any song off the radio and make it sound like theirs.

    Night Time Is the Right Time

    The famous version of this belongs to Ray Charles, all gospel call-and-response and slow-burn soul. The Sonics keep the bones of it but trade the smolder for sweat and volume. Roslie leans hard into the vocal, and the band turns the late-night ache of the original into something more desperate and raw. It’s a cover that shows they could handle a song with some emotional weight and still wreck it on purpose.

    Strychnine

    One of Roslie’s originals, and maybe the most gleefully unhinged concept on the whole record. Literally a song about poison, about how good poison is. The narrator would rather drink straight strychnine than water or wine. How punk is that? The riff is mean, the vocal is a snarl, and the whole thing leans into the band’s love of dark, dangerous subject matter played for kicks. Along with “The Witch” and “Psycho,” this is one of the originals that future punk bands would point back to.

    Good Golly Miss Molly

    The Sonics giving it up to another of their biggest influences, Little Richard. Originally a 1958 smash, it’s a rock and roll staple, and the Sonics treat it with the appropriate amount of disrespect, which is to say they play it loud, fast, and full tilt. Roslie was the right singer to take on a Little Richard scream, and he goes for it. A fitting way to close out the original LP, looping the record back around to the wild rock and roll roots that started the whole thing.

    Santa Claus

    Bonus track, and another one of the Sonics’ anti-Christmas originals. Same energy as their other holiday goofs: a kid complaining that Santa never brings what he wants, set to a churning garage rhythm. It’s silly, but the band commits, and the organ and sax keep it lively. Christmas music with a chip on its shoulder.

    The Village Idiot

    The last of the bonus material, and another bit of seasonal mischief from the band. It’s loose and goofy, more of a curio than a centerpiece, but on a release this comprehensive it earns its place. By the time you reach it, you’ve got the full picture of who these guys were, including their sense of humor.

    Closing

    This record is pure energy. It’s also fun. Lots of fun. It’s original rock and roll, and you can feel the power of rock all over it. Whether or not you factor in its influence, the record stands alone as a great piece of rock music. That’s something all the great records do. They stand alone, but they also make other people pick up their instruments and try to do something similar.

    None of the tracks run longer than three minutes. There’s a pureness and a heavy weight to a record this full of blistering, no-fat tracks. The Sonics followed it up with another Etiquette LP, Boom. The second record didn’t do as well as the first, and the band slowly faded out of existence and popularity. The guys tried to keep things going, but it turned out they did the one thing most of them probably swore would never happen: they grew up and went all square. They led separate, basically normal lives after their short run with the Sonics.

    The music lived on in the shadows of record store conversations across the country, mostly in the Northwest. Their songs landed on garage rock compilations, and those comps became famous overseas and elsewhere. Their legend grew, and the influence they had got passed down through the scene. In the late ’80s and ’90s, bands started imitating that raw Sonics energy. The guys themselves had no idea this was happening while their relatively normal lives kept rolling on. Then, years and years later, a reunion happened, and the band put out another great record. Rock never dies.

    The Sonics’ influence can be heard in the heavy riffage, the bass and kick drum poundings, and the screeching vocals of Gerry Roslie. This was something different from R&B simply turned into a “whiter” sound. This was manic energy. It only could have come out of the Northwest scene. I myself have never spent time up in the Northwest, so I haven’t felt the energy of the setting that produced these neighborhood come-ups, but I have to pay my respects to one of punk’s originators. Bow to the greatness of the raw power of the SONICS!!!

  • John Coltrane – A Love Supreme

    John Coltrane – A Love Supreme

    Studio Album | Released January 1965 | Recorded December 9th 1964 at Van Gelder Studio | Impulse! Records | Producer Bob Thiele

    The John Coltrane sound: heavenly, spiritual, otherworldly. A Love Supreme is for many the peak Coltrane album. For others it is at least the most famous one, the record that hit the jazz world the hardest and left the deepest mark.

    Music as expression of soul and spirit. That is what John Coltrane eventually dedicated his life to. By the time he began working on A Love Supreme, prior to 1965, he was already deeply accomplished as a musician and a horn player, having appeared in probably the best jazz band ever put together alongside Miles Davis.

