The Fifth Desk · Evaluation
Act I · The Map
Bob Dylan · produced by Bob Johnston · Columbia · about 73 minutes
Mode
Electric rock, blues and ballad; city surrealism played by country session musicians
Mythos
Crowd and icon: a carnival of masks in which everyone is punished, and one woman set apart and adored
Phase
Fourteen tracks on four sides; carnival and vigil on the first, the night dispersed into its masks across the middle two, one litany filling the fourth
Presentation
Double album; fourteen tracks on four sides of two LPs, about seventy-three minutes, issued in mono and stereo
Register
Organ held under the voice, harmonica as a second voice, guitars weaving around it; wit, fatigue and devotion in one watchful voice
Scale
A city at night and a few rooms in it, with Mona Lisa, Shakespeare and Achilles passing through
Governing Proposition
A singer booed nightly for his electric turn takes his New York songs to the session players of Nashville and makes a double album of one night mind: desire lived among masks, the absent beloved governing the present one, and a crowd in which everyone is punished giving way, across four sides, to a single woman addressed in a litany.
Act II · The Essay
Movement I
The record opens with a brass band falling about and a refrain, “Everybody must get stoned”, that is a joke about drugs or about persecution and has never settled which. It is the record’s frame. A crowd in which everyone is punished, sung as a carnival, stands at the start of a double album that will end, three sides later, with a single woman addressed in a litany for eleven minutes. Between the crowd and the icon lies a night: rooms, masks, lovers shut out and women who will not stay, all heard in one voice that watches and wants and answers with wit.
The record is plain to state. Columbia issued it in 1966 as two LPs, fourteen tracks on four sides, about seventy-three minutes, produced by Bob Johnston, in mono and in stereo. It was recorded in New York in January 1966 and in Nashville, at Columbia’s studio on Music Row, in February and March. The first three sides run about twenty minutes each. The fourth is given whole to one song of a little over eleven minutes, and the three longest songs, Visions of Johanna, Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again and Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands, take more than a third of the record.
That is the architecture, and the sequence is argued here once. The first side moves from carnival to vigil: the brass band, a slow blues, Visions of Johanna, and the reckoning of One of Us Must Know. The second and third disperse the night into its masks and quarrels, the put-down, the farce, the blues and the ballad, sets of songs more than arguments. The fourth gathers everything into one figure. Crowd to icon, persecution to veneration: the order of the sides carries a passage that bears load, and the whole last side given to one song is a formal act, not a long track fitted where it would go.
Movement II
The record’s night is set in its third track. Louise is in the room and Johanna is not, and over seven and a half minutes the absent woman fills the night until she is the only thing there. The organ is held under the voice, the harmonica enters at the ends of verses, “the ghost of ’lectricity” howls, and the song moves verse on verse without a release, never resolving and never sagging. The form is the vigil it describes. Nothing arrives, and the waiting is the song; it is the height of the record, and it was reworked across the tour of 1966 as if the singer were still looking for its end.
What it discloses can be stated, and it holds sixty years on: desire is lived among masks, and the beloved who is absent governs the one who is present. Even art is put on trial. “Inside the museums” infinity stands accused, and Mona Lisa, with “the highway blues”, is one more figure who cannot hold still. One of Us Must Know follows and states the aftermath of an affair from the side of the one who did the harm, without self-pity, surging in its chorus on piano and organ. The first side closes on a reckoning, not a complaint.
The surface is surreal, and the meaning is not unstable for that. What Visions of Johanna and One of Us Must Know uncover is a condition, statable and true, and the sound carries as much of it as the words: side one’s organ and harmonica are three in the morning, and the voice is the voice of someone awake when he should not be. The limits fall where they fall. Much of the record renders a mood of wit and fatigue rather than a meaning, and no social condition is opened; the disclosure is a private one, held in rooms.
Movement III
The inheritance is the singer’s own. The year before, the electric turn and Highway 61 Revisited had broken with the folk tradition he came from, and he was being booed nightly on tour for it. The turn here is to Nashville. A New York surrealist took his songs to the session players of country music’s capital, players who read an unfamiliar idiom by ear, and the result was a sound neither city had: country precision playing city dread. The sessions were a gamble on players he did not know, made in the middle of a tour that was punishing him for the last gamble.
