REVIEW BY Erin C. Callahan, San Jacinto College
“Someday I Will Be Back to Reclaim It”
Bob Dylan’s liner notes in both the 1978 and the 2023 releases of his concerts at Budokan set the tone for listeners. Dylan writes:
The more I think about it, the more I realize what I left behind in Japan – my soul, my music, and that sweet girl in the geisha house. I wonder does she remember me? If the people of Japan wish to know about me, they can hear this record – also they can hear my heart still beating in Kyoto at the Zen Rock Garden – Someday I will be back to reclaim it.[1]
Here, Dylan shows us that he can best be understood in this period through emotion. Of course, that seems reasonable considering the hook of his most iconic song asks us “How does it feel?” rather than what do you think?[2] His reference to a “sweet geisha” draws our attention to women who have made a lasting imprint but are lost to him. Both factor into Dylan’s desire to revisit and reclaim his early songs. Just as he did in 2021 on Shadow Kingdom, Dylan reimagined some of his earlier songs as a later-stage act of agency and renewal. Of the twenty-eight songs on the setlist, nineteen were first written and recorded before 1967. A decade later, Dylan launched his 1978 world tour as he moved forward through a confluence of personal and professional disappointments.
When released in Japan in November 1978, and subsequently worldwide in April 1979, Bob Dylan at Budokan stoked the ire of many critics and fans – purists who felt affronted by Dylan’s revamping of iconic songs from his catalog. At the time, the album stood in contrast to his previous live offerings. Dylan’s first live album, Before the Flood, recorded on tour with The Band and released in 1974, established the standard for subsequent releases. Paul Williams lauded it as “an excellent representation of the tour, given the time limits of an LP record.” [3] Two years later, the release of Hard Rain coincided with a televised concert of the same name. Despite some of its issues, according to Williams, “the selection and sequencing of songs is masterful. There’s a consistent mood in the performances, the lyric content of the nine songs seems almost consciously designed to tell a story.”[4] As his third live album in five years, the release of Bob Dylan at Budokan was disappointing based on the precedent Dylan had set. After the successes of the previous two albums, many critics and fans objected to the lackluster lounge act arrangements and the spectacle of the performance, including Dylan’s costuming. Williams observed, “This idea – Bob Dylan marketing himself like a Las Vegas crooner, packaged music and showmanship for the mentally middle-aged – is so repellant to the average Dylan fan that the critical and public backlash that resulted is not surprising, and one wonders at Dylan’s failure to anticipate it.”[5] To be sure, the 1978 release of Bob Dylan at Budokan did not represent the zenith of Dylan’s career as a performing artist, but it didn’t reflect its nadir, either.
The Complete Budokan challenges the mediocre distinction of its predecessor. The arrangements, vocalizations, and overall performances have not changed or been altered in production. Instead, they are presented in the original setlist order. Forty-five years on, listening to the entirety of the concerts recorded on February 28 and March 1, 1978 helps reframe this pair of shows within the many shifts, renewals, and rebirths Dylan has undertaken throughout the arc of his career. In this case, hindsight provides a fresh interpretation. As Edna Gunderson writes in her liner notes, “Bob Dylan at Budokan could be considered a late bloomer. Polarizing in its time, the third live release in Dylan’s catalogue has undergone a sober reappraisal over the decades as consumers and critics grew to admire its adventurous arrangements and provocative performances.”[6] In short, the audience has finally caught up with Dylan to understand more comprehensively what he was working on and through during this tour. As a result, the power of Dylan’s performances in these shows is borne from his vulnerability. After the contentious dissolution of his marriage, the failure of Renaldo and Clara, and the deaths of Phil Ochs and Elvis, Dylan found himself at another crossroads. At times he seems detached, working to find his way through the arrangements, the lyrical changes, and the phrasing of the songs. At other times, he is wired in with clear phrasing and, based on the stage banter, energy, and commitment to the performance, having fun. Clearly, he is in transition, simultaneously defying expectations, deconstructing his myth, and working toward some artistic and, perhaps, personal path forward.
