Nineteen ninety-eight: The same year he dances with Soy Bomb at the Grammys, his record label finally issues Bob Dylan's ultimate live document. A classic case of not giving the audience what they want but what they need, Mr. Dylan's oft-bootlegged 1966 gig begins with lovely and supple folk that foreshadows folk music's turn from protest song to introspection. The album's true highlight is the legendarily ill received and rocked-out electric set, with Dylan backed by members of the Band. There are too many perfect, on-fire guitar solos by Robbie Robertson to count, and Dylan himself responds to the audience's angry bewilderment with equal parts menace, grace, and brilliance. --Mike McGonigal
The greatest live recording in rock & roll history was--officially, at least--buried in the vaults of Columbia Records for more than a quarter of a century. But no more: Live 1966: The "Royal Albert Hall" Concert has surfaced on two discs mixed and mastered from three-track source tapes that put the myriad pirated recordings to shame. More important, Live 1966 documents a momentous artistic showdown between a willful, inflamed, and utterly fearless performer and his headstrong core following. The Dylan of the mid '60s had made the leap from socially conscious voice of his generation to surrealistic electric poet, a transformation that was met with contempt by a vocal element of his audience. The most telling moment of the recording centers on the standoff: A folk zealot in the audience shouts, "Judas!" earning cheers from the contentious crowd. Dylan responds by snarling, "I don't believe you. You're a liar," then turns to his group, the Hawks (soon to become the Band), and, as the intro to "Like a Rolling Stone" takes shape, commands, "Play loud!" A crucial moment and, time has demonstrated, the correct call. --Steven Stolder