The playing is the record’s making. The drumming sits behind the beat on Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands and drives I Want You; the organ and the guitars weave around the voice rather than accompanying it; the harmonica is placed as a second voice. The melodies are well made, from Just Like a Woman’s bridge to I Want You’s circling hook to the long unbroken line of Visions of Johanna, and the production keeps the room live. The Nashville playing is surer than the New York sessions of the year before. The faults lie where the slack lies: the blues numbers are generically arranged, and the opener’s chaos is a single joke.
The departures were made at scale: a double album, and a single song filling a whole side, without precedent in the field. They showed that a rock record, still largely a set of singles in 1966, could hold a sustained visionary lyric at length. What holds the turn short of the top is that the decisive swerve came the year before. This record deepens that wager more than it places a new one, and most of its songs keep the verse and refrain of the blues and the ballad. The distance between it and Highway 61 Revisited on this count is the year between them.
Movement IV
The middle of the record is its carnival of masks. Ruthie in Mobile, Shakespeare in the alley, a peddler, a countess, Achilles barring a door, a grandfather building a fire on Main Street: the figures crowd in, and each stays particular. Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again turns its refrain into the trap of its title. Every verse, however far it wanders, ends back in the same place, and the form is the confinement it names. The song is seven minutes long and could be twice that without escaping, which is its point.
Around it the night disperses. I Want You rises by sheer exuberance, its guitar figure circling the plain statement of its title. Most Likely You Go Your Way (And I’ll Go Mine) is the put-down, Absolutely Sweet Marie the drive, Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat the farce. The five blues and novelty numbers take nearly three tenths of the running time; they give the night its ground and its laughter and do not rise, and a single album of ten tracks would know almost everything this one knows. They are ground and slack at once, which is why the cut against them is partial.
Absolutely Sweet Marie gives the record its one stated ethic, that the outlaw “must be honest”, and it holds. Just Like a Woman, the record’s best-known ballad, lifts in its bridge and reduces its subject to a type, and whether it is cruel or tender has been argued ever since. Together the two songs are the record’s honesty and its limit: a voice that will not lie about its own conduct, as One of Us Must Know shows, and that does not always see the person in front of it.
Movement V
The fourth side is one song. Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands addresses a woman in the litany form of devotion to the Virgin, verse after verse of attributes, “your mercury mouth”, warehouse eyes, Arabian drums, set where the attributes of a saint would be, and at each refrain a question asked and never answered. The band rises at each refrain and waits for a climax that never comes. For some listeners it is the record’s summit and for others a long plateau. Held at one level for eleven minutes, it is transport by litany, and its length is its meaning: devotion that cannot arrive.
Here the record builds the figure it builds. The Lady is made across eleven minutes into an icon, and the order of the sides carries her: from a crowd stoning everyone on side one to a single figure venerated on side four, from persecution to worship. The carnival of the opener and the hymn of the close obey one law from opposite ends, and the passage between them bears load. The rest of the record’s figures are glimpsed, and the built pageants of Highway 61 Revisited hold more of them; but the passage from the crowd to the icon is this record’s own, and it is made by the sequence.
Sixty years of return have not settled it. The complete session tapes appeared as The Cutting Edge in 2015, and the Nobel Prize of 2016 renewed the reading of the words. Who Johanna is, what the Lady is, whether the stoning is a joke: none is answered. The record is in print as issued, in both mixes, and its songs are in common use. What it lacks is breadth of world: a city at night and a few rooms in it, held in one mind, with labour, the state and the natural order absent. Within that night it is complete, and it ends on the one figure it has made.
Act III · The Twelve
Seventy-three minutes on four sides, and the subtractive test bites, though less than it first seems. The long songs are required: Visions of Johanna sets the record’s night, One of Us Must Know its reckoning, Stuck Inside of Mobile its trap, Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands its end. Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 is required as the frame, the carnival the hymn of side four answers. The blues numbers are the question. Pledging My Time, Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat and Obviously 5 Believers give the night its ground and its laughter, but any one could go with little loss, and Temporary Like Achilles restates the shut-out lover of the fourth track more slowly. That partial slack, not the length, holds the figure.
