In 1978, after finishing university, I moved into an old apartment with my friend Gary. We were barely into our 20s, and life was opening up. A West End pad one block off “Robsonstrasse” was about as good as it got!

Along with a bunch of shoddy furniture, we merged our vast record collections, which were definitely not shabby. They were large, well-curated, and full of treasures!

Gary owned the stereo, and we revelled in the freedom of playing anything we wanted. Our tastes were nearly identical. Rolling Stones were favoured, as were Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground, Talking Heads, Bruce Springsteen, Van Morrison, and so on.

A prized possession — “The Royal Albert Hall” bootleg

We’d stay up to the early hours listening, discussing, learning about new artists, never disagreeing with the other’s choice about which disc to put on next. We were aware of each artist’s strengths and place in the rock ‘n’ roll pantheon. The nature of their lyrics and what each of the band members contributed. We added to our collections several times a week.

Gary placed a card on the faux mantelpiece in our living room announcing “Record of the Week,” where the record was displayed. But our purchases became so frequent, so competitive, that Gary finally crossed out the word, “Week”, and printed the word “Day.” We joked that the card might soon become “Record of the Hour.”

But I would say — and I think Gary would agree — that our considerable interest was Bob Dylan. We loved the late 1960s work, Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde on Blonde. Later albums — Blood On The Tracks, Basement Tapes, and Desire — were also favourites.

A prized possession was a bootleg recording of Dylan’s 1966 Royal Albert Hall concert. Like most bootlegs, the sound quality was poor: it was scratchy and garbled, some instruments were too prominent, and others could barely be heard.

A 25-year-old poet-genius

What it lacked in quality was made up for in drama, ferocious playing and sheer volume.

The first part of the show was an acoustic set featuring Dylan, his acoustic guitar, mystical lyrics, harmonica and haunting vocals. Audiences sat politely and clapped when they recognized a song, followed by more appreciative applause at the end. Dylan sounded a little stoned, a little distant from the audience.

But the renditions of some of his most famous songs were beautiful, enigmatic, compelling. A 25-year-old poet-genius alone on stage — with his wild hair and Ray-Ban sunglasses — casting a spell over 5,000 attendees.

Silence between the lines

The auditorium is so silent you can hear a pin drop. The audience is rapt. Dylan, I think, enjoys this and allows his voice to fill the room, playing with the sound of the words, letting the silence speak between the lines.

Einstein disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now, you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

from “Desolation Row” by Bob Dylan

These lyrics would have been challenging (to say the least) to a music-listening public used to songs like “Winchester Cathedral” by the New Vaudeville Band, “I’m Henry VIII I Am” by Herman’s Hermits, or “Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows” by Leslie Gore.

“Play it f–ing loud!”

The second set was electric and loud.

Dylan had made a name for himself with songs like “Blowin’ In The Wind,” “The Times They Are A-Changing,” and “Mr. Tambourine Man.” They were all hummable folk songs that rose out of the folk tradition of American music.

The new songs, like “Like A Rolling Stone,” appeared to fly in the face of that folk tradition. It was loud rock ‘n’ roll, amplified and full of sneering lyrics, satire, piled-on imagery and quick lines.

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Dylan seemed hell-bent on showing his audience that the performer they thought they knew — the young standard bearer for Americana and the old folk music tradition — was no more. He was expecting push-back, as he had from the earlier dates on the tour. And the tension between Dylan’s new inspiration and his audience’s expectations was raw, with the band and crowd egging each other toward a frenzy of boos and jeers. Dylan just played louder.

Audience jeers

The band raced through eight extended songs, such as “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues,” “Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat,” and “Ballad of a Thin Man.” Heckling and jeers — from both the audience and Dylan — filled the moments between songs.

The last song was “Like A Rolling Stone.” An audience member yelled out in a rare silence before the band began the song.

“Judas!”

More audience jeers.

Dylan steps up to the microphone, strumming his electric guitar.

“I don’t believe you! You’re a liar!”

He turns around and, in a barely audible voice, instructs the band, “Play it fucking loud!”

It’s an exchange that became the stuff of legend. For many years, it was hearsay. No one could say for sure those were the words you could hear on the bad bootleg recording. But video footage discovered in the 1990s and audio enhancements confirmed it.

Label confusion

The rediscovered video footage of the concert also brings to light that the famous Royal Albert Hall bootleg was not, in fact, recorded at Royal Albert Hall. Instead, the concert was at the Manchester Free Trade Hall a few days before.

While Dylan did a Royal Albert Hall show later in the 1966 tour, the Manchester recording was mislabelled. But it’s still referred to as the Royal Albert Hall recording.

An official recording of the show was released in the early 2000s, and footage from the show appeared in Martin Scorsese’s biopic of Dylan, No Direction Home, along with an accompanying album.

A moment in time

If you ask me, a long-time Dylan aficionado with a clear bias in his favour, the 1966 Royal Albert Hall concert is a milestone in rock music. We see an angry audience resenting Dylan’s embrace of the rock sound and how he pushes its boundaries. While the change was afoot long before this moment, it all seems crystallized here.

And with Dylan’s push-back against the audience’s jeers, he solidifies the sound and spirit of the music that artists will follow well into the future.

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Cat Power Pays Homage

A few days ago, on November 10, the artist Cat Power released her new album, Cat Power Sings Dylan: The 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert.

It’s an homage to the record that exerted an outsize influence on her life — and many others, including Gary’s and mine — and artistic direction. She faithfully works through every song performed on the original Dylan recording — all 15 — in an acoustic and electric set.

Cat Power, whose real name is Chan (pronounced Shawn) Marshall, has been performing since the mid-1990s and has eleven records to her credit before her latest. Her early sound was influenced by punk, folk, and blues, and it has gradually evolved into other genres.

Intentional irony

It’s a thrill to listen to this recording, the songs performed in front of a live audience by a 51-year-old entertainer, initially sung by an uppity 25-year-old poet-genius. And with an intentional gesture of irony, the venue for the 2023 recording is the Royal Albert Hall itself, not the Manchester Free Trade Hall!

Power follows every contour of Dylan’s set, hardly tinkering with his arrangements: If Dylan’s version of a song begins with a harmonica solo, it probably does in Power’s version as well.

It’s her reverence for the original songs that are on display. But in their meticulous recreation, you hear Power’s voice behind everything. She makes the songs her own while not taking anything away from Dylan.

Filling Albert’s space

The acoustic set, in particular, is compelling. Her voice is breathy and raspy and could be mistaken for a male. She half-whispers the songs, which are perfect for the large auditorium. They fill the space in the same manner as Dylan’s vocals.

She may even be more successful at this than the Dylan of 1966. Likewise, her harmonica playing is better.

But I prefer Dylan’s more considerable vocal range in the show’s second half. He’s more dynamic, more able to carry the volume for the emotion and cutting commentary of the songs.

Judas? Jesus?

Even the audience feels the weight of the occasion, aware of the irony and the historical heft. Just before Power begins “Ballad of a Thin Man,” an audience member yells, “Judas!”

(Never mind that the 1966 “Judas” yeller uttered the biblical betrayer’s name just before the last song, “Like a Rolling Stone.” The irony was still delicious.)

And Cat Power must have anticipated the shout. Her one-word retort to the 2023 Royal Albert Hall yeller was, “Jesus!”

Power’s treatment of the material comes across as both an earnest tribute to Dylan’s “Royal Albert Hall” show and a probing investigation of its legend.

If you’re a “Dylan” person, this recording will be a happy experience. You’ll feel justified in spending an outsized portion of your youth listening to Bob Dylan for hours and hours and hours.

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