One of the main criticisms of Bob Dylan at Budokan is that the band struggled through the arrangements. Dylan was joined by Rolling Thunder Review veterans Rob Stoner, Dave Mansfield, and Steven Soles. Rounding out the crowded stage of musicians was Ian Wallace on drums, Alan Pasqua on keyboards, Steve Douglas on saxophone and flute, Billy Cross on guitar, Bobbye Hall on percussion, and the trio of backing vocalists Helena Springs, Jo Ann Harris, and Debi Dye. Together the band seems unable to find their stride and unsure of how to accompany Dylan, who is notoriously stingy in his direction. The newness of this ensemble leads to messiness on some of the tracks, as Dylan himself alluded to during the performance on February 28. In between “Like a Rolling Stone” and “I Shall Be Released,” he thanked the audience for their applause and said, “It must sound better out there than it does up here.” The consensus among Dylan critics is that a recording from the later leg of the tour, like one of the European shows, would have better exemplified the band realizing their potential. That’s fair, but it wouldn’t have captured Dylan’s first trip to Japan, which was the original intent of the project. So, we sit here stranded with uneven tracks that at times sound like Dylan is backed by a high school marching band, and at others settle into a groove that show glimpses of the magic of the later tour dates.
Some aspects of the recordings, such as Dylan’s questionable introductions of the backup singers, did not age well. Our post-#MeToo era reconsiderations allow for an interpretation that highlights their underlying and contemporaneously unnoticed misogyny. It’s probable Dylan was being facetious, as his humor is often misunderstood or unrecognized. Undeniably, his jovial tone and the jokes he made about the other members of the orchestra suggest that he was attempting humor. Across the footlights, the audience’s perfectly timed laughter signals they understood this intent. However, when compared to the introductions of their male counterparts, the difference is remarkable. On February 28, Dylan presents two of the singers, Helena Springs and Debi Dye, as ghosts of past and future relationships, reducing them and their contributions to objectified love interests, mere relational identities, even if they’re in on the joke. Of accomplished percussionist Bobbye Hall, Dylan jokes they share the same hometown, though she is Detroit born. Singer Jo Ann Harris is the lone woman to elicit Dylan’s respect for her accomplishments and potential as an equal. That’s part of the problem. Unquestionably, the men are presented on equal footing, while only one of the women is. During the March 1 performance, the introductions are considerably shorter than those of the previous night. There is no joke about Bobbye Hall’s hometown and, rather than saying he met the backup singers at a “disc jockey convention,” he tells the audience he met these “beautiful ladies” when “[he] first heard [them] singing in a department store.” Again, he objectifies the women, focusing on their appearance and calling attention to their attractiveness, which further diminishes them as professionals. In contrast, on both nights, Dylan emphasizes the male musicians’ impressive resumés, invites them to highlight their skills in focused solos, and encourages additional audience applause. From a twenty-first century sensibility, the disparity is unmistakable, and Dylan’s humor is outdated.
Other aspects of the shows provide depth to understand Dylan within this moment in time as an artist grappling with personal and professional failures. He is at a low point in his life and his career. Gunderson writes, “as disco stormed the charts and bands like the Sex Pistols and The Ramones blasted into the mainstream, rock titans of the 1960s were increasingly mocked as tedious, old, and out of touch.”[7] Bob Dylan at Budokan certainly gave punk rockers reason to aim their derision. Douglas’s intrusive saxophone on songs like “Oh, Sister,” the musical theater reggae version of “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright,” and the cacophony of sound on songs like “Just Like a Woman” certainly invite those critiques. Gunderson continues that Dylan escaped their ridicule. Indeed, Dylan seems unassailable because he has historically been on the forefront of artistic trends, with everyone else racing to keep up. His resistance is his reluctance to capitulate to mainstream appetites. In the late 1960s, when Dylan’s contemporaries shifted toward psychedelic and heavily produced music, Dylan turned toward country in the pared-down minimalism of John Wesley Harding. The Budokan concerts reflect a similar reluctance. Rather than perform as a legacy act or a jukebox, affirming the audience’s expectations of him, he reclaimed his earlier songs through restructured arrangements that suit Dylan as a 36-year-old artist and man. The slower tempo of “I Want You” sounds like a lament for a lost love, perhaps a wife, rather than the exuberant desire at a relationship’s beginning. Similarly, Dylan’s phrasing and voice, including his harmonica playing, on “Love Minus Zero/No Limit” are delicate and vulnerable. The accelerated tempo suggests he is trying to rush through the song to avoid feeling it as deeply as the slower version allowed. Though most of these songs were written by a younger Dylan, he doesn’t perform them that way. Rather, he reinvigorates them and embodies them through the sensibility of an artist changed by age and time.