    1964

    The album was conceived and recorded in 1964. In many ways the cultural movements of the decade were still at the cuff. The wave had not yet formed. Music was definitely pushing toward societal reflection and change, with records like Bob Dylan’s The Times They Are A-Changin’ and Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come.” The civil rights movement is key context as well. By 1964 the movement had developed into a massive outpouring of protest. Lyndon Johnson had taken over as president after the assassination of John Kennedy. The war in Vietnam was not yet on most folks’ minds, but it was looming.

    In jazz, John Coltrane loomed over others as an emerging figure of the free jazz movement. He had broken out as a solo artist after his stints working under Miles Davis. 1964 was a year of hard work, but it also gave him room to rest, enjoy his newborn son, his first, and spend time with Alice in their new house on Long Island, New York. It was at this house that John secluded himself and began to develop the concept of A Love Supreme.

    Coltrane’s path to A Love Supreme ran through his years with Miles Davis, and a lot of the inspiration for free improvisation most likely took root while working on Kind of Blue. It was a time of listening, learning, and growing. And between the two recording sessions of Kind of Blue, Coltrane made Giant Steps. A seriously innovative record on its own, but what it also was for Coltrane was an exhibition in composition and music writing. It was proof that he was on the path to getting things going for himself and growing as a creative.

    Then there was the soprano saxophone, a new instrument picked up mid-career. An interesting move. There’s a lightness to the soprano, he would say. You can play lighter things on it. It’s a relief to shift to it. The soprano gave him “My Favorite Things” and a hit, and it widened the range of what his voice on a horn could be. That widening matters on A Love Supreme, even on a record where the soprano never appears.

    Something else Coltrane had to traverse to get to the point of making A Love Supreme was severe heroin addiction. In the 50s, using was not universal among jazz artists, but it was readily done and many artists had easy access to it. John was caught up in the attraction of drugs as a path to higher planes and higher abilities on his instrument. It did everything but that. Coltrane quit heroin cold turkey, and through sheer willpower and faith made it through a darkness few people have any idea of the difficulty of. That moment, the spiritual awakening of 1957, is the very experience he references in the liner notes of this album. A Love Supreme is, in a real sense, the thank you note for surviving it.

    December

    Coltrane’s record label had set aside about half of the second week of December. Tyner and Jones remember Coltrane calling them up and arranging a session for December 9th.

    Recording an album usually takes time. Days, weeks, sometimes months. Depends on the artist, I would say. But something is vastly different about A Love Supreme: it was recorded in one night, in one session.

    The Quartet

    The quartet on this record is a product of experimentation, but the end result is a band that allowed Coltrane full inventiveness and full confidence in working together. The record could not have been made without their collective skill, ability, and knowledge of music.

    Pianist: McCoy Tyner

    Tyner joined up with Coltrane around 1960, a confident young pianist who had what Coltrane wanted: a clean and astute harmonicist. Even though Tyner was 12 years younger than Coltrane, the two seemed to share the same musical focus and a spiritual leaning. They worked well together.

    Tyner relates the relationship to a brotherly one in Chasing Trane, the John Coltrane documentary. They were like brothers, and they were together for one reason: to create beautiful music. Full commitment. Full humility. No ego.

    Drums, Gong, and Timpani: Elvin Jones

    A master of the polyrhythmic style. Not the most in-demand drummer at the time, apparently. He would take liberties on the drum kit, drawing unwanted attention from bandleaders who wanted something tamer. But Jones was an amazing drummer, a master of his instrument, one who looked at the drums as intently as Coltrane looked at his horn. A naturally gifted player and a perfect addition to this quartet.

    Bassist: Jimmy Garrison

    Garrison had come up under another sax impresario and innovator, Ornette Coleman. Coltrane had been seeking a bassist who could match the strength required to work alongside a drummer as challenging and effective as Elvin Jones. Garrison joined the quartet in 1962 as the final piece of the band.

    The group gave Coltrane the feeling and the force he wanted. He wanted extremely capable musicians who could perform and sound like a unit without needing to force it. He wanted the feeling to be there rather than the hard edges of each musician playing on his own. Gathering this group was vital. From the point in 1962 when it solidified, the quartet became known for its work ethic, and its popularity shot up. It was Coltrane’s hot group, destined for something great.

    With this group, John Coltrane became the immense jazz figure that would seal his legacy. It tracked right into the making of A Love Supreme.

