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PostPosted: Thu May 25th, 2017, 12:19 GMT 
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Somebody Naked wrote:
wormington wrote:
That review really made my mouth watery, as I still haven´t heard this box.



You could buy or listen to this show, perfectly legally, on iTunes or Spotify, for example. It's simply outstanding in every regard.

I bought the box-set ages ago, but I got it delivered to my parents house in Spain, since Amazon doesn´t ship to Serbia. It´s there waiting for me. I will pick it up next week when I go on holiday. I´d rather wait and listen to it properly with the official discs.
I will also probably get me the RAH show on vinyl, unnecesary as it is :?


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PostPosted: Thu May 25th, 2017, 18:58 GMT 
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I was going to post this: one of my absolute favourite Dylan '66 shots. And one I'd always assumed was taken at the Albert Hall (giveaway: the boxes) on 26th May 1966 (giveaway: Dylan's checked suit).

Image

But.

Robbie Robertson's wearing his white striped suit. I've been through this, and the only venue that I have information on that tallies with what they're both wearing here is Belfast.

Anyone?


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PostPosted: Thu May 25th, 2017, 19:30 GMT 
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SN: To answer your (possibly rhetorical) question about Richard Manuel's location during Ballad of a Thin Man:-

There was a posting on the SHF thread a while ago from someone who had been at the Leicester show who answered the same question that I had raised there. He was seated in temporary seats placed on the stage behind Richard. If I recall correctly he said that Richard walked over to those seats and sat down in the first row during Bob's piano piece and then returned to the instrument for the finale.

I'll try and find the page on SHF for you; it'll refresh my own sieve-like memory!

#


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PostPosted: Thu May 25th, 2017, 19:42 GMT 
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pol2jem wrote:
SN: To answer your (possibly rhetorical) question about Richard Manuel's location during Ballad of a Thin Man:-

There was a posting on the SHF thread a while ago from someone who had been at the Leicester show who answered the same question that I had raised there. He was seated in temporary seats placed on the stage behind Richard. If I recall correctly he said that Richard walked over to those seats and sat down in the first row during Bob's piano piece and then returned to the instrument for the finale.

I'll try and find the page on SHF for you; it'll refresh my own sieve-like memory!

#


Easier than I thought:-

The SHF thread, Page 225, Post # 5606, from "Wayfaring Stranger" on 16 December:-

http://forums.stevehoffman.tv/threads/b ... t-15560852



"....Other memories - Richard Manuel vacating the piano stool for Ballad of a Thin Man and sitting on one of the on-stage seats just to the right of my pal, and accepting a cigarette from a young lad sitting in the neighbouring seat...."


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PostPosted: Thu May 25th, 2017, 20:58 GMT 
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Lovely. Thanks.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 03:53 GMT 

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I've been reading all the comments here, all very interesting of course! pol2jem, it's nice to know what Richard Manuel was doing during Ballad Of A Thin Man, thanks for the synopsis! I assume this is who Dylan is referring to right before the last and final Like A Rolling Stone from the tour when he says "You promised me you were going to leave..", implying Richard was just going to leave completely after One Too Many Mornings, just a theory. Somebody Naked you have provided fantastic reviews of every show available on the box set, quite the achievement! I look forward to hearing your take on the last and final show in all its glory.

Btw, Part 1 of the "complete electric set" will be uploaded to youtube very soon!


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 05:22 GMT 
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7.30pm, Friday 27th May, 1966. Royal Albert Hall, London, England.


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If the London show on the 26th is the best concert Dylan's ever given, the show on the 27th could perhaps be described as the best bad gig he's ever given.

I'm not sure that accurately reflects how fascinating I find this recording. Viewed dispassionately, Dylan is quite clearly exhausted, wrung out and completely wasted. However, there's more character, more of a window in - hell, more talking - than on any other night on this tour. Same songs, same venue, only a day later: the concert is over 20 minutes longer than the previous night. It's the end of the road; the wheels are falling off; and it's never felt more like it.

