The title of this latest edition in The Bootleg Series, Bob Dylan’s ongoing archive initiative, is certainly in keeping with the often purposeful ambiguity of the Nobel Laureate’s lyrics. On the one hand, Fragments is a perfectly ironic name for a collection of studio and live recordings centered upon one of the most cohesive albums in his discography, 1997’s Time Out of Mind. On the other hand, it is literally a description of how the various components of that set, in the form of both material and musicianship, were forged into a unified whole by Dylan, his producer Daniel Lanois and the roster of musicians who worked with them.
What is perhaps the most revelatory element of this 5CD box is the remix of the original eleven cuts by Michael Brauer ( at the behest of Dylan in fulfillment of a long-held wish?). Sans the depth of the effects applied by Lanois–who was much more restrained in his treatment of recordings through his previous collaboration with Dylan on 1989’s Oh Mercy–the rhythmic melodic and lyric nuances of Dylan’s compositions, like “Standing In The Doorway,” become more readily apparent.
In this simplified mix, the music is less dream-like but much more immediate and proportionately more cinematic too. For instance, the wan, woeful”Love Sick” is as striking in its own solitary way as the lighthearted, bemused interaction recounted on “Highlands.” Yet, in the context of the overall track sequence of roughly seventy minutes duration, these bookending cuts are nowhere nearly as moving as “Not Dark Yet:” Dylan’s most overt rumination upon mortality is both stately and graceful as befits a certain acceptance regarding its subject matter.
Through the inclusion of twenty-five outtakes and alternate versions on the second and third discs, the effect is much the same, albeit from a different angle. Hearing the juxtaposition of the preliminary demos like “‘Til I Fell in Love with You” (done in 1996 with a quartet anchored by drummer Jim Keltner) with “Dirt Road Blues” four months later brings a deeper focus to both recordings, not to mention the material itself.
The multiplicity of variations is indicative of the breadth of Dylan’s imagination, one that’s mirrored by the versatile talents of the musicians. Rough edges remain in beats, tunes, and words, all yet to be sculpted into fully-finished form to present to the accompanists (which may explain why lyrics to each song are not included here to complete a fully panoramic view of Time Out Of Mind). Bob is nothing less than fastidious in his pursuit of what sounds acceptable to him.
Such experimentation, as well as work on songs such as the Scottish ballad “The Water Is Wide,” suggests the lengths to which Dylan and his collaborators will try multiple avenues to finalize structures of song, arrangement, and production. As in version two of “Mississippi,” they refuse to opt for the obvious, predictable or conventional.
Including all the songs from the studio work plus an expansive take on the latter, an assemblage of globe-hopping live performances from 1998-2001, further reaffirms the notion Bob doesn’t see his studio recordings as definitive. On the contrary, in his mind, they are snapshots of moments in time, perhaps more prolonged in duration, but no less fleeting.
These often-riveting moments of spontaneity on stage, many of which aren’t much less rowdy than “‘Til I Fell In Love With You,” feature two different but comparably tight quintets. The lack of fidelity in what sound in many cases to be audience recordings, however, often muffles their unified action. Fortunately, Larry Campbell’s filigreed guitar on “Can’t Wait” is an exception.
The carefully-conceived and executed graphics for the deluxe box set of Vol.17, including that for the enclosed book, are in line with the lavish designs of past deluxe sets. Within those hardcovers, the prose by historian Douglas Brinkley and journalist/podcaster Steven Hyden is worth reading, but neither essay is as illuminating as the plethora of photos: the images are of much greater clarity than the blurry image on the original front cover of Time Out of Mind.
The arguably superfluous dozen cuts on the fifth disc, however, have a greater and more purposeful impact. Studio recordings of the four Dylan songs omitted from the original LP, plus eight other cuts related to that title that appeared in the lavish edition of The Bootleg Series Vol. 8: Tell Tale Signs: Rare and Unreleased 1989–2006 (now out of print), this inclusion of ‘repeats’ functions as a recapitulation of sorts. It’s as if their inclusion serves to emphasize the point that, contrary to some of his subsequent expressions of frustration about the sessions, Dylan himself wants to express a significant measure of pride in his multiple Grammy Award-winning work.
In that sense, then, working indirectly through the curating team is its own way as cryptic as many of Dylan’s other actions over the years. But in this case, the deceptive redundancy turns into a practical element of continuity, especially as it echoes the more slight, less direct overlap of the timeline of inclusions within and between two previous volumes of The Bootleg Series, Volume #13 Trouble No More and Volume #16 Springtime In New York.
Certainly, this alternately mystifying and confounding approach will offer fodder for debate or outright argument among Dylanophiles. In the end, however, this duplication of effort closely resembles Bob’s own instinctual and often enigmatic approach to his recorded output; in this specific context, it mirrors the Nobel Laureate’s somewhat abrupt decision to move the recording from Lanois’ own Teatro site to Criteria Studios in Florida (where the roster of participants, besides Lanois on a variety of guitars, expanded to include keyboardists Augie Meyers and Jim Dickinson, among many others).
It is hard to disparage the efforts of Volume 17‘s producers, Jeff Rosen and Steve Berkowitz, or the other members of their team. Rather, it’s a high compliment to instead liken them to their subjects’ during the convoluted process at the heart of this entry of The Bootleg Series. Ultimately, Fragments is yet another thought-provoking installment of the Dylan’s discography, not only in direct reflection of its source material but also on its very own terms.
3 Responses
The 1989 album was called “Oh Mercy”… not “No Mercy.”
to err is human…and get ’em fixed!
“But in this case, the deceptive redundancy turns into a practical element of continuity, especially as it echoes the more slight, less direct overlap of the timeline of inclusions within and between two previous volumes of The Bootleg Series, Volume #13 Trouble No More and Volume #16 Springtime In New York.”
This sentence needs to be put out of its misery.