The Hit We Almost Missed: Like A Rolling Stone
Marc Dashevsky
December 3, 2004
OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR
The Hit We Almost Missed
By SHAUN CONSIDINE
It's official, I guess. Forty years after he recorded it, Bob Dylan's
"Like a Rolling Stone" was just named the greatest rock 'n' roll song
of all time by Rolling Stone magazine, a tribute it had previously been
given by New Musical Express, Britain's leading pop-music weekly. Quite
an honor, considering that the single was almost never released.
"Like a Rolling Stone" was recorded on June 15, 1965, in Studio A at
799 Seventh Avenue, then the New York headquarters of Columbia Records,
where I worked as the coordinator of new releases, scheduling every
step of a record's production. (On the top floor of the building, the
modest studio had been used by Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Barbra
Streisand.) When the edited tape was played a few days later for
Mr. Dylan and his manager, the reaction was unanimous: it would be
a hit and should be released immediately.
But before that could happen, the song had to be presented at Columbia's
weekly singles meeting, and that's where the trouble began. Though just
about everyone from the A & R (artists and repertoire) and promotion
departments loved it, the sales and marketing people had a different
opinion. And their opinion mattered, for sales and marketing was the
engine behind the label's success.
Their objection to the song came on two levels. The unstated reason was
that they just didn't like raucous rock 'n' roll. The sales and market-
ing people had made Columbia a winner by selling mainstream American
music - pop, jazz, country, gospel, the best of Broadway and Hollywood.
But rock? No way. It was this thinking that had led the label to turn
down Elvis Presley in 1955 and the first American album by the Beatles
in 1963.
Of course, none of this was raised at the meeting about "Like a Rolling
Stone." What did come up was the length of the song. In 1965, three
minutes was the average time for singles played on national radio.
"Like a Rolling Stone" clocked in at one second under six minutes. The
solution? Cut the baby in half, the wise Solomon of Sales decreed.
When presented with this edict, Bob Dylan refused, fully prepared to
engage in yet another fight with the giant, wholesome label. (In 1963,
Mr. Dylan had failed to persuade Columbia to release "Talkin' John Birch
Society Blues.") Except there was no one to fight with. The big guys
were engaged in a more important drama.
Columbia Records, which had always remained autonomous from its parent,
CBS, was moving into the corporation's new building on Sixth Avenue
(soon to be known as Black Rock), where our vice president of sales
and marketing was taking over the A & R department, and soon, it was
rumored, the second-in-command position, under our much beloved presi-
dent, Goddard Lieberson. That vice president and his staff had never
expressed any great fondness or attached any future importance to Mr.
Dylan - who performed at one of their mammoth sales conventions but
never "mingled." With all the distraction over the move to CBS head-
quarters and the intrigue of the executive power play, the matter of
Mr. Dylan's epic rock song was quickly taken care of. A memo was sent
out saying that the single was to be moved from an "immediate special"
to an "unassigned release." Translated, it was in limbo, soon to be
dropped, no doubt, into the dark graveyard of canceled releases.
After that, the tumult of the move to Black Rock filled our days.
Decades of memorabilia from 799 had to be discarded because the wel-
coming notice from CBS clearly stated that clutter would not be allowed
in the new building, a temple to spare modernism.
During my last trek through what remained of the A & R department, I
was invited to sort through a stack of records and demos that were to be
junked. Among them I discovered a gem: a studio-cut acetate of "Like a
Rolling Stone." Carefully packing it into an empty LP jacket, I carried
it home and that weekend played it more than once in my apartment. The
effect was the same as it had been the first time I had experienced it.
Exhilaration. Heart pounding. Body rolling - followed by neighbors
banging on the walls in protest. Then, on Sunday evening, it came to me.
I knew exactly where the song could be fully appreciated.
At the time, the hottest new disco in Manhattan was a place called
Arthur, on East 54th Street. Sybil Burton, whose husband had run off
with Elizabeth Taylor a few years before, was the creator of the uniquewebsy egalitarian club, which was on the site of the old El Morocco. Some
of Arthur's owners were famous - Mike Nichols, Stephen Sondheim, Leonard
Bernstein - and some weren't (me). When it opened in May, no one except
the fabulous Sybil expected that Arthur would cause such a sensation,
and that everyone would want to go there - including Bob Dylan. Late in
June, dressed in wine-stained, beer-splattered Army-Navy store couture,
he and his rowdy male friends had tried to get in. They were turned away.
His rejected single had better luck. Perhaps because I was a "club
member," the D.J. was very polite when asked if he would kindly play
the acetate during a free moment. Deliberately neglecting to mention the
name of the singer, I did say that the song was rather long and that he
should feel free to stop it if the dancers got bored or tired.
At around 11 p.m., after a break, he played the acetate. The effect was
seismic. People jumped to their feet and took to the floor, dancing the
entire six minutes. Those who were seated stopped talking and began to
listen. "Who is it?" the D.J. yelled at one point, running toward me.
"Bob Dylan!" I shouted back. The name spread through the room, which
only encouraged the skeptics to insist that it be played again, straight
through. Sometime past midnight, as the grooves on the temporary dub
wore out, the needle began to skip.
But not before the song had been heard by two important guests. One was
a D.J. at WABC, then the leading Top 40 radio station in Manhattan. The
other was a music programmer at the equally powerful WMCA. The next
morning both called Columbia Records and demanded to know where their
copy of the new Bob Dylan record was. Staff meetings were hastily
called. Goddard Lieberson, who had recently met with Mr. Dylan during
his concert tour in England (only to be chastised backstage by Mr.
Dylan's protective former girlfriend, Joan Baez, for allowing Columbia
to "exploit and commercialize Bobby"), was brought into the dispute over
the length of the song. Standards and rules were dandy, said "God," but
they should never interfere with the evolution of an artist.