Score: 8.2 / 10
The disclosure can be stated, and it holds: desire is lived among masks, and the absent beloved governs the present one. Visions of Johanna sets it exactly. Louise is in the room and Johanna is not, and the absent woman fills the night until even art, “Inside the museums”, is put on trial by her. One of Us Must Know states the aftermath of an affair from the side of the one who did the harm, without self-pity. The sound discloses as much as the words: side one’s organ and harmonica are three in the morning. Instability of image is not instability of meaning. Held from the top: some songs render wit and fatigue rather than a meaning, Just Like a Woman reduces its subject to a type, and no social condition is opened.
Score: 9.0 / 10
Elevation is frequent and of one kind, a nocturnal radiance more than grandeur or terror. Visions of Johanna is the height: the organ held under the voice, the harmonica entering at the ends of verses, the long song never resolving and never sagging. One of Us Must Know surges in its chorus on piano and organ. I Want You rises by sheer exuberance, and Just Like a Woman lifts in its bridge. Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands is transport by litany, held at one level for eleven minutes, the band rising at each refrain. The five blues and novelty numbers do not rise at all, and terror is absent. Height is high; frequency is about half the tracks.
Score: 8.8 / 10
The record summons a crowd of figures, and they stay particular: Louise and Johanna, Mona Lisa with “the highway blues”, Ruthie in Mobile, Shakespeare in the alley, Achilles barring a door. One figure is built. The Sad Eyed Lady, with “your mercury mouth”, is made across eleven minutes into an icon, addressed in the litany form of devotion to the Virgin, warehouse eyes and Arabian drums set where a saint’s attributes would be. And the sequence carries a passage that bears load: from a crowd stoning everyone on side one to a single figure venerated on side four, persecution to worship. Held from the top: most of the other figures are glimpsed, a carnival of masks rather than archetypes carried.
Score: 8.8 / 10
The inheritance is the singer’s own: the electric turn of 1965 and Highway 61 Revisited, the Chicago blues behind it, and the folk tradition he had left. The turn here is to Nashville. A New York surrealist took his songs to the session players of country music’s capital, and the result was a sound neither city had: country precision playing city dread. With it came a double album and a single song filling a whole side, the second without precedent in the field. The stake was real: he was being booed nightly on tour, and the sessions were a gamble on players he did not know. Held from the top: the decisive swerve came the year before, and most tracks keep the forms of the blues and the ballad.
Score: 8.9 / 10
Change the form and much of what the record knows goes, because the knowledge is in the sound of the night. Visions of Johanna’s structure, verse on verse without a release, is the vigil it describes. Stuck Inside of Mobile turns its refrain into the trap of its title: every verse ends back in the same place. Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands asks a question at each refrain and never answers it, devotion that cannot arrive, and its length is its meaning. The sequence moves from carnival to vigil to dispersal to worship, and the whole last side given to one song is a formal act. Held from the top: the songs survive other forms, as the singer’s own stage resettings of 1966 show, and the blues numbers are containers.
Score: 8.7 / 10
Evidence first, and sixty years supply a great deal. The words of Visions of Johanna and Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands have been argued over in print for decades. The complete session tapes appeared as The Cutting Edge in 2015, and the reworkings of Visions of Johanna across the tour of 1966 are a study of the song in themselves. The Nobel Prize of 2016 renewed the reading of the words. The record keeps yielding because it does not settle: who Johanna is, what the Sad Eyed Lady is, whether Just Like a Woman is cruel or tender, whether the stoning is a joke about drugs or about persecution. Held from the top: the blues numbers yield what they show at once.
Score: 9.2 / 10
The field is the rock album, which in 1966 was still largely a set of singles. The intrinsic force is high: the record showed that a rock album could hold a sustained visionary lyric at length, across two LPs and a side-long song, and that the session craft of Nashville could carry city surrealism. That widened what the form could hold. Some of its means were the previous year’s, and some of the reach belongs to the singer’s records of 1965 as much as to this one; that is discounted. Achieved reach is scored with intrinsic force: within three years the double album was the ambitious record’s format, the long, image-crowded love song became a standard of the singer-songwriter, and the turn of rock and folk singers to Nashville is commonly traced to these sessions.
