The Cavern
Rock & Words
THE FREEWHEELIN' (Bob Dylan, 1963)
Artist: Bob Dylan (B+)
Recording Date: Apr '62 – Apr '63
Release Date: May 27, 1963, USA
Label: Columbia
Producer: John Hammond, Tom Wilson
Rating: 9.5 (MUST HAVE, ICONIC ALBUM)
Era: Folk, Folk-Rock (1940 -???)
Subgenre: Folk
Best Song: Masters of War o Hard Rain
Tracklist: 1) Blowin' In The Wind; 2) Girl From The North Country; 3) Masters Of War; 4) Down The Highway; 5) Bob Dylan's Blues; 6) A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall; 7) Don't Think Twice It's Alright; 8) Bob Dylan's Dream; 9) Oxford Town; 10) Talking World War III Blues; 11) Corrina Corrina; 12) Honey Just Allow Me One More Chance; 13) I Shall Be Free.
There are albums that, while not necessarily the best by a band or artist, were among the most revolutionary in the history of rock and marked a significant shift in the direction music had been taking up to that point. They're not even masterpieces, like the Sex Pistols' and Nirvana's Neverminds, or perhaps they're overshadowed by the rest of the band's discography, like the Beatles' Help! or the Rolling Stones' debut.
Dylan's Freewheelin' is one of those albums that I think deserves some recognition, but because it was later surpassed by other albums when Bob went electric, its true significance was somewhat eclipsed or forgotten.
And this album deserves its due. Many complain that it's monotonous. Well, it's an album of pure guitar, harmonica, and Dylan's "beautiful" voice! It is what it is. But it might just be the best album of pure guitar and harmonica in English in the whole wide world. If you're looking for an album with grandiose instrumentation, perhaps you should check out an ELO record. Bob Dylan presents himself here in his purest form. It's almost unbelievable that he's the same young man who released his debut album months earlier, full of covers; but I've already explained the possible reasons and circumstances behind Bob's debut. There are people and fans who are unaware of, or pretend to be unaware of, the true debuts of certain artists because they were very local releases, generally only available in their country of origin, as was the case with AC/DC or Bob Marley. Others, simply due to their quality, aren't taken very seriously.
Many people, in fact, consider Freewheelin' to be Dylan's first album, and in a way, it is. The self-titled album is the equivalent of a covers album that I could have easily recorded during my folk-song phase. Freewheelin' is a huge album that would establish Bob Dylan as a devilishly creative artist, the best (in my opinion) lyricist or rather, poet of English Rock, and one of the most influential musicians in history.
Me defending Dylan? I swear this is the last time. But I really do find a lot of criticism of this album, and it's generally forgotten that without it, we'd still be listening to silly songs about cars and girls. Well, maybe not, we'll never know; but the fact is that it was THE album that made an entire generation see beyond the limits that existed at the time. Its effect might have taken a few years to fully manifest; it was slow but devastating, and now it's impossible to understand the qualitative leap of rock in the mid-60s without Dylan's influence with this album. The Beatles listened to it while they were in Paris and were told about their first number one hit in the USA; Paul would say that they listened to it nonstop for 15 days and that the celebration was overshadowed by the awe of Dylan's lyricism, which left them wondering what was next for them, particularly Lennon. Brian Jones was blown away, and he would end up forging a true friendship with Bob. Van Morrison even went so far as to say that at the time it was as if Moses had parted the waters of music, revealing a completely different universe of possibilities. In short, the entire British Invasion would be marked by this, and the symbiosis that would transform rock and roll and R&B into what we know today as rock would begin. In the United States, the future hippie stars would be forged under Dylan's folk sound. Until then, folk was more underground, something obscure, and closer to Dylan's debut album. That's why it's surprising that his first album was basically covers, and that in such a short time, he was able to release an album in which 11 of the 13 songs were his own, but in which he also combined that folk root in a more accessible way. I wouldn't dare call it pop, or commercial, but it served as a bridge between old folk and the concerns of an entire generation that had been repressed in the late 1950s, but which had a lot of anger, political courage, a thirst for poetry, for something intellectually challenging. Dylan took the old forms and added a new depth, translating them into a language that still sounds current and relevant today. The Rock & Roll and Rhythm & Blues of the British Invasion weren't inherently dangerous; at most, they contained some sexual metaphors that made American puritans uncomfortable. What they truly feared was that this generation would realize they were being taken for a ride, that they would realize they could think for themselves. And this album did precisely that. It made everyone think…
