47. The Freewheelin Bob Dylan (1964)



Were you present for any of the sessions for Dylan’s first album?

There were only two days of recording and I was present for both.

Did you get a sense that you were watching a legend at work?

Not in the least. He was just a young chap singing folk songs without any real discipline.  He recorded two original songs, neither of which struck me as especially revolutionary. If it wasn’t for the fact that John Hammond, his producer, was becoming increasingly frustrated with his cavalier approach to recording techniques I probably would have forgotten all about it.

But Freewheelin was different?

Very much so. He’d suddenly gone from being an interpreter to an exceptional writer of original material.

Blowin In The Wind being the obvious example.

Well quite.

Did you know you were watching something truly special being created? Was there a sense that you were witnessing musical history?

No. No, I had no idea. But then my ability to assess the musical merits of what I was witnessing was 
probably impaired by the fact that I had my foot in a mop bucket at the time and my sock was wet. Look inadvertently stepping in one’s own mop bucket and wedging one’s foot is an unfortunate occupational hazard when one cleans for a living. Anyone whose life involves the application of a moistened cleaning implement to stained flooring knows only too well the brief pain and frustration of accidentally treading in one’s own bucket. I daresay it’s happened to us all at some point. I’ve been informed by colleagues that most don’t do it as frequently as I do; many of them register surprise when I reveal it’s a weekly event, but still there isn’t a cleaner on God’s great earth who can put their hand on their heart and deny they’ve ever heard that humiliating splosh and felt a sudden dampness around the ankle. Much of the time it’s a minor inconvenience and merely something that happens during take 19 of some group’s attempt to get a formulaic album track “in the can” as it were. But sometimes, as in this instance, it prevents me from fully appreciating a moment of greatness.

So you missed the recording?

Well I was there, and I knew it was happening, but I was more focused on removing my foot, and then retrieving my shoe, which had refused to join my foot during its liberation, and doing both without dripping on the floor or spilling the bucket or tripping over the mop; objectives which I’m sorry to report proved elusive on all three counts.

So while Bob Dylan was recording one of the most significant and important songs in all recorded music… you were lying shoeless on the floor in a puddle of soapy water with your legs tangled in a mop?

Time to move on I feel. 

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