Score: 9.1 / 10
Survival is weighed over sixty years on form, presence and fabric. The form is whole: the record is in print as issued, in both mixes. Presence is continuous and wide: Just Like a Woman, I Want You and Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 are in common use, Visions of Johanna is in the working repertoire of other musicians, and the album is heard whole. The fabric is sound: the Nashville sessions carry little of the bright studio of the mid-1960s, and the playing does not date. Charged: the drug joke of the opener belongs to its year, and a double album is heard whole less widely than the most present records of its decade. It stands a tenth below Highway 61 Revisited and Revolver.
Score: 8.9 / 10
Command of the recorded medium, with the words weighed elsewhere. The Nashville players read an unfamiliar idiom by ear and made it their own: the drumming sits behind the beat on Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands and drives I Want You, and the organ and guitars weave around the voice rather than accompanying it. The harmonica is placed as a second voice. The melodies are well made: Just Like a Woman’s bridge, I Want You’s circling hook, the long unbroken line of Visions of Johanna. The production keeps the room live, and the playing is surer than the New York sessions of 1965. The faults: the blues numbers are generically arranged, the opener’s chaos is a single joke, and the band of the closing song waits for a climax that never comes.
Score: 8.8 / 10
One law governs the record: a watchful voice in a night world of masks, wanting what it cannot hold, and meeting it with wit. The two most distant elements are the brass-band carnival of the first track and the hymn of the fourteenth, and they obey the same law from opposite ends: a crowd in which everyone is punished, and one figure set apart from the crowd and adored. Between them the put-down, the confession, the vigil and the farce all speak in one voice and one sound, and the range is wide, from slapstick to devotion. The law strains at the opener, whose marching band stands outside the record’s sound, and the blues numbers obey it as habit rather than as law. Nothing breaks it.
Score: 8.8 / 10
Judged on what the record holds, with no discount for the form. Consciousness is held fully, one night mind across seventy-three minutes, and it is that one mind that joins everything else. Desire and the couple are held in nearly every song. Art and history enter as Mona Lisa, the museums, Shakespeare and Achilles, set against the present. The sacred is reached in the devotion of the closing song. Society is a carnival and the law a thing to live outside, in Mobile and in Absolutely Sweet Marie. The family enters only as a grandfather and a marriage implied. What holds the figure is that the orders beyond desire are held as images, not as subjects; labour, the state as institution and the natural order are absent.
Score: 7.8 / 10
Act IV · The Reckoning
8.8 / 10 · Final Average
Placement: Tier IV · Canonical
Strongest Dimensions
The Bottomless Well at 9.2, Pressure on Tradition at 9.1 and The Unconcealment at 9.0. Sixty years of argument over words that do not settle, a record that showed the rock album could hold a sustained visionary lyric at length, and a disclosure of desire among masks, the absent beloved governing the present one, that holds. Below them, The Swerve and The Imperishable at 8.9: the Nashville turn and a presence continuous and wide.
Limiting Dimension
The Encompassed at 7.8: one night mind holds desire, art, history, the sacred and a carnival society, but the orders beyond desire are held as images rather than subjects, and labour, the state and the natural order are absent. Below the rest, The Inevitable at 8.2: five blues and novelty numbers, nearly three tenths of the running time, give the night its ground and its laughter, and a single album would carry almost all the record knows.
The Necessity Cap clears at 8.2 against a threshold of 7.5. The Coherence Floor clears with room: The Living Form at 8.7, The Made at 8.8, The Inner Law at 8.8, each against 7.0. The Epochal Gate is met on all five: Pressure on Tradition at 9.1, The Unconcealment at 9.0, The Swerve at 8.9, The Imperishable at 8.9 and The Archetypal Deep at 8.8 clear the bar of 8.5. The Universal Minimum is met: no axis but The Encompassed falls below 8.2, against 7.5, and The Encompassed, which is exempted, clears its own floor of 6.0 at 7.8. Every summit condition is met; the work is held below the summit by its aggregate alone.
Basis · the double album as released by Columbia in 1966, fourteen tracks in sequence on four sides, about seventy-three minutes, judged from knowledge of the recording, its words and its reception. No recording or lyric sheet was in hand. The album was issued in mono and in stereo, and no judgment here turns on the difference. The session tapes issued as The Cutting Edge (2015), the live versions and the covers are used only as evidence. Songs are cited by title, and no lyric is quoted beyond a fragment of four words. Track lengths are approximate to a few seconds. Facts that could not be verified, among them the exact release date, the players on each track, the session dates and number of takes, and the chart positions, are not given.