What happened between March of '62 and May of '63 that changed the very young Bob so much? The most logical answer seems to be named Suze Rotolo. Suze was a young woman of Italian descent living in New York. Bob had just arrived in the big city to begin his career, and he met her in July of 1961 through her sister, Carla Rotolo, who introduced them at a folk concert. Bob would say he was struck by lightning when he saw her (those who've read The Godfather will understand), and they started dating. Suze wasn't just a romantic inspiration. Her parents, of Italian descent, were members of the Communist Party; the whole family had a strong leftist influence. Carla was a folk composer at the Greenwich Village Club. And Bob was penniless, so meals at the Roloto house were frequent, and he absorbed all the ideology from the table conversations. In early '62, they moved in together, and it was then that he cut the umbilical cord with Woody Guthrie and began writing about civil rights, the bomb, and the Warlords.
Legend has it that he had already written half of Freewheelin' before releasing his debut album, but he didn't dare release that kind of music because it was too risky. We'll never know. The truth is that around that time, right after releasing his first album, Dylan became a devilishly prolific songwriter, debuting new songs at almost every performance. Peter Seeger asked him one day how many songs he had recently written, to which Bob replied, "I can go up to two weeks without writing anything... But just yesterday I wrote five." His debut album was a commercial failure, as expected, but curiously, he began to gain fame in New York folk circles for his live performances and because he broke the mold of traditional folk.
In June of '62, Suze went to Italy to study. This separation greatly affected Bob, who dedicated many songs to her, songs that convey nostalgia and distance. The presence of women in Bob's albums is undeniable. But he speaks of women with breathtaking poetry. Today we might not appreciate it, but at the time it was a huge turning point. Until then, in rock and even blues, women occupied the position of "my girl." They were mere objects, objects of desire or possession. Bob treated women as equals, radically changing the perspective and their role in songs. Rotolo would be crucial to Dylan's ideology and poetry, and she's the girl who accompanies Bob on this simple yet iconic album cover.
Dylan began recording his second album on April 4, 1962, not even a month after releasing his debut, with John Hammond producing, with whom he had also worked on his first album. Bob would record a lot of songs and then disappear for months. By the time he returned, he had already composed new tracks and discarded the ones he had recorded. From these initial sessions, only "Bob Dylan's Blues," which would be the album's working title, and a preliminary version of "Corrina Corrina" would emerge. In July, he recorded "Blowin' in the Wind," and it was around this time that he caught the attention of Albert Grossman, who would become his manager and convince him to transfer the rights to his songs to Witmark Music, a division of Warner. Grossman secretly negotiated a 50% royalty deal with them, which would lead to a tremendous legal battle when Dylan found out years later. Grossman, as his manager, immediately used his cunning to argue that the contract Bob had signed with Columbia was invalid because he hadn't yet turned 21 when he signed it. This allowed him to renegotiate much more favorable terms with the record label.
On November 22nd, he performed at Carnegie Hall as part of a folk festival lineup. There he premiered a song called “A Hard Rain’s A-gonna Fall,” which left everyone speechless. Many would say it was about the Cuban Missile Crisis, but that song wasn't released until a month later, when Kennedy made his televised address about the crisis and the nuclear threat. Shortly after, he returned to the studio, this time with a small backing band, with whom he recorded a bunch of songs, mostly outtakes (I would have loved to hear “That’s All Right Mama”), of which only “Corrina Corrina” made it onto the album.
