Album Review: Blood on the Tracks

Bob Dylan - Blood on the Tracks (1975)

As promised, the first album review of many to come: Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks. And I have to warn ahead of time, this one has been in my collection for quite a while and has absolutely exploded for me over the past two weeks. I always noted it as something of a wink-wink nudge album, something that cool kids of my generation knew it was cool to listen to. Somewhat questionably, actually - I went to a certain house for dinner / party type things on three different occasions, and each time the "dinner musak" was Blood on the Tracks, giving me this weird association of the album with an overly overt attempt at hipness via background music. I mean, as background music, it's great - a nice acoustic band arrangement and high quality songs fill the lulls nicely, and it, along with the acoustic sitting in the corner, lets your guests know that that you are more down and with it than your suburban roots might profess. With the added niceness that if you are engaged in bitter debate on recent elections, your brain doesn't have to address what the hell the voice of not-your-generation is talking about. Nice.

BUT, if it's great as background music, it's mind-alteringly excellent when you actually give it the focus it deserves. Or, when you, say, play it 25 times in the last two weeks. Regardless, it's an album of emotional genius, and though I wouldn't necessarily call it the most enjoyable album out there (it's not my favorite, to be sure), it is nothing short of a work of art. And as such, in very Dylanesque fashion, it lets you bask in its mood and affect without ever grasping exactly what he's addressing - which, some, Nyet included, would argue is exactly what a brilliant work can do, because if it were just supposed to be a simple "what does that mean?," then you should probably just be speaking Spanish rather than writing or painting or playing.

Start with the name itself - "Blood on the Tracks," and just a simple impressionist shot of Bob in profile serving as a cover. The first time I heard this phrase, my mind jumped to train tracks, and some kind of reference to the toil and hardship that went into building transcontinental rail lines. Forgotten labor and pain that dries up on something that serves to connect people, a part of the past but absolutely necessary for our navigation of the present. So that's a dark take to start, but then I think that perhaps it's tracks as in animal tracks or footsteps, like the blood on the tracks of an injured animal crawling to a lonely death. Again, in pain, the marks of raw exposure of the flesh of something that was here but is not any more. And a third thought, that these are tracks of an album, as in the songs, as in these our raw exposures of the songwriters left imprinted on his work. Or maybe it's just his life, his blood, that shows up on these tracks. Honestly, I don't know, and with four words, a guy who's pretty much permanently shrouded in mystery (probably even to himself) has set a tone - look at this, get the gist of pain, love and emotion, but don't try to pin it down as an individual metaphor. Duly noted, Bob.

So the album starts with Tangled Up In Blue, an impeccable narrative that keeps track of neither time nor person, and it's unclear whether it's a narrative on one relationship, or several, or one then others then back to the same one... it's (get used to it) a mystery. The guitar melody, an opening tuning, is beautiful, and Dylan's imagery is striking, whether it be using car trips as metaphors or topless bars as a reconnection of lovers. The relationship is alternatingly persevering and falling apart, and the characters alternatingly reconnect and long for the past and/or watch their present situation crumble. But they keep on keeping on in the face of it all - and close out with a quick harmonica outro. Crushingly excellent tune.

The album as a whole features some of the best vocals from Dylan's career - which is a peculiar thing to say - but they're brutally emotive, he wails in the right moments and makes his side quips in other. Simple Twist of Fate features more brilliant storytelling; You're a Big Girl Now is a tender song of regret and acceptance. Oh, and then...

Idiot Wind. Wow, another addition to the "How to Creatively Put People Down for EEEEYEDIOTs" catalog. It really displays the genius involved in tearing someone down and displaying hurt rage without resorting to "F-U's" or emo-screaming.

You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome, If You See Her Say Hello, and to an extent, Shelter From the Storm are all ballads of wartorn love, and the narrator's expression of defeat. They all fit in the theme of the album as "Love Composition," and it's rather amazing that given such a downer of an album, the listener wouldn't dare accuse the singer of whining. He's clearly attempting to come through this, but is unwilling to pretend to be unscathed.

The Jack of Hearts tune, imho, is the only misstep of the album - it's a good story-song, but is a tad campy for my tastes and goes on far too long - not to say it's bad, it's a good song, it's just odd that it takes up the most album time.

Meet Me In The Morning, however - this is about as traditional as a blues song can get, yet when infected with Dylan's lyrics, it screams and "bleeds" just as well as the rest of the album. The line about the sinking sun and his heart and kissing is as crushing as they come, but delivered with that odd bluesy "aw, sheeit" attitude. I haven't put any thought to this whatsoever, but for at least the four minutes or so that it's on, it's my favorite straight up blues song OAT, or something equally hyperbolic.

The outro to this album - Buckets of Rain - should be taught in 101 songwriting classes as one brilliant way to close an album. It's a soft send-off, a beautiful solo acoustic guitar and Bob reminiscent of The Freewheelin' but with a much brighter sound. And though he's poking his head out of the despair, love and pain that have dominated the experience to this point, he doesn't cave to some cheesy "but it will all be okay" - rather, it's "life is sad /life is a bust / all you can do / is do what you must / you do what you must do / and you do it well / I do it for you / Honey baby, can't you tell?"

Blood on the Tracks manages to tell woeful tales without whining and yearn for love without waxing Hallmark. It shows pain but doesn't ask for sympathy. And on top of that, beautiful songs, melodies, instrumentation and top notch imagery that, when the mix settles in, makes films of these songs in my head. Again, this is no shiny happy art - it's without a doubt brutal - but it rings true, not as a translation but as an illustration, of a mixed, heady bag of emotion. Like great art should.

Status: Desert Island Recommended
Nyet's Fave: "Meet Me in the Morning"