Back to the Roots

It's all music, no more, no less. --Bob Dylan

Wherever Bob Dylan goes, his youthful legions gladly follow, and so, usually, does most of the pop world. He came out of Hibbing, Minn., as a straightforward folk singer in the Woody Guthrie manner. Then he began composing and singing the brooding social-protest lyrics (Masters of War, The Times They Are A-Changin') that epitomized the unrest of a generation. His subsequent fusion of folk and rock transformed the pop scene even more. For last year's John Wesley Harding, Dylan went to Nashville to get an authentic country flavor--thereby kicking off a whole new wave of interest in country music and the Nashville sound. It was not so much a country twang that Dylan seemed to be after, but rather a simple way to say simple things.

Dylan's new album, Nashville Skyline, which was also recorded by Columbia in the country music capital, extends and culminates his return to basic pleasures. It has an unpretentious charm unmatched by any of the eight albums he has recorded since 1961. Most of the songs are about the delight of secular love, and the swirl of his social satire has given way to an earthy, sometimes self-deprecating humor. The genial, syncopated Peggy Day, enhanced by the long, lazy melodic arch of an electric guitar, begins:

Peggy Day, stole my poor heart Away By golly, what more can I say, Love to spend a night with Peggy Day.

Then, just for the heck of it, he turns the lyrics around:

Peggy Night, makes my future look so bright, Man, that girl is out of sight, Love to spend a day with Peggy Night.

Lean and Brassy. What will surprise most listeners is Dylan's voice. Gone is the muffled, macadam-topped speech song of old. Instead, Dylan is definitely doing something that can be called singing. Somewhere, somehow, he has managed to add an octave to his range. The voice itself is still pinched, but it has a brassy, unstrained quality that suits his lighthearted material perfectly. Singing, he never makes a move that is not absolutely necessary. All is lean, tasteful and fun, as in a twanging blue-grass ditty called Country Pie:

Raspberry, strawberry, lemon and lime, What do I care, Blueberry, apple, cherry, pumpkin and plum. Call me for dinner, honey, I'll be there, Saddle me up a big white goose, Turn me on her and turn her loose, Oh me, oh my, love that country pie.

The album suggests that Dylan seems to be trying to work his way back to his own beginnings. This is pointed up by his inclusion of Girl from the North Country, which is sung as a duet with Johnny Cash. It is a song from one of his first albums, The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, and it marks the first time that he has ever re-recorded one of his own numbers.

Predicting Bob Dylan is a risky proposition, but the listener cannot help feeling that at 27--married and the father of three--he has found some measure of peace with the world. He seems to have brought that new-found relaxation to the recording sessions in Nashville. None of the songs were written down; he had them all in his head, and before recording, would go over them in his soft-spoken way with a hand-picked crew of Nashville sidemen, taking suggestions occasionally from them, or showing them how it should go by playing the guitar or piano. Once the taping began, he was smooth and professional. "Some performers take all day to get a recording right," says Guitarist Pete Drake. "Dylan usually gets them on the first or second take. It really wasn't like working. Everything was so easy." Listening to Nashville Skyline is no work either.

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