It’s always been tempting to corner the long and hilly career of Dylan. Most will agree on the following timeline: In the 60s, he was an unimpeachable troubadour voice of a generation. The 70s were rockier, full of great songs but fewer great albums; the sprawling shadow of Blood on the Tracks made it tough. The 80s saw him slipping out of touch until Oh Mercy. And then beginning in ’97 with Time out of Mind, he was back and as formidable as ever. A shallow, ultra-condensed history, yes, but the missing-the-point truthiness of general consensus. Yet even when he was no longer an event name, he was there, just being himself. His art was influenced and molded by his own spectre more than any musical trend. His voice changed, his style warped back and forth across a dozen sub-genres, his presence sometimes larger-than-life and sometimes ghostly subtle. But Dylan never left us; the public left him, returning only on the occasion when the product filled their fantastic expectations.
He still has his obsessed fanbase, the sort that will cough up the hundred-dollar-plus fee for the 3-disc version of his latest release, a compilation of extras from '89-'06. Those who dislike price gouging can enjoy the more sensibly-priced double album of Tell Tale Signs. But most young folk would sneer at “Bobcats,” thinking that these old dudes were living in the past. And while it may be true that nothing Dylan could ever do will ever be as well-regarded and influential as his early years, that’s only because of the way the world has changed. He spoke to the disaffected populace long before most rockers did, and this was still long before punk and rap and the rest even existed. Now that he’s no longer the celebrated folk poet laureate and the “rocker with a message” (labels that would apply to today, but is too often brushed past), he’s been able to take up the position as world-weary but wise-of-experience storyteller and mythmaker. Which is what makes an album of his extras arguably even more indispensable than those of all-but-your-most-favorite bands. Because his music is so inherently a part of him, his alternates and live takes give familiar tunes a completely new life.
Consider “Mississippi,” one of the better tracks off of Love and Theft (itself a leftover from Time out of Mind). It appears on Tell Tale Signs twice, opening up both discs in two alternate versions, but none of them (including the original release) has the same effect. The version on Theft was buoyant and harmonious, the first on Signs is gently relaxed, the second slower and duskier. The melody and lyrics remain more or less the same each time, yet these subtle changes create three distinctive songs (and there’s a fourth on the triple-disc version of Signs). They reflect the many moods that Dylan the artist goes through (I obviously can’t speak for Dylan the man). And I couldn’t pick a favorite since they appeal to me on three distinctive levels. As a result, Dylan has already begun raising this so-called bootleg to essential status, which is contrary to its nature. Bootlegs and rarities are supposed to be delightful extras, hidden little bits that listeners could cherish through a combination of artistic adoration and secretive ownership. They love what they have and they love that most others don’t have it. But even non-Dylan fanatics at the very least need to sample Tell Tale Signs.
And if alternates were all there was, it may still be a bit too completist, but there are also several noteworthy unreleased tracks. “Marchin’ to the City” starts out as gospel and transforms smoothly into a smoldering blues number. The lyrics are instinctively his own throughout, highlighted by, “She looked at me with an irresistible glance/With a smile that could make all the planets dance.” “Dreamin’ of You” is a musically rich builder; Dylan’s emotive voice begins soft and wistful but gradually turns rough and confrontational. “32-20 Blues” is Dylan doing Robert Johnson, which couldn’t possibly fail (and doesn’t) and “Miss the Mississippi” belongs to Jimmie Rodgers; we might have turned a nose to his nothing-special, cover-happy 1992 effort, Good As I Been to You, but Dylan savvily chose semi-obscure but potent numbers to run through. Best of all is “Red River Shore,” which might very well be one of the two or three best Dylan tracks in the last three decades. A haunting and melancholy song of regret, Dylan’s scratchy but forward-pitched voice gives it a life that almost no classically-trained crooner ever could. And the way the song begins with a guitar and barely-there bass and then adds drums, organ and accordion so instinctively yet so unnoticeably is mind-boggling. It’s like the song had been heard a thousand times before but we’d never really paid attention.
When you add to all of that a few live performances and a handful of soundtrack alternate takes (from North Country, Lucky You and Gods and Generals—sorry, no new version of “Things Have Changed”), you can see how Tell Tale Signs is a bevy of riches. Particularly strong among the live offerings is a stormy take on “Lonesome Day Blues,” with Dylan at his accusatory best. But the frustration is usually subdued now—while it’s difficult (and always debatable) to find the changing point, there is a discernable difference between the young and old Dylan. Representing the last two decades, Tell Tale Signs is a fine summation of his recent career. In fact, for those who’ve had a head in the sand, this could even be a pretty good place to start on the newer Dylan. His voice is about three cigars and a fifth of bourbon from Tom Waits now and he’s much more blues than folk rock, but he’s still definitively himself: even when mildly ineffective, an always fascinating work in progress.
"Tell Tale Signs: The Bootleg Series Vol. 8" is on sale October 7, 2008 from Columbia.