In terms of Dylan's demeanour and professionalism, he's not just kicking back because it's the second night in a now familiar venue. As far as he's concerned, it's the end of the European leg of the tour: arguably the most punishing month of his life. Of course, what we know from the vantage point of 2017 is that it turned out to be the end of the line: the final night of this unique experience, before Dylan crashed and went underground. Bearded, countrified and singing Woody Guthrie songs, he would not give another concert until 1968; not play in England again until 1969 (both times with The Hawks, or The Crackers, or The Band); not embark on another world tour until the late 1970s; not play the Royal Albert Hall again for 45 years. By then, his career would have become a series of presumed endings and astonishing rebirths. But never again, despite the nihilism of his 21st century recordings, would he sound quite this world-weary. This is a man who's had enough, and it shows. As Hemingway noted, all stories end in death. A version of Bob Dylan died in 1966; and, based on Robbie Robertson's evidence, the man nearly did too.

More so than on any other night, Dylan takes a very long time to start She Belongs To Me. He sings it with the kind of deliberate, rule-breaking ethos of someone who sounds like he doesn’t care at all; and yet it has a kind of precision that would seem to contradict that. The long deliberation of words like ‘antique’ and the otherworldly harmonica solos aren’t seemingly performed by a man who no longer cares. And yet there’s a kind of acceptance to this music. There’s nothing left to prove any more. Something that this tour has proved time and time again - and tonight is the absolute peak of this - is that exhaustion breeds a very specific kind of fragility in the music. It's given full rein tonight.

This is a man with the world at his feet. What a unique position from which to let the world down. Or, at the very least, confuse them.

4th Time Around has grown in the weeks since it was first performed. It seems to be trying to break loose from its metronomic metre: almost like that there's too much for the song to say within its confines or structure. And how ironic that the composer of the song to which it refers most explicitly is out there somewhere. John Lennon has surely heard this song before tonight; when Dylan played The Beatles Blonde On Blonde and they responded with Revolver. According to Paul McCartney, Dylan’s reaction was “Oh, I get it. You don’t want to be cute any more.” Lennon is most likely still recovering from that most surreal of conversations; as he and Dylan, in full-blown stoned nausea, drove around London with Pennebaker’s camera, gently treading passive-aggressive steps around each other. This is the only time in public that Dylan got to pin that “crutch” line on Lennon; if that is, in fact, what he was doing. The next time Dylan played in England, Lennon would be there too.

This music is truly otherworldly. The pleading, weeping harmonica breaks speak for themselves.

And, on the night when Dylan talks to the audience more than ever before, the first rambling monologue begins.

“Uh, I’m not gonna be playing any more concerts here…in England…(and) I just wanted to saaaay…that, uh…that, uh…it’s, uh…it’s all wrong…to, uh…to uh, uh…this is a typical example of probably one song that your English music newspapers here would call a ‘drug song’…I don’t-I don’t write ‘drug songs’…you know, like, I never have; I wouldn’t know how to go about it…but, you know, uh…this is not a ‘drug song’….I’m not saying this for any kind of defensive reason or anything like thaT; it’s just not a drug song’…I don’t, (you know) it’s just vulgar to think so…(y’know)…huh…yes: all right…”

I’m not trying to say that this is the greatest version of Visions Of Johanna ever recorded. But climb inside it, turn it up and open your ears. It is, on some kind of unique level, extraordinary. In the right frame of mind, I could listen to this forever. This is Dylan’s greatest song; and neither it nor he would sound anything like this ever again. The final verse sounds like he barely has the strength to speak; and yet he must - this may be the most important thing that he will ever have to say.

He had no way of knowing that he wouldn’t sing these songs again for years. These songs, that had become daily occurrences for so long, were approaching the end of their life, in a way. Tonight feels like the end of something in ways that no other music that I’ve ever heard can begin to compare to. This is a man at the end of his rope.

The applause is nothing special. Appreciative, semi-enthusiastic.

It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue. He’s sung this many times before and meant it every time. Tonight it really is all over. There’s a germ of beauty left in there, but this is delivered as if the last breath of a dying man. The next time that he will make music after tonight will be a year and a world away. And it won’t sound anything like this. Nothing will, actually.

Despite the sense of an ending, I find myself listening to Desolation Row: a song that, at the time of writing, I saw Bob Dylan perform only this month. It’s impossible to conceive, listening to this, that he would be alive a year later; much less performing this song in the same city 51 years after the fact. But the world never saw this Bob Dylan again.

“Don’t do that…that’s terrible…”

Dylan’s stoned ramblings have kicked in early. He’s still got another hour or so to go.