In December, he traveled to London to appear on the BBC. But the important thing was that he struck up friendships with some musicians from the circle called “The Trovadour,” particularly Bob Davenport and Martin Carthy, who taught him some things about British folk, including the arrangement of the traditional English song “Scarborough Fair,” which would become the basis for “Girl From The North of the Country,” and “Lady Franklin’s Lament,” which he used to compose “Bob Dylan’s Dream.” During his stay in London, he composed “Masters of War” in one sitting. From England, Bob traveled to Italy to surprise Suze, only to be surprised himself, as she had already returned to New York.
Bob returned to the USA in January to find that Grossman wasn't happy with Hammond's production and was replaced by Tom Wilson, a much more astute producer, who ended up getting along very well with Bob. Suze and he moved back in together.
The album is a gem. It took him 14 months to record it, but it captures the essence of Dylan and is basically a summary of all the styles he would later develop. The debut is a kind of introduction to his roots, but this is his true calling card, perhaps his most honest album, before fame and before he self-censored tracks like “Masters of War.” I understand those who say it’s monotonous, because it’s simply Bob and his guitar, and his harmonica. But I have to agree with Starostin that it must be the best guitar and harmonica album in the world, and with John McFerrin, who says that we have all of Dylan’s possible facets on a single record. And since I can't say it any better, I'll just translate: We have the Bob of anthems (“Blowin’ In The Wind”), the Epic Dylan (“A Hard Rain”), the furious protest Dylan (“Masters of War”), the gentle protest Dylan (“Oxford Town”), the slightly misogynistic one (“Don’t Think Twice, Is Alright”), the anecdotal one (“Talkin’ World War III”), the reinterpreter of traditional folk (“Down The Highway”), the introspective Dylan (“Bob Dylan’s Dream”), the one of folk love songs (“Girl From the North Country”), and the one who clowns around (“Honey…” and “I Shall Be Free”). Not bad for a “monotonous” album.
The album opens with “Blowin’ In The Wind”. An anthem through and through, and perhaps the most famous song in Dylan’s colossal catalog. There are even adaptations for Catholic Mass, and I remember when I bought my first Bob Dylan compilation, my mother was thrilled because she thought I was finally interested in religious music. Meh. It’s true: It’s the epitome of folk clichés. Anyone learning folk music should know how to play it; it’s the equivalent of the “Cantares” in Spanish. But isn’t it perhaps that all the clichés stemmed from this song, and not the other way around? Its beauty and simplicity are moving. A simple semi-arpeggiated, semi-strummed circle, with harmonica interludes mirroring the vocal melody. Bob sounds masterful, and that nasal voice helps him highlight that aura of disenchantment, hope, and doubt. In each rhetorical question, Bob subtly plants barbs: “How many years can some people exist, before they're allowed to be free? Yes, how many times can a man turn his head, pretending he just doesn't see?” And in certain lines, he launches more venomous barbs, perhaps the ones he sings with the most tenderness: “How many times must the cannon balls fly, before they're forever banned?” or “Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows, that too many people have died?” Verses that remain relevant, especially now that Gaza is being wiped off the map with heartbreaking impunity, but which are not only accusatory, but also imbued with sublime poetry. The chorus's answer leaves us in the same place, although it implicitly tells us that the answer lies within ourselves. Many of the verses don't accuse the leaders who drop the bombs, but us, who sin through indifference. “Blowin’ in the Wind” is one of the most perfect folk songs in just 2:40, and despite everyone playing it and its potential for being overplayed, it's one of the best in Dylan's discography. Peter Seeger, with whom he had a sort of rivalry/friendship, identified that the melody was based on “No More Auction Block,” from which it borrows the sequence of tones, although the vocal melody is entirely different, and lyrically it's among Dylan's best work. In fact, many of the supposedly original tracks on this album have “too much” influence from previous songs. You see? Led Zeppelin wasn't the only one with those tricks. Another thing to mention is that it was one of the first Dylan songs to be covered, by the folk trio “Peter, Paul & Mary,” whose version became more famous than Bob's at the time, and also the beautiful version by Joan Baez, with whom he had a brief romance. Finally, this is perhaps the only song I like better sung by Dylan than by any of his other interpreters. That's no small thing.
