My Bob Dylan Story, and everybody else's

Every Dylan fan should check out Expecting Rain, Karl Erik Andersen’s excellent website which collects links to the Bob Dylan news of the day, as well as links that would be of interest to Dylan fans (see the links at the end of this post.) Today Karl posted a link to a site where people wrote their best Bob Dylan stories, and it made me think of my own encounter with Bob. I thought I’d add my story, but do it here....so here is….

My Bob Dylan story.

It must have been the end of 1977; I was eating lunch by myself at the Brentwood Country Mart, a complex of small shops and food stands in Los Angeles less than a mile from where I’d grown up. I’d eaten there hundreds of times, beginning when I was 2 or 3 years old. It was a weekday, and I was in the courtyard, eating my BBQ chicken and French fries, surrounded by mostly middle-aged women in groups of two or three, at small tables.

I was concentrating on my lunch when a scruffy man in a black leather jacket, with two or three little kids circling around him, walked through my field of vision. He was out of place—I remember his long curly hair, the beat up jacket, and his long nails with nicotine stains. Most everyone else in the place was well-dressed and upper middle class to upper class—so he really stood out. I glanced up and did one of the great double takes of my life—for it was Bob Dylan.

He walked into the toy store—my toy store—the one I’d grown up hanging around, where I bought my Matchbox Cars and Hardy Boys books. Unbelievable. Bob Dylan at the Mart. I looked around and it was clear that no one else has noticed nor recognized him. I thought quickly—did I have enough time to rush home to get an album for him to sign ? No, I’d probably miss him. I abandoned my lunch and hightailed it to my car, grabbing a felt-tip pen and a scrap of paper, and positioned myself outside the door of the store. I didn’t want to hassle him, but it was Bob Dylan-- my hero--and I knew I had to at least try to get an autograph.

I looked inside, but couldn’t really see him. So I waited. It seemed about 15 minutes before he emerged, with his kids still running around, paying no attention to him. He was carrying a child’s twirling baton, with some gift wrap and ribbon wrapped around the middle, but not covering the rubber tips on the ends. It looked like he’d been shopping for a birthday party gift for one of his children’s friends. Nervous as hell, I made my move.

“Excuse me, Bob. I’m sorry to bother you, but could I get an autograph ?” He looked at me, weakly held up the baton, which was in his right hand, shrugged his shoulders and said “sorry, I can’t sign,” indicating that the baton in his hand prevented him from using it to sign my paper. Embarrassed, I once again apologized for bothering him, and said something to the effect that his music had had a huge affect on me over the years, and thanked him for it.

I fully expected that to be the end of my encounter, but surprisingly, he asked me when I’d first heard him. I told him it was when I was 10 years old, in 1966, at summer camp. He asked me what song I liked best, and I told him “Like a Rolling Stone.” I said I thought it was a groundbreaking song in many ways, and marked his great transition from acoustic to electric, and that I thought it was brilliantly produced. I probably told him that I had gone to high school with the son of Tom Wilson, who produced that epic track. And I mentioned that I’d heard he was going to go to Japan soon, for his first tour there.

He was very surprised that I knew that, and asked where I’d heard it. I told him I worked at a local record store, Rhino Records, and we had a subscription to Billboard Magazine, and I’d read it there. At some point it occurred to me that he probably had people approach him constantly, telling him how much his music meant to them. I felt like he was testing me, to see how much I actually knew about him and his music, and I was passing the test. We chatted for another minute or two, and then he said “well, I’ve gotta go. Nice to meet you.”

I figured I’d take one last shot and asked again for an autograph. He looked at me, shrugged again, held up the baton, indicating he still “couldn’t” sign, and said, “See ya.” I was in shock.

At the time, I was sad I hadn’t gotten a signature. Happily, 32 years later, I’ve got plenty of signed and handwritten Dylan things. But Bob gave me something far more valuable—some of his time and a memory I won’t ever forget.

For further reading, check out Expecting Rain, the very amusing book Encounters With Bob, and the website The Best Bob Stories You Know.

Robert Shelton--He Got It.