There’s a tenderness in tonight’s version of Just Like A Woman that is unique. When you strip away everything after the punishing weeks of this tour, all that’s left is this kind of fragility. Bruised, weary emotion. He also seems to be experimenting with at least three different tempos before he even starts singing. You can do this when you're on your own. After the interval, this approach will cause problems.

When, at the end of the set, Mr. Tambourine Man nears its finish, it teeters on the edge of the cliff: suspended, uncertain. This story has no end. It’s unwritten. Nobody knows what comes next.

Virtually every song on this show is significantly different from every other version on this tour. It's a night of reinvention from start to finish. Structures and pacing of songs that have lasted for months just go out of the window.

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Tell Me, Momma is a fascinating disaster. The band want to do the song at least twice as fast as Dylan does. It tries to exist in different tempos and different keys simultaneously. It's a mess, by any definition. In the previous two shows, this song sounded like a train: now it sounds like a train wreck. But no less interesting. It's almost as if The Hawks took one look at him backstage and agreed how to get him through this the only way they know how.

As if to deliberately take back control, Dylan then embarks on a four minute monologue, as surreal as it is perversely riveting: he lets out pretty much everything he’s felt about these audiences for the last month. This is elegantly wasted without the elegance.

“Uh…this is one…this is a song I wrote about the…three years ago…come o-…three years ago…I like all my old songs: I have never said that they are “roobish”…um….I don’t use that word: it’s not in my vocabulary - I wouldn’t use it if, uh, like if it was there on the street to pick up and use for free. I would not use the word “roobish”…and, uh, I like all my old songs: it’s just that things, uh, change all the time - everybody knows that. And, uh…and this music here right now, what you’re gonna hear, no matter w-what it is, uh…I mean, if anybody is out there that can offer any suggestions how it could be either, uh, played better, or ,uh, words could be improved on, we appreciate all suggestions…But, uh, but, uh, other than that, other than that, like, we like all these songs, I like all-all my old songs very much; ah, I’m saying this only because the last night we’re here; and I lo-and I love, uh, England, ha, you know, like a lot…we, like, we did all this in the States, uh, in…from September on; and we’ve all been playing this music since we’ve been ten…ten years old, on, and, uh, folk music just, uh, happens to be a thing which, uh, which interrupted, uh, ah, which was very useful, you know…uh, because of, uh, Frankie…you know, the rock ’n’ roll thing in the United States was…hahaha…forgive me…haha…hah…forgive me…hah…huh…uh, anything I say now please don’t hold against me…This is, uh…but, uh…I realise it’s loud music and all that kind of thing; but, uh, if you don’t like it, I mean, like, uh, well, it’s, uh, you know, that’s fine…if you got some improvements you could make on it, that’s-that’s great…But, uh…uh…the thing is that it is not English music you’re listening to…it’s a shame that we’re here now, and it might sound like English music to you, if you have never really heard American music before…but, uh…the music is-is, uh, is, uh…is, uh…is uh…is uuuhhh, you know...I would never venture to say what it is…and, uh, I can’t…I can’t really say, but…what you’re just hearing here now is the sound of the songs…you’re not hearing anything else except the songs, the sound…of the words…and sounds…so, you know, you can take it or leave it. It’s like, it’s up to you, you know…it doesn’t matter to me…no…uh…I mean it like it really doesn’t, I love all of you…ha…you know, and if you don’t, you know, if there’s something you disagree with, that’s great; but I’m just, I’m not gonna disagree with you..and fight you on it or anything…and discuss it with you…shhhh…Anyway, this happens to be an old song I wrote a long time ago, and it’s called I Don’t Believe You. Now, it used to go like that, but now it goes like this…and rightfully so.”

Jones’ drumming manages to pick up Dylan’s rhythm: it’s slower but incredibly deliberate and pointed. Dylan loses the thread in the second verse. Frankly, I’m surprised he can still stand, much less sing. Where there was focused anger, there is now something else: like the vitriolic ramblings of the town drunk, you don’t deny his feelings but wonder if he’s really addressing anyone. Somehow Robertson seems to pick up Dylan’s rhythms, too. He, like the singer, sounds as if he could abandon the melody at any point.

Even with the normally reliable Hawks present, by the third song of the electric set it sounds as if these are men just about limping to the finish line. The “baby, can I come home with you” verse barely exists at all. It has all the pathos of a drunk man begging his partner for sex. “I’d do anything in this god almighty world if you just don’t make me huuuuuurrrrrttt”: yeah - I’m afraid it’s way too late for that.

The Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues intro now sounds like a man who just can’t be bothered. That said, it’s designed to provoke from the outset - “there’s a long story behind this song…” - and contains a few classics: “…Texas, which is one of the United States…uh…one of the bigger…ones…”; “I’m just telling you this so you don’t think that there’s anything you’re missing, you understand; I don’t want you to think that you’re out of it…and...I’m sick of having people thinking “What does that mean?’…it just means nothing.”

I can’t quite make out the confrontational heckle that interrupts it. It seems to conclude with the word ‘brain’ or ‘brave’. Dylan’s response is “It’s not always w-…you’re talking to the wrong person…” He then claims that he’s the last person in the world to explain these songs; “it’s the last concert here…I couldn’t care less…okay…well then, we’ll just do- we’ll just play the music and leave; and then it’ll be over, okay?”

He then picks on the individual audience members; suggesting “you, and you…can go out and read some books…”

The band strikes up. Dylan doesn’t care. He’s still got a point to make: “Read J.D.SALINGER!” he shouts to the crowd. Not quite 15 years later, a man in another city read J.D. Salinger and killed one of the most famous people in the world. His victim, John Lennon, was in the Albert Hall that night.

Again, he’s singing in a rhythm that his musicians don’t share. He’s spent months existing in a different world from everyone but these five. Now, he’s leaving even them behind. “I’m going back to New York City/I do believe I’ve had enough” has never sounded quite this final. Arguably, it never would again.

Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat is slow, but not catastrophically so. No talking after this song. On One Too Many Mornings, he twists the knife again and again. He sounds almost determined that, by the time the song’s three and a half minutes are up, no one will like this song ever again.

And it works. “(Sing?) properly”; “Let’s have the good stuff back again…it’s dreadful!”

Dylan’s faintly amused, as he sits at the piano. “The good s-…” he snorts to himself. “The good stuff and the bad stuff: it’s all the same stuff”. He starts to flirt with playing the intro. “You’re not gonna see me any more and I’m gonna see you anyway…” He can’t even be bothered to put the energy into insulting people any more.

But the crowd don’t let up. They want this fight. “Oh, you people are wonderful…yeah…you’re the greatest people” now sounds like an address to an entire nation. He’s done with this country and the people in it. He becomes the teacher again, tapping his watch and promising that he’ll keep this class in as long as it takes. “Oh…why don’t you just all say what you wanna say for a minute…oh, come on - say anything you wanna say for a whole minute…I give you one minute; you got a watch…? Anybody got a watch?…yes, yes..oh, you’re beau-…you’re just marvellous…”

“I’d trade places with you; would you pla-trade places with me?”

It reminds me of the lines “Well, I'd trade places with any of 'em, in a minute if I could” that he’d put into one of his songs thirty years later. The same song harks back to other things he said in London, or elsewhere on this tour: “I’m wondering what in the devil could it all possibly mean?” “Someone’s always yelling “Turn it down””. In fact, try reading the lyrics to Highlands but from the perspective of Bob Dylan at the tail end of May 1966. It makes a huge amount of sense.

The party’s over. And there’s less and less to say.

This version of Ballad Of A Thin Man feels like his final statement. It takes in the reaction to his concerts that he’s faced now for days. Weeks. Months. The way he spits out the word “imagina-SHUN” is him closing the book on the pages and the text. Doing the song at this pace gives it a deliberation, a sadism; a sense of conclusion that it hasn’t really had before. The words no longer come out in multi-syllabic torrents; but as considered, conclusive facts. And, again, he can’t resist the urge to further taunt the London audience with “Something is still happening now, and it’s happening without you”. (Over half a century later, he will still use this song - in London, in May 2017 - to say “You guys just don’t get it. You think you do, but you don’t” as he closes yet another concert. It’s always kind of the last word, even when it’s not the last song. On his current tour, it’s both.)

Can this really be the end?