Next up is “Girl From The North Country”, a beautiful ballad with a swift, delicately fluttering arpeggio, loosely based on “Scarborough Fair.” Bob wrote the song not in England, but in Italy, when he went there to find Suze. Upon his return to London, he sought out Bob Davenport and Martin Carthy and told them, “There’s your Scarborough Fair.” The song is deeply melancholic, with poetic touches reflected in Bob’s mournful voice: “I’m a-wonderin’ if she remembers me at all, Many times I’ve often prayed, In the darkness of my night, In the brightness of my day.” Dylan was always secretive about who it was dedicated to. Some say Echo Helstron or Bonnie Beecher, two previous girlfriends, but although the song has a farewell feel, it can’t be ruled out that it was about Suze, born of his frustration at not having been able to reach her in Italy. The harmonica enters as a kind of lament between the verses. The melody is beautiful, entirely independent of the traditional British song, which he would later plagiarize for "Boots of Spanish Leather" in '63. Anyway, the song is beautiful, simple, perhaps one of the most underrated in his discography, and one of the first where he begins to approach women from a different perspective, more poetic, more personal, giving them greater importance: "So if you're travelin' the north country fair, Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline, Remember me to one who lives there, She once was the true love of mine." A dramatic ending, followed by barely a second of sound as if the recording tape had run out. He would re-record the song with Johnny Cash for the album Nashville Skyline, much more rhythmic. I still don't know which one I like more.
Fierce. There is no other adjective that better describes the superb "Masters of War". You can almost see Dylan trembling with rage as he sings. This is a unique song in Bob's catalog, unusually violent, and for that very reason, it displeases many. A song "based" on a traditional English song, also written in London and mostly in two keys with slight variations, which might make it monotonous for some, since the harmonica doesn't even appear. It's not needed. The simplicity of the guitar (which Lennon would later evoke in his "Working Class Hero") and the fury with which Bob seems to spit each word at the Warlords are more than enough. Well, that and the gigantic lyrics, perhaps the greatest protest lyrics ever written in English. True, they are furious, almost bloody; it's the only song in Bob's entire catalog in which he wishes death upon someone. But it's not directed at anyone in particular; it's that ethereal, omnipresent figure, a constant throughout time, who uses war for profit, who uses young people as cannon fodder, who orders missiles to be launched at schools and civilian areas without remorse… But he does it with a poetry that simply leaves you speechless. It's not that the lyrical style tempers that fury; on the contrary, it highlights it, but I think no one has ever done anything like it. Never. “I just want you to know, I can see through your masks.” The entire lyric is a true gem, and I don't know if politically it will ever reach the same level as on this album. I don't even know which verses to highlight: “Like Judas of old, you lie and deceive, a world war can be won, you want me to believe.” Does that sound familiar? The War on Terror? “Propaganda” in the purest Nazi style? Those who put guns in young people's heads, but run when the shooting starts, or aren't even near the conflict? One of the most powerful refrains in history isn't the closing one, but the one before it: “Let me ask you one question, Is your money that good? Will it buy you forgiveness? Do you think that it could? I think you will find, When your death takes its toll, All the money you made, Will never buy back your soul.” This is a lyrical sledgehammer, and at the same time, it fills me with tremendous helplessness to know that in over 50 years nothing has changed, because the feeling is the same. And yes, I understand those who say that a pacifist can't wish death on anyone. But the last verse is symbolic; that final line, “Til I’m sure that you’re dead,” isn't directed at someone by name, but at that breed of rats and murderers. It's Dylan's wish that there be no successors who continue doing the same. It's pointless for one person to die if someone else takes their place. And Masters of Politics, Masters of Banking, Masters of Pharmaceuticals, and others should be included here. That's why I don't know which is my favorite Dylan song. Without being an expert, my Top Ten is always changing, but just like with the Beatles' "A Day in the Life," Zimmerman's "Masters of War" is always in my Top 3. Although I prefer Pearl Jam's spectacular and fierce live version.