In mid-December, 1977, Dylan expressed a desire to get back on the road after the failure of Renaldo and Clara. He told Rolling Stone’s Jonathan Cott, “I have to get back to playing music, because, unless I do, I don’t really feel alive. … I have to play in front of people just to keep going.”[8] For Dylan, playing live music is regenerative and sustaining. At this pivotal point in his life, it seemed logical that he would return to the road for that purpose. This interview with Cott coincided with Dylan’s announcement of his upcoming tour, which would take him out of the United States for the first time in twelve years, and on his first ever trip to Japan. Heckel Sugano, an executive with Sony in Japan, understood the importance of this tour and focused his efforts on capturing it in a live recording. As he explains in his liner notes, the negotiations with Dylan’s people came together on February 19 with the dates for recording set for February 28 and March 1. After recording the shows was complete, Sugano and engineer Tom Suzuki began work on the album. Sugano concedes, “the most challenging aspect was selecting the songs” due to “the standard duration of a single side of an LP record” of twenty minutes.[9] The songs included on Bob Dylan at Budokan were curated from the two shows by Sugano and Suzuki who omitted many and arranged them in a way that attempted, but largely failed, to capture the essence of the complete performances. As a result, this limitation ultimately affected the composition of the album. Throughout the spring and summer, Sugano worked closely with Dylan to complete the project, showing him the final cut in June 1978. To date, the double-LP remains the only official live recording of Dylan’s 1978 world tour, an achievement of honor for Sugano and the team who worked on it.
Nearly thirty years later, in 2006, when Sony Japan executive Tetsuya Shiroki inquired about the master tapes of the recorded Budokan shows, he learned they had been pristinely preserved and were kept at the Shizuoka factory’s master tape vault. From that point, he dedicated himself to commemorating Dylan’s first trip to Japan through the release of a collector’s edition box set of the complete performances. In his liner notes, Shiroki writes that he “reunited three key individuals involved in the 1978 concerts to help tell the story of The Complete Budokan 1978; Heckel Sugano, Product Manager at CBS Sony; Tomoo (Tom) Suzuki, the engineer who recorded and mix the music at Budokan on-site; and Terushia Tajima, the creative force behind the package design of the album.”[10] Assembling the original team members from Bob Dylan at Budokan ensured continuity and fidelity between the two projects. Together, they envisioned recreating Dylan’s February 28 and March 1 concerts at Budokan as a return to the ephemeral experience for those who attended the concerts, and as a glimpse of what the experience was like for those who did not.
During the early stages of production, one of the tracks Shiroki and the team listened to was “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall,” Dylan’s opener for both shows that did not make the final cut of the original release. Including “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall” on The Complete Budokan does more than restore the concerts’ full setlist in its proper order. The opening drum beat of the shows is reminiscent of the initial drum beat in “Like a Rolling Stone,” the shot that changed popular music in 1965. Aided by Al Kooper’s play on the B2 organ and Dylan’s backing band, the carnival of sound that followed that single strike of a snare drum announced Dylan’s departure from folk music. As an artist and a performer, Dylan had simply moved on. By 1978, Dylan had evolved several times in his career – from folk to rock and roll, to country, to roots music – each of which signaled a period of artistic growth.
The drum beat and the subsequent drum riff at the start of this arrangement of “A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall” have a similar effect. They also announced to concertgoers in 1978 and to listeners in 2023 a departure from what Dylan had previously done and who he had previously been as an artist and performer. Not only did the song serve as the show’s overture, what follows is an upbeat arrangement of one of Dylan’s iconic songs about human depravity, frailty, and apocalypse. This arrangement significantly alters the tone of the song. Each member of what Dylan refers to as his “orchestra” takes the lead, replacing Dylan’s vocal, eliminating the lyrics altogether. The dissonance between the music and the missing lyrics that the audience is certain to be familiar with signals a sense something new is about to unfold. Without lyrics or vocals, we are forced to focus on the arrangement as we grasp for a recognizable melody. Indeed, the absence of Dylan’s voice and words – two of his most powerful tools – is another signal that this experience will be something different. Here, Dylan is not standing at the ocean, though he may certainly be sinking. Instead, he has physically crossed an ocean to perform on this tour, but he is silent. Perhaps he doesn’t know his song well enough or cannot find the “right” voice to start singing. His vocal silence until the second song of the set signals the struggle he is working through on stage.
