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| Pitchfork |
 In his 2004 memoir, Chronicles, Volume One, Bob Dylan writes of encountering Mike Seeger in the early 1960s in Greenwich Village, and being left spellbound by the effortless mastery the folk legend exhibited in his interpretations of a dizzying array of traditional American song forms. "He played these songs as good as it was possible to play them," Dylan writes, adding that, "What I had to work at, Mike already had in his genes, in his genetic makeup... The thought occurred to me that maybe I'd have to write my own folk songs."The 47 songs collected on The Bootleg Series, Vol. 9: The Witmark Demos: 1962-1964 allow us to witness how Dylan went about doing just that. Representing the fruits of his first two publishing contracts (with Leeds Music and with M. Witmark & Sons), the set reveals a much subtler and more fascinating journey than the popular shorthand myth of Dylan's shifting cleanly from folk apprentice to political firebrand to poetic rock'n'roller. For starters, a great many of the songs to which Dylan first affixed his name as writer were simply his own original lyrics atop traditional folk melodies. Not all of these words excoriated social injustice either-- far from it. Even from the beginning, there were love songs and outlaw songs, moodily poetic songs and broad jokes. Still, The Witmark Demos does demonstrate an evolution in songwriting genius, and one that took place in a frighteningly short period of a time by a young man who'd yet to turn 24 when the last of these recordings were made. On this set, you can hear Dylan moving past the bedrock melodies of folk and crafting indelible ones of his own ("Don't Think Twice, It's All Right"). You can hear him perfecting the protest song ("Blowin' in the Wind", "Masters of War"). And you can hear him falling in love with the music of words and beginning to invent a new vocabulary for pop music (a scratchy, nascent piano-only take of "Mr. Tambourine Man"). Only 15 of the set's 47 songs are unheard in any incarnation on a previous Dylan release (more on them later). The other 32 are split fairly evenly between germinal takes on songs from early-60s Dylan albums and alternate rough cuts of tunes that appear in equally embryonic states on the first Bootleg Series issue, 1991's Volumes 1-3. You might think auxiliary efforts would be of interest only to Dylan obsessives-- and in some cases these readings scarcely differ from others in his catalogue. Still, there are revelations: The oft-covered "Tomorrow Is a Long Time" has appeared previously only in live form on Dylan's second greatest hits compilation, and the version here is far richer, the guitar playing lovely and sublime. The classic protest song "Oxford Town" may be less immaculate here, but it's more bracing and insistent. The readings of "Mama, You've Been on My Mind" and "I'll Keep It with Mine" are especially pained and plaintive, while the bitingly satirical "Talkin' John Birch Paranoid Blues" and "Rambling, Gambling Willie" are looser and more ebullient here than anywhere else they've appeared before....full text |
| Tinymixtapes |
| “Now, it don’t seem to me quite so funny/ What some people are gonna do f’r money” —“Talkin’ Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues” “You looked for work and money/ And you walked a rugged mile” —“Ballad of Hollis Brown” “If you got a lot o’ money you can make yourself merry” —“Hard Times in New York Town” The cover photograph depicts an artist at his craft. The signs of subsistence and the minimal provisions of the starving artist: a lukewarm cup of coffee, an empty bottle of wine, packs of cigarettes, a draftsman’s table, and a typewriter. It’s a bare setting. The economy of items furnishing the room speaks to the economy of sound on The Witmark Demos. But this isn’t the isolated artist creating for his own sake. This is when busking goes bust in the boom-and-bust, bubbles burst, and the artist bows to the Man. This is the artist in the market, selling songs. Or at least that was the plan. Apparently Dylan recorded the Witmark demos (some of which are actually Leeds demos) in a process of penning, publishing, and peddling. The compositions were to be made available to other singers for production and release. It’s an ironic twist that during this same period Dylan would record his Freewheelin’ version of “Bob Dylan’s Blues” with a spoken introduction announcing: “Unlike most of the songs nowadays that are being written uptown in Tin Pan Alley… this wasn’t written up there.” Ironic, too, that this bit of capitalistic song production is — in lyrical content and sentiment — nearly akin to the Little Red Songbook. From my estimate, 36 out of these 47 tracks deal with either (a) civil inequality, civil unrest, and collective action (political, racial, labor, or otherwise), (b) crime and corruption (gamblers, sinners), or (c) hobos, bums, and down-and-outers. The topics, therefore, range from the inequalities of American society, the unrelenting madness and injustice encouraged by the status quo, and the consequences of the structure. Even many of the love songs contain glimpses of social tumult or a man’s income in relation to his romantic longings. These songs, nearly half a century old, are as relevant as ever. They should have never been hawked to commercial singers, but delivered as broadsides to the public or as protest music to audiences (as many of them were). Active, agitated citizens should be the recipients of these songs....full text |
| Popmatters |
| In all his various iterations—from folk troubadour to sunglass-clad, plugged-in contrarian to born-again Christian rocker to bluesy, plainspoken elder statesman—Bob Dylan’s artistic persona has always come across as one of clear vision. There’s no waffling in the moment, no tiny cracks of indecision or reticence. Bob Dylan picks his path—often blazing it for others to follow behind—and he doesn’t look back. The Witmark Demos: 1962-1964, however, show us a new side to Dylan. They show us the Dylan who is just starting out, frantically writing songs, but still feeling for his own ground. At times, he’s as in command as ever, and in others, he feels a little green still, a little untested. Part of this comes from the fact that Dylan was a gamble for Columbia Records. Most of the Greenwich Village folk crowd ended up on smaller labels, like Folkways, and targeted smaller crowds. Dylan, though, was getting coverage in the Times as early as 1961, and John Hammond over at Columbia took a flier on him. Hammond’s flier, shared by Lou Levy at Leeds Music, the music publishing company Dylan first dealt with, yielded a humble first return with Dylan’s 1962 eponymous debut. The record, according to music historian Colin Escott (who provides fascinating liner notes here), sold only 2,500 copies, and Dylan became known as “Hammond’s Folly”. From there, Art Mogull, who worked for the company that owned M. Witmark and Sons—one of the oldest music publishers in the country—bought out Dylan’s contract, Al Grossman took over as Dylan’s manager, and Dylan the folk wunderkind began to take shape. These two discs give us 47 tracks, all recorded before Dylan turned 24. The prolific nature of the collection is a wonder on its own, but it also shows us a more complete glimpse of Dylan’s growth than his early albums, as he moved out of Woody Guthrie’s shadow and stood in the sun to cast his own. Many of these early tracks show numbers Dylan wrote for others. In his early days, he was very much a part of the songwriting and publishing world, penning songs like “Tomorrow is a Long Time” to be recorded by Judy Collins, and (of course) “Blowin’ in the Wind”, which was first made famous by Peter, Paul & Mary and later recorded by just about everyone. Dylan was making a name for himself as a songwriter, no doubt, but this fury of writing and demos is a document of his push to become known as a singer, too....full text |
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