We continue with “Down The Highway”, in which Dylan pays tribute to the bluesmen with a 12-bar blues. In theory, it's very simple and generic; it can't be considered a blues rip-off because it's all the blues at once. Lyrically, it also repeats the blues pattern of repeating verses with hardly any melody. However, he manages to make it sound interesting, not generic. Between each verse, he plays a rapid guitar riff that ends in a bass note, and at the same time, he uses his voice as a hook, delivering the first part of each verse at lightning speed and adding dissonance by lengthening the last syllable: “Lord, I-reallymissmy BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY, She'sinsomefar-of-land.” The lyrics also touch on the trivialities of the blues, which we all nevertheless admire. In this case, Bob speaks of how alone he feels after Suze's departure for Italy, making it very clear in the following verse: “Yes, the ocean took my baby, My baby took my heart from me, She packed it all up in a suitcase, Lord, she took it away to Italy, Italy.”
Then comes “Bob Dylan’s Blues”, one of the tracks that could be considered filler, the weakest point of the album. It begins with Bob chatting, in that fast-paced and somewhat mocking way, about the origins of folk music: “most of the songs that are written uptown in Tin Pan Alley, that’s where most of the folk songs come from nowadays.” The rest is really a kind of nonsensical improvisation. Perhaps a tribute to that era when folk music was beginning to separate from the blues and musicians were simply improvising lines without much meaning. It's not that it's bad, nor does it hurt the ears, and it only lasts two and a half minutes… but it feels truly inconsequential.
Fortunately, he returns to his best form with “A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall”, another classic, in which he uses a similar formula to that of “Blowin’ in the Wind.” It's simple, emotional, beautiful, and timeless. For some, Dylan's best song. Again, a very simple structure with only slight variations for the chorus, in which he builds a vocal crescendo to explode with the title. It's based on the traditional ballad “Lord Randall.” Dylan was 21 when he wrote it, first performing it in a café, and one of his friends remembers him scattering sheets of paper with the lyrics all over the floor, and no one understood what he was doing. When he finished playing it, there was a profound silence. Everyone was moved, impressed, some with tears in their eyes. Clearly, it's a monumental lyric, and he hadn't even learned it yet. He premiered it publicly on September 22, 1962, when he was given the opportunity to perform three songs at Carnegie Hall. Peter Seeger was the organizer and told his friends they could only play three songs because they had ten minutes each. Bob, feigning innocence, asked, "What am I supposed to do? One of my songs is ten minutes long?" They took it as a joke, but "A Hard Rain" is actually almost seven minutes long.
It's Bob's first epic song and one of the first songs of such length (anything over three minutes was considered scandalous) to gain relevance in its time. God only knows how many standards Dylan broke with this song. As I said, the song is very simple, but its value lies in Dylan's incredibly powerful and complex lyrics, and we could say that it was truly this song that catapulted him to stardom. It's still a protest song, but the lyrics take on a more literary quality, completely breaking with established standards. It's closer to Eliot, Joyce, and Yeats than to Guthrie or Seeger. It combines beautiful imagery with simple yet gorgeous melodies. It accuses with poetry, and each line achieves a unique connection with the listener, creating vivid imagery in every line. In fact, Bob would say that he wrote it using titles for songs he knew he wouldn't have time to write. Only he knows if he was boasting or how much truth there is to it. He managed to structure it as a dialogue between a father (the first two lines of each stanza) and his blue-eyed son, who is just beginning to discover the world, with its beauties and horrors. Perhaps that's why it's so easy to identify with one or the other. In each stanza, the father asks him, "Where have you been? What have you seen? What have you heard? Who have you met?" He concludes by asking, "What will you do now?" The son responds with those poignant metaphors that blend beauty and horror, culminating in the crescendoing refrain, "It's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard, IT'S A HARD, IT'S A HARD RAAAAAAAAAAIN that's a-gonna fall."