The audience first hears Dylan’s voice on “Repossession Blues” on the first night and “Love Her with a Feeling” on the second, both of which may point to Dylan reconciling his divorce. Playing these songs brings Dylan’s voice, but not his words, into the performance. In “Repossession Blues,” originally sung by Sun Records’ Billy Lee Riley, Dylan assumes the persona of a man who “ain’t got no money,” and tells us, “I’m gonna lose everything I own,” arguably a tongue-in-cheek reference to his recent costly divorce settlement. The sultry blues song, “Love Her with a Feeling” is a reminder that if you don’t love your woman while she’s yours, someone else will. Once again, this song choice can be read as an opaque reference to his marriage ending. These two songs establish the tone for many others in the set about lost love. The fourth song, Nashville Skyline’s “I Threw It All Away,” is both lament and confessional. Dylan’s phrasing reaches for something he can’t quite access. Further, Billy Cross’s lead guitar guides us through the song’s prelude to crescendo before crashing back to Dylan’s mournful lead vocal. “Going, Going, Gone” gets one of the most regrettable reworkings. The overblown and chaotic arrangement of Dylan’s 1974 song off Planet Waves loses its weight as a song of regret and loss.
“Mr. Tambourine Man” stands out as one of the highlights in both nights’ shows. Even when the band’s play becomes murky, it is still largely a successful interpretation. It’s one of the songs in Dylan’s catalog perfectly suited for the stylistic revisions he performs on this tour. In its original version, “Mr. Tambourine Man” invites us into its wonderland through smoke rings of fantastical imagery. This up-tempo reimagining turns Dylan’s symbolist lyrics into a kaleidoscope of sound. Douglas’s flute and Pasqua’s keyboards provide the foundation for Dylan’s vocal, which positions him as the pied piper leading listeners through the fairy tale world of the song.
In this transitional period for Dylan, post-divorce and pre-conversion, a single word change in the lyrics shifts our perspective of the spectacle we are listening to or witnessing. In “Shelter from the Storm,” played fifth on February 28 and sixth on March 1, Dylan changed the lyric from “In a world of steel-eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm” to “men who are fighting to be born.” It’s possible that, as Michael Gray put forth in his interview with Craig Danuloff, Dylan’s work in this period clearly presages his evangelical conversion as Dylan identifies with Christ in the song.[11] In search of salvation, he sees himself as someone who has been persecuted and sacrificed. More poignantly, the lyric change suggests that rather than being cold and competing for warmth, in the form of love, shelter, or salvation, he is “fighting to be born” against the ever-present threat of death. When taken into consideration with the lyric “He not being busy born is busy dying” from “It’s Alright, Ma, (I’m Only Bleeding)” performed later in the set, we see that Dylan is, in fact, trying to be reborn artistically on stage. He’s doing so within the safety of a community of musicians, as he had done when he took the stage at Newport in July 1965, on tour with The Band, and with the Rolling Thunder Revue. However, mortality – through his brush with death in his motorcycle accident or through the deaths of his father, Woody Guthrie, Phil Ochs, and Elvis – hangs in the balance with Dylan fighting for refuge or rebirth.
Another important connection is that Elvis Presley’s death in August 1977, six months before the start of the 1978 tour, weighed heavily on Dylan. It arguably did not have the effect of Woody Guthrie’s death in 1967, Jerry Garcia’s in 1995, or George Harrison’s in 2001, but Elvis’s death shocked Dylan into an accounting of his life. Dylan’s performances on this leg of the tour were initially interpreted as tributes to Elvis. To be sure, interviews Dylan gave in 1977 and throughout 1978 reveal its presence in his mind. When Elvis died, Dylan told Robert Shelton, “I went over my whole life. I went over my whole childhood. I didn’t talk to anyone for a week … If it wasn’t for Elvis and Hank Williams, I wouldn’t be doing what I do today.”[12] Elvis’s formative influence on Dylan’s life and career is unmistakable. Further, he told Ron Rosenblum of Playboy that Elvis inspired him just as much as he did everyone else in the 1950s. As the first breakthrough rock star, Elvis provided the road map for the younger generation who followed him. His death meant there was no one to go before them as an aging rock and roller. But for Dylan, Elvis transcended this role. Not only was Elvis an idol for Dylan in his youth, at the time of Elvis’s death, he was also a peer as a cultural icon, an experience few artists shared. As the new figurehead for middle-aged musicians, Dylan undoubtedly felt the pressure of defining the path forward into the middle and late stages of their careers, if one even existed.
