Bob Dylan—Self Portrait

Bob Dylan—Self Portrait

Self Portrait—The first phase of Bob Dylan's early career—1962–1978, for the purpose of this writing—was marked with a number of controversial periods. From 1963–1964 (The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan and The Times They Are a-Changin'), Dylan became an unwitting spokesman for liberal values and civil rights, most notably for his song "Blowin' in the Wind." When he decided he'd rather sing songs of a more basic and personal nature (Another Side of Bob Dylan), he was met with scorn from his purist folk fanbase, who would become further begrudged with the release of the semi-electric Bringing It All Back Home and almost entirely electric Highway 61 Revisited (1965).

It seems ludicrous in 2015 to argue any one of these albums to be contentious. The vast majority of his '60s and '70s material is universally beloved, as is the man himself, now considered a living legend in not only music but pop culture and humankind itself. Even lesser works, such as Street Legal (1978), are treated as respectable efforts if not essential. There is one release from this era, however, that was received with ridicule upon its release and continues to be shunned by critics and outright ignored by fans: Self Portrait.

To be clear, this is not to say Dylan (1973) is not considered a far worse record, but Dylan was released under different circumstances. Dylan's recording had become sporadic from 1971–1972, resulting in only a handful of songs: two singles ("Watching the River Flow" and "George Jackson") and various others which were set to appear on Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits Vol II (1972). Dylan, which was a mishmash of older outtakes (some incidentally taken from Self Portrait sessions), was seen for what it was: Columbia's self-determined attempt to milk Dylan's back pages (or perhaps a parting shot at Dylan for jumping ship to Asylum). Thus, Dylan is excused by historians as a dubious moment, undeserving of derision at least in regard to the artist.

The same cannot be said of Self Portrait. It's understandable that fans and critics would have been disappointed by its release in 1970. Until that point, they had come to expect an album of originals at an average rate of one per year, so when Dylan presented them with a double album of covers, outtakes, rehearsal cuts, and live recordings, it must have been a shock.

"There'd be crowds outside my house. And I said, 'Well, fuck it. I wish these people would just forget about me. I wanna do something they can't possibly like, they can't relate to. They'll see it, and they'll listen, and they'll say, 'Well, let's get on to the next person. He ain't sayin' it no more. He ain't givin' us what we want,' you know?"—Bob Dylan, 1984 interview by Kurt Loder for Rolling Stone 

It can't be said that Self Portrait is a lost classic, but its continued disdain through the years is unwarranted. There are four studio originals, which are all at least pleasant, though not earth-shattering: "All the Tired Horses," which is a rare Dylan album cut not featuring his singing, "Woogie Boogie," a basic instrumental, "Living the Blues," a vanilla blues as the title suggests, and the adequate single "Wigwam." Four other songs were recorded live at the 1969 Isle of Wight Festival, done in the style Dylan cultivated working with the Band: "She Belongs to Me," "Like a Rolling Stone," "The Mighty Quinn (Quinn the Eskimo)," which was at that time only known in its Manfred Mann incarnation, and "Minstrel Boy," which was then unreleased in any form (no relation to "The Minstrel Boy").

What remains are the covers. The funny thing about Self Portrait is the idea that it's not much of a self-portrait if Dylan isn't writing the majority of the songs, at least not in comparison to his usual fare, where he both writes and performs the material. Upon careful examination, however, it becomes apparent that the covers are great tools for examining Bob Dylan the performer—the recordings of songs composed by Dylan are presented with an overriding veneer of Dylan's reputation and whatever purported message the listener chooses to project onto them; when those things are stripped away, all that's left is the rock star. "I always wanted to be a guitar player and a singer. Since I was ten, eleven, or twelve, it was all that interested me. That was the only thing that I did that meant anything really," Dylan recalled when interviewed by Cameron Crowe for the box set Biograph (1985). Outside of his modest debut, Bob Dylan (1962), Self Portrait was the first time home listeners were treated to this side of the artist.

The performances have been criticized as desultory or meaningless, but that's purely a matter of perspective, as the same things have been touted concerning The Basement Tapes (1975; recorded '67–68), which is beloved for its laid-back ambiance and exploration of quaint Americana. Granted: The Basement Tapes was almost entirely penned by Dylan and the Band, but on the point of the music itself, the albums are principally similar. Moreover, Dylan's choice of covers is excellent: the Everly Brothers classic "Take a Message to Mary," Don Gibson's "Take Me as I Am (or Let Me Go)" (both penned by Boudleaux Bryant, the former with his wife Felice) and "Alberta" presented in two versions, and Cecil Null's "I Forgot More than You'll Ever Know," plus standards like "Blue Moon" and "Copper Kettle;" contemporaries Paul Simon ("The Boxer") and Gordon Lightfoot ("Early Mornin' Rain") are a pair of surprising inclusions.

Dylan remarked further in the Biograph liner notes, "I was being bootlegged at the time and a lot of stuff that was worse was appearing on bootleg records. So I just figured I'd put all this stuff together and put it out, my own bootleg record, so to speak. You know, if it actually had been a bootleg record, people probably would have sneaked around to buy it and played it for each other secretly," and he was absolutely correct, as evidenced by the success of the eleven volumes and counting Bootleg Series. Self Portrait is not a revelation, but as a collection of music, it can be a nice find for the seasoned listener.