It's pointless trying to choose a single line or fragment. I think this is proof of a highly educated Dylan pouring all his knowledge of the great poets into the lyrics, but at the same time, there's a kind of philosophy in the lines, in the disdain for the world, in the question of what his son will do. The song left everyone stunned, but it took on special significance when, a month after its performance at Carnegie Hall, Kennedy gave a statement on national TV announcing that the Soviet Union had sent missiles by ship to Cuba and warning of the imminent danger of nuclear war. “A hard rain, it’s a-gonna fall” seemed to resonate in every American mind, although Bob maintains that he obviously wasn't referring to a rain of atomic warheads, but to something else, a reset, a reboot that would erase all the bad. The criticism wasn't directed outward, but at American society itself, and somehow it was misinterpreted. Anyway, it's a great song, perhaps the best lyrics by the best composer of English Rock, the song for which he would begin to be called "The Spokesman of His Generation", much to Bob's annoyance.
We continue with “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright”, which I really don’t know why so many people label misogynistic. It must be emphasized that the swift arpeggio is perhaps one of the most complex guitar arrangements he does, reminding me of those Delgadillo would create in his ballads, like a thousand years later, and based in turn on Paul Clayton’s “Who’s Gonna Buy You Ribbons (When I’m Gonne).” A harmonica joins the hummingbird-like arpeggios between verses. The melody is simple, beautiful, a kind of calm tide, while he delivers verses that are both reproachful and, at the same time, grant his beloved the freedom to do as she pleases. True, there's a hint of frustration in some lines: “I ain't a-saying you treated me unkind, You could have done better but I don't mind,” but I think deep down, he's applying that simple and universal saying, “If it's yours, let it go; if it comes back, it's yours; if it doesn't, it never was.” It's clearly dedicated to Rotolo, written when he told him of his intention to stay in Italy for another year. The lyrics can be interpreted in many ways. Bob would say it wasn't a love song, but one of self-liberation, something he had to sing to himself: “Don't Think Twice, It's Alright,” a survival mantra. It's not without a certain bitterness: “I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul,” which creates a contradictory atmosphere. The truth is, it's one of the most personal songs in this early period of Dylan's career, and one of the album's highlights.
“Bob Dylan’s Dream” is another weak point on the album. Not necessarily bad, but musically it's very simple, with a rather weak melody. It's based on the traditional song "Lady Franklin's Lament," in which Lady Franklin dreams of finding her husband. Here, Dylan dreams of reuniting with his childhood friends (??? But he was only 21!!!), in the room where they used to hang out, sing, joke around, and solve the world's problems. And that's it. I mean, I also terribly miss the days when I used to get together to play with my bands, or just stay up all night with my friends talking and joking, but things change; that's just a phase of adolescence. Dylan sings, "I wish, I wish, I wish in vain, That we could sit simply in that room again, Ten thousand dollars at the drop of a hat, I'd give it all gladly if our lives could be like that." I understand the nostalgia, but the theme seems very simple by Dylan's standards, and the song is rather forgettable without a strong melody and with a somewhat generic guitar arrangement.
Then comes “Oxford Town”, a short track of less than two minutes that he composed at the invitation of Broadside magazine to recount a significant event from ’62. So Dylan chose the admission of James Meredith to the University of Mississippi, becoming the first Black man to begin university studies… in the USA. This was followed by a series of protests and threats from reactionary segregationists. Bob seizes the opportunity to make a veiled protest with verses laden with irony: “He went down to Oxford Town, Guns and clubs followed him down, All because his face was brown, Better get away from Oxford Town.” It’s not a classic, but it again demonstrates Dylan’s sharp pen in a short time.