    The quartet formed, and the records came through. They recorded Crescent earlier in 1964, and man, what an album. Moodier, more contemplative, the band settling into longer forms and deeper waters. You can listen to it as a subtext, a prologue to A Love Supreme. Crescent is the record if you want to hear the quartet gathering itself for the leap.

    Producer: Bob Thiele

    On Bob, John said his duties were basically to keep the lights on and keep the tape running. A real backseat appearance for a producer. With all that expertise in the room, production gets pushed to the side. These were experts. Especially John.

    Significance

    The record landed in people’s homes like a gift from God. It was early 1965, right in the middle of the 60s. People were pursuing new religions and seeking truth through other means, music being one of them. People were seeking different lifestyles and accepting a universal consciousness. A Love Supreme was a perfect representation of that effort.

    A Love Supreme is dug deep into our cultural awareness, and that is something I’ve taken for granted myself. Even the phrase, the album title itself, inspired similar phrases down the line. A “blank” supreme. Anytime you hear that construction, it’s owed to Coltrane. It was one of the first records to be unapologetically devoted to a higher power.

    Many place the record, and sometimes Coltrane himself, into a religious context. For many listeners the music represents a voice from a supreme being, whether that voice is Coltrane himself or Coltrane channeling something through music. What you hear is someone playing an instrument beyond any extension of himself. It is himself. Full artistry, full mastery of craft, full immersion, and full transcendence.

    The Object

    My copy is not an original, not significant by any means. However, it is the music on vinyl, and for me that is significant enough. I’ll say that for a lot of records. It’s a 2023 US Impulse! reissue bought from my go-to record store right now, Recycled Records in Monterey, CA.

    A beautiful album cover. Instantly recognizable. Pure Coltrane. His gaze is not toward the camera but forward, toward a path to making better music. The photo was likely taken by producer Bob Thiele around the time of the recording. I really like the title font and how the title of the record comes first, then its maker. The tilt of the typeface seems to follow the same tilt as John’s eyes in the image. There’s not much simpler artwork than this, and it’s incredibly effective.

    The Music

    The album plays like improvisation mixed with composition. It blends genres together, and you can hear gospel, free jazz, bebop, and blues throughout. It eventually became known as spiritual jazz, a term that had never been used before. But many just see it as music, period.

    The John Coltrane sound: no vibrato, the shrieks, the rapid-fire runs. Vocal-like. It’s a tone. It’s purely him. It’s from deep within. It’s a howling soul and a wailing preacher together. On A Love Supreme he used the tenor saxophone for the entire recording, noting that it had the depth the music required. The tenor is close in tone to the human voice, and if these sessions were meant to come across as sermons, you can see why leaving the soprano behind made sense. The tenor is a voice here.

    Before even stepping into the studio, John had visualized the music as a connected suite: two pieces on side one and two pieces on side two. This is how the final product appears, and this is how the record was recorded.

    Acknowledgement

    The first gong hit and the opening lines from the sax are immediately transporting. You know you’re in for something different and special.

    Coltrane’s opening is transporting but familiar at the same time. To me it’s reveille, the wake-up call. It’s curtains opening. It’s a door opening. The signal to begin something. The signal for prayer to begin. The imam calling. Elvin Jones dances on the cymbals as that welcome ends. Then Garrison enters with that four-note motif. It is the album’s title in a four-note sequence.

    A love su-preme.

    Then Tyner takes a few chords as the rhythm develops. Coltrane’s horn returns. In full force. With a melody that just kills. Intensity is reached, and Tyner and Jones match it. Jones and Coltrane are really reaching heights here on “Acknowledgement,” interplaying so well. There’s a consistency from Jones that allows Coltrane’s flourishes and movements across the musical atmosphere. The cymbal is an interesting instrument to focus on here.

    Coltrane reaches peak intensity and then backs down, like a hiker on the downslope. Longer pauses open up between lines, and then the recurring theme enters the room. He plays the four-note motif 37 times in a row, in different keys.

    It’s an exercise in roaming key modulation. A masterful display. Some interpret it to mean that God exists everywhere, in every key. Some take it as a display of pure talent and ability.

