The link brought me to a bare-bones Sony Music web page, a couple light grey boxes arranged against a dark grey background. A small window in the middle of the page occupied maybe 10% of the available space. Inside the window were lines of text with lengthy, baroque file names, one on top of another.
You could see about five at a time, starting with the first: Bob Dylan_The Rolling Thunder Revue The 1976 Live Recordings_G0100060414779_01_01_Visions of Johanna_USSM12603067_CT122. Then the second: Bob Dylan_The Rolling Thunder Revue The 1976 Live Recordings_G0100060414779_01_02_If You See Her, Say Hello_USSM12603068_CT122. This, it hardly needs to be said, is not the ideal way to familiarize yourself with the 31 hours and 18 minutes of new music included in the latest box set from Bob Dylan Industries.
Like previous installments of the Live Recordings series, 1976 is an exhaustive accounting of (nearly) every second of (nearly) every show and concert given by Bob Dylan on a legendary tour. If a document of a performance from this tour exists, it is here, whether you want it or not. There’s a certain thrill to a release like this, especially for the Dylan mujahideen, those of us willing to engage in the struggle.
The 1976 Live Recordings is best thought of as a choose-your-own-adventure set, allowing you the opportunity to ramble along with the Rolling Thunder Revue at whatever pace you find comfortable. Petersburg (4/23/76) for the first recorded edition of “Idiot Wind,” then mosey on to Gainesville (4/25/76) for the only-ever performance of “Dink’s Song,” then settle in for a long date with Oklahoma City (5/18/76), one of the strongest complete shows. And if you want to summit the whole mountain—well, hit “play” on Lakeland (4/18/76) and let it rip.
Just remember to stay hydrated. As exciting as the sheer volume of new Bob Dylan music is, these ultra-complete tour retrospectives can be an intimidating listening experience. This is especially true in the case of The 1976 Live Recordings, which captures not the crackerjack bonhomie of the inaugural Rolling Thunder Revue, but the second, flabbier incarnation—halitosis and head scarves rather than whiteface and roses.
Dylan caught lightning in a bottle with the first Rolling Thunder, trucking around northeastern college towns with his ramshackle rock carnival while simultaneously 1) shooting an autofictional art film, and 2) trying to piece his broken marriage back together (partially by forcing his wife to act in said art film). The looks were immaculate, the vibes heady, the performances electric. Just peep a few minutes of a 1975 “Isis”—talk about the ghost of electricity howling in the bones of a face.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