The theme of loss continues throughout the set as Dylan works to reclaim his voice. Throughout both shows, most of the songs are love songs or anti-love songs focused on or addressed to women. Here, Dylan’s liner note reference to the “sweet girl” he left behind at the Geisha house resonates through the women in the songs, many penned more than a decade earlier and based on women from his past. “Tomorrow is a Long Time” turns into a production with Douglas’s misplaced saxophone and the chorus of backing harmonies. Dylan’s lead vocal is the most compelling part of the performance. It comes through as a desperate ache for the woman in the song compared to the quiet longing of the original. Dylan’s melancholy tone and phrasing on “Girl from the North Country” express a deep yearning for the girl he left behind. A preview from 1978’s Street Legal, “Is Your Love in Vain” shows Dylan in a vulnerable moment, asking “do you understand my pain?” In this lyric, it’s empathetic, not rational, understanding Dylan seeks. These are songs he feels his way through, emotionally, vocally, and musically, asking listeners to do the same.
The penultimate song in the set before the closer and encore, “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” loses the driving urgency and acerbic critique of society’s moral failings. In exchange, the extravagant production with violin, saxophone, and backing vocals adds pageantry, evoking a collective celebration of human turpitude rather than a singularly voiced condemnation. Matching the crescendos and diminuendos of the musical arrangement, Dylan’s voice rises and falls, ebbs and crashes, to punctuate the end of each verse and the chorus. The audience feels Dylan’s struggle against internal and external threats as he assures the “Ma” figure, “It’s alright.” Dylan follows this affirmation with “Forever Young,” in a church choir performance that feels like a hymn or prayer.
The coda to both performances, “The Times They Are a-Changin’” serves as an apt conclusion to the shows. Superficially, it conjures nostalgia for Dylan’s 1960s folk identity. His lead vocal is reminiscent of this earlier version of himself. It would arguably leave the audience satisfied he hadn’t omitted it from this set. However, played in context of this setlist, in these performances, and at this point in his life, it signals that just like the times, he, too, is changing. The performance begins with a minimal accompaniment from the orchestra that crescendos at the line “better start swimming or you’ll sink like a stone” with the background singers and saxophone joining in the chorus before returning to Dylan’s single voice to start the next verse. The lyrics, clearly articulated here, recall those absent from the “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall” show’s opener, “I’ll stand at the ocean until I start sinking.” Additionally, the rise and fall of the music and his voice mirrors the similar pattern in the Budokan arrangement of “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding).” Sonically, both songs roll like waves, crashing and retreating as we gather ourselves while Dylan attempts the same. As a closer, it bookends the show with hope. Where Dylan started the show in silence, allowing the musicians on stage to play in place of his voice, he ended in community with them, carefully finding his way.
One of the highlights of this box set is its design. As soon as it was released, unboxing videos flooded social media. The anticipation and excitement provided a fraction of what fans feel before a Dylan concert, but the effect was profound. Cutting through the protective cellophane outer casing felt akin to cutting a ceremonial ribbon. The outer box, a laminated cardboard case, is reminiscent of the original LP with a medium shot of Dylan in profile on the front and a shot from behind Dylan on the back. Dylan’s distance in the front cover photo, contrasted with his close-up in profile on the cover of Bob Dylan at Budokan, reminds us of the forty-five-year distance between the tour and the complete performances’ release. The photo also depicts a complete Dylan rather than a fragment, signifying the difference between the two Budokan albums.