    Then the tenor is put down and Coltrane takes the mic, one of the rarest moments on any of his records. He chants the mantra 15 times, drops to a lower key, and says it four more times. The song ends as the quartet slowly drops out, but Garrison remains. The bassist is the final musician you hear on this piece and the first you hear on the next.

    Resolution

    The seventh take. Garrison gives an introduction to the track on bass. A simple rhythm and theme, and it does little to warn you about the onslaught of Coltrane’s sax when it comes. It comes in blasting with the most out-there melody you’ve ever heard. Even today this melody makes me feel something I can’t pin down. It’s that dramatic and affecting. What ensues after the initial shock is a relatively traditional 4/4 jazz workout with Coltrane soloing.

    Then Tyner takes a solo. This solo is a highlight of the record. It’s insanely good and really hard to describe. Tyner’s left hand is fluid while his right hand stays fixed, playing mostly chords to follow and give structure to what the left hand is doing. I can’t begin to understand how difficult that is to do. But here, you can hear it done. It’s mind-boggling.

    Coltrane flows back in with his own solo, carrying a subtle respect for what Tyner just accomplished. His second foray as soloist on this track lasts through the remainder of the recording. He flourishes along, some of his lines blues-tinged. Then he strains on some wicked high notes, pushing the limits, and returns finally to the original melody. Garrison and Coltrane finish up while allowing the melody and the track to settle out and resolve, if you will.

    Pursuance

    This track begins with Jones taking a solo of about 90 seconds. His adaptable talent is on full display. Jones reported that Coltrane gave him no direction for this solo, so what you hear is supposedly unplanned. It is a showcase of his polyrhythmic ability. What it really sounds like is Jones using all of the drum kit at once. He playfully executes this extremely fun solo and slowly reaches a conclusion, still going at a brisk pace as Coltrane and the other two bandmates filter in.

    Coltrane’s intro rushes in with an initial blast of this new tune’s melody. Before that even gets a chance to sink in, Tyner takes another solo, his second on the album. Tyner really takes a walk around the room here, dancing around the melody of “Pursuance” at a sometimes breakneck speed. The left hand is just flying. Amazing stuff. Then Coltrane returns.

    Coltrane’s entrance into this track is the peak of the energy on the recording. It is a powerful exposition of melodic runs and strings of new ideas. It’s way out there. Underneath Coltrane is Jones, flying around the kit as well. The two together are reaching new heights simultaneously. A real partnership.

    Coltrane flourishes through the melody for a couple more measures, leaving Jones to find the track’s ending. In reality it’s a false ending. Jones gives some whaps to the snare and cymbals while Garrison begins an improvisation that runs for the next three minutes. His solo here is a truly unique point on the album. He does some great call-and-response work all by himself, moving from chord sequences to several-note combinations and answering them with chords. He travels up and down the strings with ease, and this closes out probably the most intense track on the record.

    Psalm

    The finale of the record. It is different from the three tunes before it, since it’s more of a mood piece. It’s pure emotion. It’s not regimented improv like before. It’s closer to a lyrical poem. The words of the passage appear in the album’s liner notes. It is essentially a conversation between Coltrane and God, giving thanks for his life and his gift. His praise for salvation, laid bare in his most effective form of expression.

    Accompanying Coltrane on the tune, mallets in hand on the timpani, is Jones. The timpani gives this piece the emotional weight it requires and makes the whole thing feel more orchestral and cinematic. Beneath that, Garrison and Tyner provide fills and layers where they can. But really this track belongs solely to Coltrane and his speech through the saxophone. You can listen along and read the words as Coltrane recites them through the horn, and it’s really not that difficult to follow. He does a fantastic job with that. As Coltrane works through the psalm he starts to sound strained, likely because this was the last tune recorded that night. It’s a voice at the end of its night.

    Coltrane finishes with a short reference back to “Acknowledgement,” there’s a roll on the timpani and cymbal, and A Love Supreme finishes.

    Closing

    Carlos Santana plays A Love Supreme every time he enters a hotel room. He does this to cleanse the room of harmful spirits. I do believe this record has that power. I feel something every time I play it. The feeling is a calm acceptance of the beauty and hugeness of my existence in this universe. I’m not a particularly religious person, but I do accept the existence of a higher power. A Love Supreme is a record some people will use to find their connection to, or their acceptance of, that higher power.