“I’ve never done this before, but I want you to meet Robbie Robertson here, and…Garth Hudson, Mickey Jones, Rick Danko…and, uh…Richard…”

Brief discussion about something. “You promised me you were gonna leave…”

“It doesn’t mean a thing…I mean, you don’t have to…but they’re-they’re all poets…ya understand? Daaaaah…if it comes out that way, it comes out that way, but…all the gr- all poets, you know…”

“This song here is dedicated to the Taj Mahal. (And) we’re gonna leave after this song. And I wanna say goodbye to all of you people: you been very war- great people, uh, you know…ah, I l-…you’ve been very nice people. I mean, here you are, sitting in this great huge place…And, believe me, we’ve enjoyed every minute of being here.”

After an intro and a count in, Mickey Jones kicks this off in a way that is unique to this evening. His initial snare shot sounds, to use Dylan’s words from earlier that year, like a dead man’s last pistol shot. This is really the end, and it really sounds like it. They’re going out, guns blazing like Butch and Sundance. Actually, it’s more like The Wild Bunch: blood and machine guns. His voice cracks like he’ll never need it again. Robbie Robertson, to quote the song, don’t stop playing ’til his guitar breaks.

“I don’t really care what happens next. I’m just going; I’m going; I’m gone.”

***

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In a parallel universe, Bob Dylan died that night. He went back to his hotel, ran a bath and drowned: stoned, exhausted; too tired to try and fight back. The glory years of 1965-66 would be looked at like the output of his idol Buddy Holly: a man who made his mark in 18 months of chart success and was taken by the perils of touring. The road has taken many of the great ones, as Robbie Robertson mused a decade later.

The reality is that Dylan went into hiding. The rest of the scheduled dates for the 1966 tour were never to be. He couldn’t continue at that pace any longer, and the only way was to disappear. When he was ready, he hooked up with the same people, hung out together and, in his own time, played - hell, invented - a different kind of music. He dug out songs like Ain’t No More Cane and created the sound of The Band. Even Levon Helm came back. I like to imagine that, when they recorded One Too Many Mornings in Big Pink, it was to gently fill Levon in on what he’d missed. The arrangement is the same as the one they took around the world in 1966, but the song would never be like that again. A couple of years later, Dylan recorded with Johnny Cash and they put the same song on tape. Again, these men were now miles away from the two strung out, wrung out music stars that jammed together in Cardiff in 1966. They’d both, against all the odds, been given another chance. Cash had over three decades of music left in his veins. Dylan had even more.

Two months after taunting Britain that things were happening without them; things that they could never understand, Dylan allegedly had a motorcycle accident that temporarily disabled him. At almost exactly the same time, the United Kingdom was finally getting its hands on Blonde On Blonde. When you move as fast as Bob Dylan did in 1966, the whole world is fighting to catch up with you.

No one ever moved as fast as Bob Dylan did in 1966. At least, no one else did and lived.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0VuO8C2mnEI6UFZV03KqX8


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 06:18 GMT 
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Wvalebe wrote:
Richard Manuel...I assume this is who Dylan is referring to right before the last and final Like A Rolling Stone from the tour when he says "You promised me you were going to leave.."


Sounds very likely to me.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 06:20 GMT 
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By the way, I have no proof that those last two pictures were taken on May 27th. People elsewhere have claimed that they are; and it certainly seems possible.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 06:38 GMT 
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Astounding work! Thank you so much Somebody Naked.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 07:24 GMT 
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One too many evenings, but a thousand miles ahead.

Run a bath, take a bow, SN.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 08:20 GMT 
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Do we know when exactly was this clip below taken? I wouldn´t be surprised if it was on this last day. If someone showed me this clip and told me this guy dropped dead an hour later, I wouldn´t have trouble believing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-9ElA4NMBk


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 08:25 GMT 
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Wvalebe wrote:
I assume this is who Dylan is referring to right before the last and final Like A Rolling Stone from the tour when he says "You promised me you were going to leave..", implying Richard was just going to leave completely after One Too Many Mornings, just a theory.


Yes, interesting comment! I hadn't thought of that, but it certainly sounds plausible...