We continue with “Talkin' World War III Blues”, in which he pays tribute to spoken blues. That is to say, there's no melody; Dylan basically recites the lines with almost unintelligible phrasing. A very basic guitar, reminiscent of country blues, a more nasal voice than usual, harmonica breaks… there's not much musically. But the lyrics are what stand out again, or at least save it. Dylan takes advantage of the spoken format to tell the psychiatrist about a strange dream he had. And there he displays his humor and cynicism, recounting his adventures after the nuclear holocaust in which only he and one other guy remain: “I saw a man I said 'Howdy friend, I guess there's just us two' He screamed a bit and away he flew, Thought I was a Communist.” That reference to “I thought I was a communist” is a gem, because Bob actually was one! The doctor replies that he had the same dream, but that he didn't see him. "I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours." The narration is fast-paced and funny, and it certainly has its moments of humor, but I picture Bob more like he's facing a brick wall at a comedy show than with his guitar and harmonica.
"Corrina, Corrina" is a traditional song, to which he added an arrangement with bass and drums, but the delicate arpeggio and the melancholic harmonica he uses for the instrumental interlude, longer than usual for him, still stand out. Bob sings with a delicacy and emotion that are also unusual. In fact, the entire album *Freewhwwlin'* features one of Bob's best vocal performances; it's worth noting. The song is simple and beautiful, but not particularly groundbreaking, and its inclusion is understandable simply because it reflects how much he missed Suze: "Corrina, Corrina, Gal, where have you been so long?"
“Honey, Just Allow Me One More Chance” is a song by Henry Thomas, written in 1928, though Dylan co-wrote the arrangement. It’s a folk tune with a bluesy feel, in which he begs the girl for one last chance. Bob plays the clown with the guitar riffs, the intonation and inflections, the rhythm, and the lyrics he adapted: “Well, I’ve been lookin’ all over, For a gal like you, I can’t find nobody, So you’ll have to do, Just-a one kind favor I ask you: ’Low me just-a one more chance!” An innocent, charming little song, barely two minutes long, that shows Dylan also has a lighter side.
The album closes with “I Shall Be Free”, which is “based” on Lead Belly’s “We Shall Be Free” and reinterpreted by Woodie Guthrie. One might think from the title that it will be another civil rights anthem, but here too it's just clowning around, and it's more of a song meant to be played in front of a brick wall than with a harmonica and guitar. At least there are some amusing lines: “Well, my telephone rang it would not stop, It's President Kennedy callin' me up, He said, "My friend, Bob, what do we need to make the country grow?" I said, "My friend, John, Brigitte Bardot, Anita Ekberg, Sophia Loren, Country'll grow." But it's definitely an anticlimax to close the album, especially considering it clocks in at almost 5 minutes.
Anyway. It's a tremendous album, one that broke many molds and, at the same time, laid too many foundations. I must add that it's incredibly difficult to strike a balance between protest songs, love/heartbreak songs, light comedy, and anecdotes. Only Silvio Rodríguez can match it with such apparent ease, although I've promised myself I'll try not to compare them. I don't think he'll achieve that balance on any other album. *The Times They Are A-Changin'* is much more political, but it loses that balance, that sincerity and spontaneity that prevails here. That's the magic of *Freewheelin'*. Bob still lacked pretension; he sounds fresh, at times too mature, incisive, and philosophical, but you can also see his spontaneous, fun, and somewhat naive side. It's true, perhaps it's a bit too long. Fifty minutes for an album is a lot, not just for that time, and there are one or two somewhat disposable tracks that don't contribute much musically or lyrically, which is why I'm hesitant to give it a perfect score, although I might change my mind one of these days. But most of the songs have interesting elements that are revealed layer by layer with each listen, and there are at least three or four tracks that would become timeless classics, still relevant today, especially now that the genocidal intent against the Palestinian people is so evident. That's why this album is so important. It didn't just make his generation think. It MUST make us think, more than 50 years later. Needless to say, it's his best acoustic album. In English, I insist, only Bob Dylan is capable of making a majestic, radiant, and nourishing album with just a guitar, a harmonica, and his sharp pen… An absolute must-have.
By Corvan
Aug/2/2014