Above is the first article ever written about Bob Dylan; a rave review in the New York Times by music critic Robert Shelton, written a mere 7 months after Dylan arrived in New York (and only 3 months after the young Bob Zimmerman began calling himself "Bob Dylan.")

According to Clinton Heylin's excellent "A Life In Stolen Moments/Bob Dylan Day By Day: 1941-1995," it was on January 24, 1961 that the nineteen year old Dylan arrived in "a snowbound New York, accompanied by his friend Fred Underhill. He heads for the Cafe Wha. It is a hootenanny night, and he performs a couple of songs. The Wha's owner, Manny Roth, asks the audience to provide them with a place to stay for the night." The next day Dylan traveled to Greystone Hospital in New Jersey to meet his ailing idol, Woody Guthrie, suffering from the hereditary disease, Huntington's Chorea. Meeting Guthrie is the ostensible reason that Dylan headed East.

It's rather astounding to see, then, that in 7 short months Dylan had developed to the extent that Shelton--the nationally known music critic for the most important newspaper in the United States--devoted the majority of his review to Dylan, the opening act for the much more established Greenbriar Boys. And Shelton was so confident about the talent of this virtual unknown that he wrote "it matters less where he has been than where he is going, and that would seem to be straight up." You've gotta hand it to Robert Shelton--he truly got Dylan, and he wasn't afraid to say it.

I love reading articles like this, which show what people were saying as events were unfolding--before the revisionist history set in. I'm fortunate to have a very large archive of early Dylan articles, thanks largely to the prescience of two very early Dylan supporters, the late San Francisco music critic Ralph J. Gleason and the late 16 Magazine editor Gloria Stavers. Both collected clippings on Dylan for their files, and I was fortunate to buy their collections. Someday I hope to publish a compilation of the best of these--but for now, I thought I'd share this most important one. With the hundreds of books, thousands of articles, and millions of words written about Bob Dylan, it's kind of amazing to think--this is where it all began.
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A SAD DAY FOR RECORD COLLECTORS

Last week my good friend in London, Bill Allerton (left), emailed to tell me that me that sometime next April he and Bill Forsyth would be closing their legendary side-by-side London record shops, Stand Out and Minus Zero.

In a follow up phone call, Bill told me the toll of “running a counter service shop” for 25 years had been “quite enough,” and he was very happy about the prospect of having some more time on his hands. For many years, record collectors have been doing more and more of their buying online, fewer people have been traveling to London to look for records, and of course Bill Forsyth had been talking about closing for some years. And so they finally decided the time had come. Bill told me he was “frankly thrilled” at the prospect of taking some time off, traveling, and shifting his record dealing to the web.

I can’t help feeling that what is good news for Bill & Bill, as they’re often referred to, is terrible news for their friends, disciples and customers. Their twin stores are an essential stop on any record collector’s pilgrimage to London.

I met Bill Allerton in 1975 on my first trip to London; I’d been corresponding with him and his best friend Colin Baker for some months (I found them through their ads in “The Rock Marketplace”; Alan Betrock’s primordial record collector magazine). When I wrote them I was coming to London, they arranged to meet me, and we’ve all been close ever since.

At the time, Bill was working in accounting for Virgin Records, but his true love was record collecting, particularly the Velvet Underground and Arthur Lee & Love. He lived in a one room flat in Clapham, filled with records, floor to ceiling piles of 60’s music newspapers, some pinball machines, and “fruit machines” (slot machines.) If you were careful, you could work your way around the room without hitting anything.

He sold rare records through the mail and on Saturdays in London’s famed Portobello Road market with Colin, under the “flyover.” His regular clientele made their way to him each weekend, looking for hard to find singles and albums, and hoping to absorb some of his and Colin’s tremendous knowledge. They knew more than anybody about 60’s records, and I felt lucky to have been adopted by them (over the years, I’ve probably made 25 or so trips to London, often staying with Colin, and chauffeured by Bill.)