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 08:45 GMT 
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I´ve been going to internet forums for years and this has been one of the most interesting and entertaining threads I´ve ever read. Well done Somebody naked and everyone else who contributed.
if I was not such a lazy arse I would make me a booklet out of these reviews and attach it to the box. I might actually still do it if I can find a good easy to use application to help me


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 11:11 GMT 
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Wonderful thread. Thank you.
Created a nice little Word document of the reviews for posterity.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 12:35 GMT 

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A fine conclusion, spoken with elegance as all of your reviews have. Another point to add to the theme of "death and reinventing yourself" that seems to be that day at the Albert hall... Also in Like A Rolling Stone I believe Richard Alderson can be heard calling Bob's name over the P.A. or close to a mic anyways around 2:50 in the recording, "Bob.. Bob.. Bob!". I'm sure there was a fearful atmosphere that night too, Dylan and the band were quite obviously pushing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TY5aanT ... e=youtu.be


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 13:26 GMT 
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Thank you SN for this wonderful thread. Thank you all involved too.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 13:28 GMT 

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Thanks folks.

One of my favourite threads hERe.

:D


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 15:21 GMT 
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A snippet from 'Dead Gods: The 27 Club', about a little contretemps between Dylan and Keith Richards and Brian Jones, following the May 26 RAH concert:

'On 26 May all the Stones shared a box at Bob Dylan's concert at the Royal Albert Hall. Earlier that evening they had performed a new single, 'Paint it Black', on Top of the Pops, which went out on BBC at seven in the evening. Legendarily, Dylan shocked his folkie devotees when the already mythical troubadour returned for the second half with his backing group the Hawks, soon to become the Band, and launched into the electric phase of his career.

Following the show, Brian and Keith went to Blaise's nightclub, a few hundred yards away in nearby Queensgate. where Dylan later arrived. Nervously, Keith had approached him. With a sardonic sneer, Dylan looked straight through him and let fly: "I could write "Satisfaction" but you couldn't write "Mr Tambourine Man"'. Drunk, Keith took a swing at Dylan, and a short melee ensued. Dylan returned to his hotel, followed by Brian and Keith. Brian was steering his Rolls Royce, intent on having another pop- Dylan slipped away from them.'

Just before Christmas that year, Jimi Hendrix would play a set at Blaise's that blew the minds of the assembled rock illuminati, and which included Like a Rolling Stone:

http://crosstowntorrents.org/archive/index.php/t-4477.html


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 15:50 GMT 
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wormington wrote:
Do we know when exactly was this clip below taken? I wouldn´t be surprised if it was on this last day. If someone showed me this clip and told me this guy dropped dead an hour later, I wouldn´t have trouble believing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-9ElA4NMBk


Zep C and I reckon that, based on his accent and Dylan's references, the reporter is Italian; therefore probably some interview in Paris. Maybe even the day after his birthday, which might explain the mother of all hangovers.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 16:20 GMT 

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Wonderful, wonderful review of the whole tour, I feel as if I'm back in the RAH 27/5/66!

Dylan wore the check suit and Robbie the white one on 27th, hope that helps with the photo provenance!

Chris


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 16:48 GMT 
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Joined: Fri December 31st, 2010, 12:18 GMT
Posts: 565
Location: Where The Neon Madmen Climb
ChristopherG wrote:
Wonderful, wonderful review of the whole tour, I feel as if I'm back in the RAH 27/5/66!

Dylan wore the check suit and Robbie the white one on 27th, hope that helps with the photo provenance!

Chris


Seconded! You gave us a fantastic ride, SN; thank you!

Chris: I wonder if your memories of the night, so eloquently expressed on the other thread here and over at SHF, were enhanced when you listened to the CDs. My wife's memories of RAH 1 certainly were when we cracked the box open on 12 November.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 16:51 GMT 
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Location: Where The Neon Madmen Climb
RAH

"Now then, Mickey, let me just show you what I really wanted you to do at the start of LARS these last couple of months...."

Image


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 17:13 GMT 
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Joined: Sun June 14th, 2015, 07:15 GMT
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ChristopherG wrote:
Wonderful, wonderful review of the whole tour, I feel as if I'm back in the RAH 27/5/66!

Dylan wore the check suit and Robbie the white one on 27th, hope that helps with the photo provenance!

Chris


Thank you. This is news. I hate to ask: but I don't suppose you've got some corroborating evidence, have you? You were there, right? That's probably good enough!


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PostPosted: Fri May 26th, 2017, 17:30 GMT 
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Joined: Wed December 16th, 2009, 12:57 GMT
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Zeppelin Crumble wrote:
With a sardonic sneer, Dylan looked straight through him and let fly: "I could write "Satisfaction" but you couldn't write "Mr Tambourine Man"'.

Class :roll:


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