Several weeks ago, my PopMatters article entitled “Paul McCartney: An Auteur” caused quite a stir. In that piece, I attempt to position Paul McCartney as an artist of the highest standard, one whose entire body of work must be taken seriously. Many of the comments I received criticized my lack of reasoning and found fault in positioning McCartney as a man who can do no wrong. I also received some feedback asserting that the Auteur Theory can only be applied to film due to the director’s position within a system of producers, screenwriters, actors, etc. The reasoning behind rejecting auteurism in music: it is laudatory that a director working within a hollywood studio system would be able to consistently leave a personal stamp on each of his films, but what is so impressive about a musician placing a personal stamp on his/her solo albums? This logic is sound; however, I wish to apply another aspect of the theory to music. Instead of using auteurism in the sense of a distinct creative vision persevering through studio interference, I believe it can apply to music in the way it forces an audience to evaluate an artist’s entire output.  Without this theory in place, I may not have been aware of many “lesser” films by great filmmakers. I recently viewed Scorsese’s New York, New York. Based on its disappointing box office returns and lukewarm reviews, one would think this was a poorly received, self-indulgent and anachronistic musical not worth watching. Rather than approaching it as a stand-alone film, auteurism forces us to perceive it as part of something greater: an important step in the development of a filmic genius. Placed in its proper context as the coked out artificially retro experiment between Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, New York, New York becomes a must see. I see no reason why this aspect of Auteur Theory can’t be applied to music. An album should not be examined as a stand-alone entity, but rather a piece to a larger puzzle. The artist’s personal and musical history must factor in the appreciation of a serious work. And all works by an artist/band containing genus must be considered serious works. You would be right to say that the “Auteur Theory” can not directly be applied to music. The musician does not shine in the spite of writer/actor/studio involvement like a film auteur can. Given this, perhaps the word “Auteur” is not the best word choice for this form of musical criticism. There are other connotations Truffaut’s Auteurism held that could be applied to music; however, specifically the genius identifying. I believe one could alter Truffaut’s famous one liner to my preferred brand of musical criticism: There are no good and bad albums, only good and bad musicians. In this way, I believe the greatest musicians can transcend the status of a rock star or a popular artist into the realm of fine artists.

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Dylan’s creative zenith unquestionably took place in the 1960’s, but it’s amazing what a little love on the rocks can do for your creativity. His classic 8 album run from The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan to Nashville Skyline is one of the most impressive, not to mention influential, streaks in music history. During this time, he revolutionized the pop lyric and left a lasting impression still felt today.

By the seventies Dylan was relaxing.  Not consumed with the pressure to top himself, he released a string of homegrown, unchallenging works. Some were good (New Morning) and some weren’t (Self Portrait). Fans were wondering where their spokesman had gone. The 1975 release of Blood On The Tracks, squashed any doubt that he had lost his touch. An album constructed out of heartbreak and pure raw emotion, something I believe had long been gone from Dylan’s music. Even many of his “classic” era albums had a lack of pure emotion. “Ghosts of electricity” was good and grand, but it didn’t mean anything. It was drug addled nonsense. That is what makes Blood On The Tracks so reassuring, it saw Dylan back on the top, yet this time in unpretentious waters. His lyrical peaks can be found on his early youthful angst seen on Freewheelin’ and this beautiful work of heartache and remorse, both truthful straightforward expressions of the human condition.

I will not be writing about the officially released version of this album, as it is vastly inferior to the album I will be discussing, the original New York recorded sessions of the work. Dylan originally recorded his latest batch of songs in NYC with sparse accompaniment in a somber series of recordings, but later decided to recut half of the songs with full instrumentation in Minneapolis on the brink of the album’s release. It is a shame to me that he did this, as all the original songs are superior to their reworked counterparts. The improvements heard on the original versions of “Idiot Wind” or “You’re A Big Girl Now” are astonishing. I feel that the sparse instrumentation is also more indicative of the depressing mood of the album, and allows you to more fully feel the impact of the anguish Dylan was feeling at the time. I liken this work to Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band, as both contrast with their creators previous, fame making, work. Both albums contain brutally honest assessments of their creator’s lives at the time, with each dealing with the realization that indeed the dream was over.

This is an album that can reduce you to tears, as it is the most honest document of lost love ever produced. Anyone who has ever experienced heartache should be able to relate to the mood expressed on this; Dylan’s greatest album and one of the finest albums ever made.

