As the ’60s bled into the ’70s, Bob Dylan evinced a growing discomfort with his persona. Whether fueled by the lingering effects of a near-fatal motorcycle accident, an increasing dissatisfaction with the masks of stardom, or a general sentiment in the air, the artist became obsessed with stripping away artifice, with uncovering the “real” Bob Dylan. This effort can be felt in a flight to “simplicity” on Nashville Skyline, in a disconcerting series of fun house mirrors on Self-Portrait, in a more successful if equally odd self-portrait on New Morning. And also on Greatest Hits Vol. II, a far more intimate and personal collection than the preceding installment.
Greatest Hits Vol. II (originally issued in 1971) opens with “Watching The River Flow” and closes with “Down In The Flood”, suggesting a loose narrative sweep. From a critical vantage, we watch as pieces of a life drift by — some memorable, some nearly forgotten, others stronger for the company. First we hear the folkie’s kiss-off of “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right”, then the burly chauvinism of “Lay, Lady, Lay”, then the sublime whirlpool of “Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again”. Before long, the artist and listener are swept away in the deluge, a swirl of images, sounds and poses which nonetheless sketches a coherent whole.
While last year’s Live 1966 documents the seismic rupture that demarcated Dylan’s folk and electric periods, Greatest Hits Vol. II attempts the more subtle and perhaps more difficult task of bridging the divide, of demonstrating that all phases are of a piece. As if to signify this intent, the collection seamlessly integrates three selections from Bringing It All Back Home, the album on which Dylan originally drew a line in the musical sand.
Though the resultant self-portrait is no more coherent than that of 1970’s infamous belly-flop of that name, Greatest Hits Vol. II does present Dylan at his most likable and unguarded. The seemingly offhand sequencing effectively deconstructs the artist’s varied stances, exposing the rock-solid foundation of an enduring musical legacy — an unjustly maligned voice, an unjustly overlooked melodic gift, and a justly documented woman problem.
The collection closes with a handful of unreleased songs previously schooled out to other artists. The selections are remarkably fresh and generous, reflecting the general feel and spirit of the set. “When I Paint My Masterpiece” intimates the scope and grandeur of Dylan’s greatest non-narrative epics while honoring the simple virtues of his folk roots; “I Shall Be Released” eschews the song’s familiar sentiment and sanctimony for a simple directness; “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” essays a loose-limbed jaunt, dismissing existential concerns with a nod and a wink. As the flood subsides, the listener is greeted by yet another Dylan — a singer-songwriter, not just funny but jovial and friendly, aware of his myth and struggling mightily not to be crushed under its weight.
Greatest Hits Vol. II, re-released in conjunction with Greatest Hits and a remixed Street Legal, represents the modest first wave of Columbia’s oft-promised revamping of the Dylan catalog — state-of-the-art remastering, extensive liner notes, bonus tracks, etc. But where most such reissues bear the faint stink of exploitation, the Dylan project appears more than justified — if only because the original CD releases were so aurally botched. All of which is immaterial if you didn’t purchase Greatest Hits, Vol. II the first time out. And you probably didn’t; Greatest Hits is fine for the neophyte, Biograph for the more adventurous. Still, for my money, Greatest Hits, Vol. II ranks alongside Blonde On Blonde and Blood On The Tracks in the Dylan pantheon, a darkhorse contender for desert-island Dylan status.