Early on, I met Bill’s friend, Bill Forsyth, another collector/dealer who’s obsession was Bob Dylan, and in 1984 “the Bills” teamed up to open a record store, Plastic Passion, at 2 Blenheim Crescent in London (just around the corner from Portobello Road.) Plastic Passion was a vinyl wonderland, a long, very narrow space with heavy wooden doors at the front, a cramped office in the back, and walls covered with records even the most sophisticated collector had rarely if ever seen before. Immediately it became the prime hang-out for local collectors, and a must-visit location for anyone traveling to London. In those pre-internet days, most serious collectors visited London periodically, and they all turned up to see “the Bills.”

I spent countless hours there talking music with Bill & Bill and whoever happened to show up; one day many years ago an odd looking man with a top hat and leopard skin coat showed up and Bill A. introduced me to his regular customer, Screaming Lord Sutch (the legendary horror-rocker and early employer of Jimmy Page and Richie Blackmore.) Robert Plant was a regular customer too, as were many other “names.”

In 1990, Bill and Bill decided that while they enjoyed having a record store, working together just wasn’t working, and in a brilliant move, instead of closing Plastic Passion, they just split the long narrow space down the middle and opened two (very narrow !) record shops—Bill Allerton’s Stand Out Records on the right side (named after an Arthur Lee & Love song) and Bill Forsyth’s Minus Zero records on the left side (after a Dylan song, of course.) And so it has been ever since; two great record stores, each curated (I think that is the right word) by a very knowledgeable collector-dealer, filled with rare vinyl and for many years now, huge selections of obscure CD reissues that one could find nowhere else.

Their odd—probably unique—setup has been profiled in Mojo, The Wall Street Journal, Time Out London, The Guardian. But Adam Duritz, the dreadlocked singer of Counting Crows and another frequent customer, perhaps described best what makes the Stand Out/Plastic Passion setup so special, in an article in “Down The Rabbit Hole” magazine:

“Once upon a time, Immy and I were sitting in our favorite bi-polar record store in the world, London’s wonderfully schizophrenic two-stores-in-one Stand Out Records/Minus Zero Records, talking to the respective owners, the Bills (Stand Out’s Bill Allerton and Minus Zero’s Bill Forsyth), during one of our usual 2-4 hr visits to the tiny store(s). You see the way it works is that we go there with one or two ideas of things we think we want (and that’s all well and good) and then we end up spending the next two, three, or four hours endlessly listening to music as Bill and Bill compete across the two foot aisle that separates one store from the other to play us different music they’re sure we’ve never heard before (they’re often right) that they’re certain we’ll love (they’re pretty much ALWAYS right) and therefore purchase (they get us there too). We nearly always spend every penny we have and leave with several huge bags of CD’s each. Half the great music I’ve discovered over the past decade was played for me by the Bill’s in their tiny wonderland on Blenheim Crescent just off Portobello Road. It might seem strange to those of you who aren’t utterly obsessed with music, but they’ve been as big an influence in my life as any of my musical idols.”

The internet has been a mixed blessing for record collectors—sure it’s been great to find many of those records I’ve searched for fruitlessly, for so many years. But it’s hastened the demise of many a great record store—Rhino in LA (where I worked when I first met Bill Allerton), Beano’s in Croydon/London, even the Tower chain. And now Stand Out and Minus Zero.

I’m writing this as a requiem for two of the world’s great collector’s stores, but also to urge you, if you are in London or happen to be traveling there, to visit Bill & Bill before it’s too late. I’ll be there in November, and though Bill Allerton can’t wait for the end to come, I know it’s gonna be a sad sad day for a lot of record collectors around the world. Thanks guys, for so very very much.

Until they close, Stand Out and Minus Zero are discounting everything in their stores 25%.

Stand Out Records/ 020 7727 8406 /bill@standout.f2s.com
Minus Zero Records/ 020 7229 5424 /minuszero@fairadsl.co.uk /www.minuszerorecords.com
both at 2 Blenheim Crescent, London W11 1NN
Open Wed/Th/Fri/Sat 11-6
Sunday 12-4
Closed Mon/Tues

CHALK ONE UP FOR THE OLD GUYS--CLAPTON & WINWOOD LIVE AT THE HOLLYWOOD BOWL, JUNE 30, 2009

I'm a huge fan of Traffic, Blind Faith and Cream; but I must admit, I haven't followed Steve Winwood or Eric Clapton's solo work for a long time. But a year or so ago a friend gave me a copy of the DVD from the Crossroads Guitar Festival (2007), and the Clapton/Winwood Blind Faith semi-reunion absolutely floored me. Steve Winwood's guitar playing on "Can't Find My Way Home" was nothing short of a revelation (Jeff Beck's two songs were also absolutely amazing, but that's another story.)