What lies inside delighted fans through the unity of its vision. If the first step to recreating the audience’s experience was to present the full audio of the concerts, the components of the box set completed the task. Terushia Tajima’s artistic concept achieves Shiroki’s overarching vision of replicating the experience of Dylan’s 1978 tour. His delicate and thoughtful design of the box set’s packaging and its contents captures the scope of Dylan’s time in Japan through artwork, photographs, and reproduced ephemera. Traditional Japanese woodblock paintings of birds and landscapes throughout the booklets and on the CDs evoke Dylan’s appreciation for Japanese nature and remind us of his spiritual connection to the Kyoto Gardens. Photographs of Dylan and his band – from arrival at the airport, in performance, and throughout Japan – provided by Joel Bernstein, Hirosuke Katsuyama, and Koh Hasebe allow us to follow Dylan in staged and candid moments. The cover artwork for the liner notes book depicts stylized versions of iconic Japanese figures – Mt. Fuji, a camphor tree, and the bullet train – with a rendering of Dylan in the bottom right of the composition standing at the water’s edge. Visually, this takes us back to the instrumental “A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall,” linking the visual elements with the concerts. The liner notes are complemented by a box of memorabilia, which maintains the theme with a lone camphor tree on its cover. It contains a collection of reproduced ephemera that Dylan fans who attended the concerts would immediately recognize or, for the obsessives among us, would have kept or collected. It is not intended for casual Dylan fans. Enclosed are two replica concert tickets, a tour program printed in Japanese with discography and photograph biography, tour photos, a tour poster, and advertisements. Also included is a replica of the 24 inch x 33 inch poster enclosed with the 1978 release. Lastly, there is a hardcover bifold encasing the four CDs or eight LPs that replicates the cover for the original two-LP set. The components work interdependently to achieve the complete Budokan experience.
Overall, The Complete Budokan is a complicated album because the performances were largely unrefined. Some of the arrangements are successful and find their groove. Others are less so and simply don’t, even after reconsideration. One of the strengths of this box set is having the complete performances in their proper setlist order. That allows listeners to recognize Dylan’s vulnerability as he reworks his songs and, by extension, himself as an artist through performance after the failures, deaths, and losses he’d recently experienced. In 1978, Dylan told Jonathan Cott, “The Seventies I see as a period of reconstruction after the Sixties, that’s all. That’s why people say: well, it’s boring, nothing’s really happening, and that’s because wounds are healing.”[13] Ultimately, The Complete Budokan heals old wounds for those of us returning to them and understanding them as a middle and transitional point in Dylan’s career. Listening to these tracks on repeat as I have done for weeks now, I’m left wondering, in the simplest terms, if it matters that the Budokan shows are messy. For me, messy Dylan is one of the most interesting Dylans. It humanizes him after the superhuman feats of quickly writing and recording Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited, and Blonde on Blonde and then returning to that well for Blood on the Tracks. It shows us how artists fail and work to renew inspiration and, in Dylan’s case, continue to do so.
[1] Dylan, Bob. Liner Notes: Bob Dylan The Complete Budokan 1978. 4
[2] Special thanks to Jason Nodler for sharing the seeds of this idea in conversation.
[3] Williams, Paul. Bob Dylan: Performing Artist 1974-1986. The Middle Years. Omnibus Press, 1974. 3.
[4] Williams, Paul. Bob Dylan: Performing Artist 1974-1986. The Middle Years. Omnibus Press, 1974. 82.
[5] Williams, Paul. Bob Dylan: Performing Artist 1974-1986. The Middle Years. Omnibus Press, 1974. 111.
[6] Gunderson, Edna. Liner Notes: Bob Dylan The Complete Budokan 1978. 27.
[7] Gunderson, Edna. Liner Notes: Bob Dylan The Complete Budokan 1978. 27.
[8] Cott, Jonathan. “Interview with Jonathan Cott, Rolling Stone. January 26, 1978.” Bob Dylan: The Essential Interviews. Warner Media, 2006. 192.
[9] Saguno, Heckel. Liner Notes: Bob Dylan The Complete Budokan 1978. 12.
[10] Shiroki, Tetsuya. Liner Notes: Bob Dylan The Complete Budokan 1978. 48.
[11] Danuloff, Craig. “The Street to Slow Train – Song and Dance Man Vol. 2 Ch. 1 with Michael Gray.” FM Dylan Podcast. Episode 19, November 24, 2023.
[12] Shelton, Robert. The Fiddler Now Upspoke. London. 451.
[13] Cott, Jonathan. “Interview with Jonathan Cott, Rolling Stone. January 26, 1978.” Bob Dylan: The Essential Interviews. Warner Media, 2006. 186.
