Greil Marcus – Invisible Republic: Bob Dylan’s Basement Tapes (1997)
Music – 270 pages – my copy (paperback; 1998) bought for 99p from Plymouth’s Works in June 2010
- 2 nods out of 5 -
One would assume a book with Bob Dylan’s name in the subtitle, joined with a photograph of Bob Dylan upon the cover, as well as the promise of a study of Bob Dylan’s music would actually manage to mention Bob Dylan. The Worm assumed just as much; but with Greil Marcus, assumption appears to have no weight in his books upon music and culture.
Ostensibly, Invisible Republic is a study of Bob Dylan’s time with The Band in the basement of a house known as the Big Pink during 1967. Their time in this basement brought about history’s most famous bootleg: The Basement Tapes. At first used as successful cover fodder for many acts in the late 1960s, they were official released in the mid 1970s, though various versions still do the rounds upon printed bootlegs and the internet. The recordings came at a juncture for Dylan: after the peace movement and fame of the earlier sixties, after he went electric, after those three defining albums (Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde On Blonde) and after his motorbike accident and convalescence.
Marcus gives us this back-story, concentrating upon Dylan’s shock turn to electric guitar in his performances with The Band (or The Hawks, as they were then known). Heckled from the crowd as ‘Judas’ for turning his back on folk, Dylan surged onwards and upwards. The reader then expects a critique of The Basement Tapes, when Marcus completes a 180 and suddenly we’re catapulted into the past of America. It is, to put it mildly, a bumpy ride.
In fact, during this ride Marcus does his best to steer clear of land and towns relating to Dylan and the tapes (bar spending thirty pages upon the song ‘Lo and Behold!’). Instead we are treated to outlaws and protests, to folk singers and metaphysical babblings. Even the aspects that are devoted to Dylan are best left unread, due to their churning sycophantic nature; such as his description of Dylan in the early sixties as ‘no longer merely a singer, or a songwriter, or even a poet, let alone simply a folk musician. In a signal way, he was the Folk, and also a prophet’ (xii). Please, someone, pass the Worm a bucket to vomit in.
What keeps Invisible Republic from joining other infamous books in the 1 nodder sin-bin is Marcus’ sheer disregard of playing by the rules. Yes, he rambles and digresses; but one thing is for sure: this is clearly his show. The message for the reader is, ‘Buckle in and experience the ride.’
Music – 270 pages – my copy (paperback; 1998) bought for 99p from Plymouth’s Works in June 2010
- 2 nods out of 5 -
One would assume a book with Bob Dylan’s name in the subtitle, joined with a photograph of Bob Dylan upon the cover, as well as the promise of a study of Bob Dylan’s music would actually manage to mention Bob Dylan. The Worm assumed just as much; but with Greil Marcus, assumption appears to have no weight in his books upon music and culture.
Ostensibly, Invisible Republic is a study of Bob Dylan’s time with The Band in the basement of a house known as the Big Pink during 1967. Their time in this basement brought about history’s most famous bootleg: The Basement Tapes. At first used as successful cover fodder for many acts in the late 1960s, they were official released in the mid 1970s, though various versions still do the rounds upon printed bootlegs and the internet. The recordings came at a juncture for Dylan: after the peace movement and fame of the earlier sixties, after he went electric, after those three defining albums (Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde On Blonde) and after his motorbike accident and convalescence.
Marcus gives us this back-story, concentrating upon Dylan’s shock turn to electric guitar in his performances with The Band (or The Hawks, as they were then known). Heckled from the crowd as ‘Judas’ for turning his back on folk, Dylan surged onwards and upwards. The reader then expects a critique of The Basement Tapes, when Marcus completes a 180 and suddenly we’re catapulted into the past of America. It is, to put it mildly, a bumpy ride.
In fact, during this ride Marcus does his best to steer clear of land and towns relating to Dylan and the tapes (bar spending thirty pages upon the song ‘Lo and Behold!’). Instead we are treated to outlaws and protests, to folk singers and metaphysical babblings. Even the aspects that are devoted to Dylan are best left unread, due to their churning sycophantic nature; such as his description of Dylan in the early sixties as ‘no longer merely a singer, or a songwriter, or even a poet, let alone simply a folk musician. In a signal way, he was the Folk, and also a prophet’ (xii). Please, someone, pass the Worm a bucket to vomit in.
What keeps Invisible Republic from joining other infamous books in the 1 nodder sin-bin is Marcus’ sheer disregard of playing by the rules. Yes, he rambles and digresses; but one thing is for sure: this is clearly his show. The message for the reader is, ‘Buckle in and experience the ride.’