I thought long and hard about going to New York to see Clapton and Winwood do their one-off series of shows last year, but didn't get it together--so I was thrilled to hear they were doing a limited number of dates this year, and made it my business to get tickets to see them at the Hollywood Bowl this Tuesday. And by a stroke of luck, it was the last night of the tour (often the best, as the band has really found their groove.)

And they were absolutely incredible--hard as it is to believe, both of these guys are at the peak of their game. Winwood sang every bit as well as on the Traffic albums, and was equally fantastic on guitar, piano and of course organ. People in the audience who'd come to see Clapton said it over and over--Steve Winwood blew them away. And Clapton played like I've never seen him before--he sounded like he was in Cream again--not the tepid reunited Cream, but the Cream of 1967/68. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be channeling the music. Everyone I talked to that night said the same thing--"Clapton was on fire." The sound was fantastic too, and the projection screens focused on Clapton and Winwood's fingers as much as their faces, which was a great decision--so interesting to see these masters at work, close up.

Below are some Youtube videos from the show. While the camera work leaves something to be desired, the sound is great, and they'll give you an idea of just how extraordinary these two artists are. There are more clips on Youtube, as well as clips from the Crossroads show (check them out--they're tremendous.) Unfortunately there isn't as yet a clip of "Pearly Queen," which was never my favorite Traffic song, but was a highlight of the concert for me--a wild psychedelic jam that sounded as if it could have been recorded at the Fillmore in '67.

The clips here are "Mr Fantasy" (great electric guitar from both Clapton and Winwood,) "The Low Spark Of High Heeled Boys" (Winwood alone on acoustic piano--there is a point where the screen goes black, but keep with it--it comes back after a few seconds,) "Can't Find My Way Home" (Clapton and Winwood on acoustic guitar,) and the first half of "Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)" (it ends abruptly, but is great nonetheless--with Winwood reprising the soulful organ he played on the Jimi Hendrix original.)

If you don't know this music, go out and get Blind Faith's only album, and an album or two by Traffic--"John Barleycorn Must Die" is my favorite, but "Best of Traffic" is a good place to start. For me, these are absolutely essential 60's rock albums.

WEIRD STORIES: MEETING NICO

Some experiences just leave you shaking your head in confusion. Meeting Nico was one of those. 32 years later, I still can't quite make sense of it. Here's the story. December 1977. Sitting in my L.A. apartment late one night, reading BAM (Bay Area Music, the free music newspaper,) I came upon an ad I almost couldn't believe--Nico was appearing the very next evening at Mabuhay Gardens, the San Francisco punk club. The great Nico, from the Velvet Underground ! I loved her solo albums, but I'd never heard of her playing live in America--yet, there it was--she was appearing the next evening only 350 miles north. I called the club; they confirmed it was actually happening. I quickly bought a plane ticket for the next afternoon, and reserved a hotel room for the night.

I brought my copy of Nico's album "Desertshore" which I hoped to have her sign. Before the show I snuck backstage, scared but acting like I belonged, and miraculously nobody stopped me. And there she was, Nico. Much larger than the svelte model she had once been, but still, Nico ! It was amazing. I introduced myself, and asked if she would please sign my album. I told her I had flown all the way from Los Angeles just to see her. "No you didn't !," she replied curtly in that icy, Germanic voice. Somewhat taken aback, I insisted, yes, indeed, I had flown all the way from Los Angeles, just to see her. Again, she replied tersely "no you didn't !" I was more than a bit intimidated by her brusk manner, not to mention the fact that here was the great Nico, a hero of mine, refusing to believe me. For the third time I insisted, "really Nico, I flew up here just to see you. I'm a huge fan." This time she replied, as curtly as before, "then show me your plane ticket !"

