Life throws a great handful of stuff at you. Some fragments stick, some bounce off and land on someone else; most hit you and end up just blowin’ in the wind.
One bit that stuck to me, years ago, was one my sisters telling me about a teacher of hers who adored Jane Austen. At that time, she’d taught Austen for more than two decades to hundreds of girls, yet there was one book that she hadn’t read, and didn’t plan on reading till she retired from teaching. She needed something to look forward to.
I have a similar thing with Bob Dylan. For years now, I’ve had a bootleg copy of Dylan live at the Philharmonic Hall in New York, in 1964. The thought of listening to it was strangely unbearable. I wasn’t sure I could handle the pleasure of it.
When did I buy it? I can’t recall exactly. I had two main splurges on Dylan bootlegs. First in New York in 1975, 18 years old. Main reason for going was to hang around in Greenwich Village and brush up on my Dylanology. I visited every record shop I could find and bought as much obscure Dylan stuff as I could afford – though in those pre-credit card days, that wasn’t a huge amount. Then about 10 years later I found a few more unofficial rarities on a market stall down the Portobello Road. I picked the ’64 concert on one of those occasions. But I never played it.
Bobophiles favour different periods. I’m an early 60s man rather than a mid or late 60s man. Others think that the mid 70s was his best. For me, the ’64 concert saw him at the pinnacle of his powers, which is why I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it. Then some of the tracks appeared on an official album called the Bootleg Series, Volumes 1, 2 and 3, about 15 years ago – which I heard. And then the Philharmonic Hall concert itself was released as a legit album just a year or two back. I bought the CD, and it’s been sitting on top of my computer, staring at me for a year or so.
Tonight, after either 20 or 30 years, I finally listened to it.
Phew. It’s just too brilliant.
At last, I can get on with the rest of my life.