“Tangled Up In Blue”: What more needs to be said about this? It is an amazing narrative exercise, which could easily work as a short story or poem. Referring to the main character in the 3rd person is an interesting choice, as it removes Dylan from the action, and allows an objective view of the story. The lyrics are sheer genius, with each verse closing with reflective notions, concluding with the tearjerking line: “We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point of view”

“Simple Twist Of Fate”: Part two of an amazing set of narratives set to music. The first two tracks on this album read more like literature than song lyrics. The imagery here puts you exactly in the scene. “Strange hotel with the neon burning bright,” “saxophone somewhere far off played” “dropped a coin into the cup of a blind man at the gate” are just a few of the examples. “I still believe she was my twin, but I lost the ring/She was born in spring but I was born to late” is otherworldly in its effectiveness.

“You’re A Big Girl Now”: A song that benefits immensely from listening to the original version. This is perhaps the most heartbreaking song on an album solely about heartbreak. “I’m back in the rain and you are on dry land” and “I know where I can find you, in somebody’s room” are just a few of the gut wrenching lines. Great accompaniment on the original with a subtle touch of steel guitar and organ. “Like a corkscrew to my heart ever since we’ve been apart” sums up the feel of the entire album nicely

“Idiot Wind”: The song most negatively affected by being re-recorded. The original recording of this song is a subtle, heartfelt attack on a certain “idiot,” while the officially released version is just a shrill noisy track that is hard on the ears as Dylan shrieks “EEEEEEEEEDIOT”. What prompted him to ruin this classic is one of the biggest question marks in rock music.

“You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go”: the most upbeat track on the album, but that does not mean its lyrics divert from the main theme of the record. Although the sounds are cheerful, it doesn’t mean Dylan’s message suddenly is. Spitting out lyrics like the early days, he drops some of the best lines on the album including the verse I get the most enjoyment out of:

“Situations have ended sad,Relationships have all been bad.

Mine’ve been like Verlaine’s and Rimbaud.

But there’s no way I can compare

All those scenes to this affair,

Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.”

“Meet Me In The Morning”: Nowadays Dylan is content to operate mainly in blues workouts. Full albums worth. Here we get this one song (Buckets of Rain has a blues basis but I wouldn’t consider it a straight ahead blues song) This song is probably the weakest lyrically, but it is still great. The pedal steel is a highlight on the album.

“Lilly, Rosemary, And The Jack Of Hearts”: Unquestionably the worst song on the album. On the official release, this song is simply unbearable. I have never listened to it all the way through. However on the original acoustic only version, it is not bad, featuring an interesting story line, but by no means does it stand up to the rest of the album.

“If You See Her, Say Hello” After a run of songs that vary up the tempo, this track returns to the somber mood that opens and closes the album. This is the most direct track, the one that tells you in clear and dry terms what this album is about; Dylan’s separation with his wife Sara. Lines like “Oh, whatever makes her happy, I won’t stand in the way/Though the bitter taste still lingers on from the night I tried to make her stay” are amazingly personal for such a large figure as Dylan to reveal. A beautiful song, one of the best on the album, and the one where you can clearly hear Dylan’s resignation to wallow in the situation he has created.

“Shelter From The Storm”: An acoustic standard. Light on the amount of chords, the focus here is clearly on the lyrics. Perhaps the song with the most depth on the album. You have to peel away at the many layers to appreciate the true meaning of the track. Or you can simply enjoy it on its face value, filled with biblical imagery and a fast paced lyrical delivery. This is probably the song that fits most easily outside the context of this “breakup” album.

“Buckets Of Rain”: A depressing close to one of the most depressing albums ever crafted. This verse sums up, not only this album, but heartbreak in general:

“Like your smile and your fingertips

Like the way that you move your hips.

I like the cool way you look at me.

Everything about you is bringing me misery.”

This is simply the greatest work ever created on the subject of heartbreak. This is the closest listeners have ever gotten to the enigma, that is Bob Dylan. He has done an amazing job throughout his career hiding his true self from his audience, but for one album, aided by a lost love, fans were allowed to step inside his brain. What we find is that if his thought-dreams could be seen they would, in fact, closely resemble a head in a guillotine. Many Dylan albums from the previous decade had a greater impact onto the landscape of music, but none were better.