Luckily I had it in my jacket pocket. After some fumbling, I fished it out, and showed her that indeed, I had flow up that afternoon, and was scheduled to return the next morning. That seemed to convince her, and without further comment she took my album and pen to sign it. She wrote "For Jeff, who came all the way from LA to see me, who seems to be on my side. Nico Dec 8, 1977." Yow !

The show was great, just Nico and her harmonium, singing her solo work and Velvets songs. In hindsight, I'm sure she was having "issues" at the time. I still have the signed album, of course (above). Not to mention one of the weirder memories from a life in and around music.

CARNIVAL OF LIGHT RAVE POSTER--THE BEATLES

I love those rare opportunities when I can showcase something that I’ve never seen nor knew existed—and this poster is exactly that.

If you take the time to click on the art and can decipher it, you’ll see it’s a poster for the Million Volt Light and Sound Rave, an electronic music and light festival held at the Chalk Farm Roundhouse in London, on January 28, 1967.

Sometimes referred to as the Carnival of Light Rave, the event featured live performances by the Soft Machine, Tonics (?), The New Vaudeville Band, and most importantly, the only playback ever of the legendary “Carnival of Light,” a fourteen minute sound collage by The Beatles, created especially for the event during the sessions for “Penny Lane” (and advertised on the poster as “Music Composed For The Occasion by Paul McCartney.”)

The genesis of the track came in December 1966 from designer David Vaughan, who had recently painted a psychedelic design on a piano owned by Paul McCartney. About the same time as he delivered the piano to McCartney's Cavendish Avenue address, he asked if McCartney would contribute a musical piece for the upcoming event. To Vaughan’s surprise McCartney agreed, and drafted all of the Beatles to participate.

"Carnival of Light" was only played once, at the Million Volt Light and Sound Rave, and has never been released nor bootlegged. Beatles expert Mark Lewisohn, one of the few who have ever heard the track, says the song included "distorted, hypnotic drum and organ sounds, a distorted lead guitar, the sound of a church organ, various effects (water gargling was one) and, perhaps most intimidating of all, John Lennon and McCartney screaming dementedly and bawling aloud random phrases like 'Are you alright?' and 'Barcelona!”

In 1996 McCartney tried to release the track on the compilation album The Beatles Anthology 2, but George Harrison voted to reject it, because according to McCartney "he didn't like avant garde music.”

While I knew there had been a handbill for this event, this poster wasn’t something I knew existed (I've since discovered the existence of only one other copy, illustrated in the UK Poster book "High Art.") It’s a great psychedelic image, and very desirable, as pretty much any British 60’s psychedelic concert poster is extremely rare. But it’s the Beatles connection that makes this a true killer collectible. Available on the Recordmecca website.

(Electric Poets, who also played the Rave, were a short-lived band featuring Soft Machine's Daevid Allen and Robert Wyatt with Gilli Smith; Allen and Smith went on to found the progressive rock band Gong.)

The Virtual Museum: Dylan's First Concert

Friday, April 12, 1963 was a very important date for the then 22 year old Bob Dylan. For on that night, Dylan played New York’s Town Hall—his first-ever concert as a headliner. Prior to that night, Dylan had only headlined in small clubs and at the 200 seat Carnegie Recital Hall, where he drew fewer than 70 people. Though he’d occasionally played a few songs on larger stages as part of multi-artist bills, this was the first ever proper Bob Dylan concert (with many thousands to follow !) A crowd of 900 attended the Town Hall show, which took place six weeks prior to the release of Dylan's 2nd album, "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan." Columbia Records recorded the show for a proposed but never released live album; however various tracks have surfaced over the years on compilations and promo cd’s. Above is the handbill (identical to the poster) and a signed program for the show, which we recently sold. The program features the first appearance of Dylan's poem, "My Life In A Stolen Moment," reprinted many times in future years. We know of only a few other copies of this extremely rare program. On our website, Recordmecca, we are currently offering a Dylan signed program from his famous Halloween, 1964 concert at New York’s Philharmonic Hall (released as part of Dylan’s “Bootleg Series.”)