The release memo came shortly thereafter. On July 15, a month after it
had been recorded, "Like a Rolling Stone" shipped to stores and D.J.'s.
The latter were put on alert that this was a hot Columbia single,
because it was pressed on red vinyl. On side one of the red promotional
disc, the label read: "Like a Rolling Stone (Part 1). Timing 3:02."
Side two said: "Part 2. Timing 3:02." The song had been cut down the
middle. Sales and marketing had struck again.
But they didn't win. Some D.J.'s simply recorded both sides of the disc
on tape and spliced the whole thing together and - voila! - came up with
the complete song (with five seconds added).
The following week "Like a Rolling Stone," full version, entered the
Billboard charts. By August it was in the Top Ten, rising to No. 2. Bob
Dylan performed it live at the Newport Folk Festival (they booed the
rock 'n' roll half of the show) and at a concert in Forest Hills, Queens
(loud cheers).
The electronic folk-rock revolution spread quickly after that, and Bob
Dylan began to dress accordingly - he was no longer the prince of folk,
but a rock 'n' roll star. Arriving at Arthur with the model Sara Lownds
(whom he would marry that November), the stylishly mod and extremely
polite Bob Dylan was promptly admitted.
"Like a Rolling Stone" remained on the charts for three months, carrying
Columbia into what was then called "the New Rock." (The music, not the
building.) Our omnipotent vice president of sales, however, did not lead
that transition. Instead, a lawyer with no A & R training and no claim
to having "ears" was given the job of administrative vice president
under Goddard. His first task was to renew Bob Dylan's contract with
Columbia. The artist's demands exceeded those of the top Columbia stars,
Andy Williams and Barbra Streisand. His requests were met.
Shaun Considine is writing a book about New York and the creative
revolutions of the mid-1960's.
--
Go to http://MarcDashevsky.com to send me e-mail.
Mister Charlie
Cathy D
<smoker...@myway.com> wrote:
> Thanks for posting this, quite fascinating.
Ditto. :)
Cathy :)
--
-------------------------------------------------
e-mail address: cathyd at empire1.net
Naturally the 'at' should be changed! :) The number also needs to be spelled
out. :)
DianeE
"Marc Dashevsky" <use...@MarcDashevsky.com> wrote in message
news:MPG.1c19d1aeb...@netnews.comcast.net...
> http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/03/opinion/03considine.html
>
> At around 11 p.m., after a break, he played the acetate. The effect was
> seismic. People jumped to their feet and took to the floor, dancing the
> entire six minutes.
I find this part hard to believe. You had to be on acid to dance to this
record.
DianeE
Leonard Los
Maybe they "waltzed" through it.LOL
The original structure of this song
is confirmed on "The Bootleg Series Vol2"
There is no doubt that this song
(the released 6:00 version that is)
is THEE number 1 single of all time.
I remember the first time I heard
this song, on a little dinky transistor radio.
To me it was as revolutionary, as when
I first saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan.
It was this song that upped the ante
in rock, maybe not musically (though Kooper's organ was quite
infuencial) but
surely lyriclly. A song more for the mind
rather the dance floor.
L.L.
Mark Dintenfass
<Tired...@SorryFolks.com> wrote:
I agree. It's a great record, but I challenge anyone more or less sober
to find it's rhythm danceable.
--
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Taliesyn
A record that barely squeezed into my Top 125 singles of 1965. I'll
always remember it as terminally long and tedious. Was always glad when
it got to the "Napoleon in rags" part on radio, 'cause I knew then it
was finally about over. I preferred the follow-up, "Positively 4th
Street". Then didn't care for any Dylan single until 1969's "Lay Lady
Lay".... 1973's "Knockin' On Heaven's Door".... and finally,
"Mozambique". I thought the DESIRE album was chock-full of very
interesting songs. Finally, I thought, a listenable Dylan ;-). Then
he did that totally unlistenable religious album, whose name I have,
thank ye lord, totally forgotten - but not forgiven.
-Taliesyn
_____________________________________________________________________
View Taliesyn's year long ultimate Christmas CD project - A Dark Noel
at: http://colba.net/~andresk/
Jim Colegrove
wrote:
Listed in the Rolling Stone issue on the top 500 songs of all-time as
#1. I think it is the song that changed everything in pop/rock music.
I will never forget the first time I heard it. I knew the significance
of it. And I still do.
(Of course, the RS list largely ignores songs in the first half of the
20th century so this is really a list of short-time)
Jim Colegrove
GBlueOwl
<co...@thecoolgroove.com> writes:
>Listed in the Rolling Stone issue on the top 500 songs of all-time as
>#1. I think it is the song that changed everything in pop/rock music.
>I will never forget the first time I heard it. I knew the significance
>of it. And I still do.
>
>(Of course, the RS list largely ignores songs in the first half of the
>20th century so this is really a list of short-time)
>
>
Although the cover of the issue says "500 Greatest Songs Of All Time", the
introductary paragraph of the feature itself makes clear that it's actually "a
celebration of the greatest *Rock & Roll* songs of all time" (emphisis added),
and so deliberately makes no attempt to consider standards, showtunes, the
Great American Songbook, what have you (except perhaps for Otis Redding's
version of "Try A Little Tenderness").
BTW, that paragraph also makes clear that "the word "song" refers to both a
composition and it's definitive recorded performance, as a single or an album
track", which would explains why "Respect" makes the list in the form of Aretha
Franklin's cover and not Otis Redding's original, although it would seem to
conflict with the pressence in the list of both Dylan's & The Byrds' "Mr.
Tambourine Man", Aerosmith's & Run DMC's "Walk This Way", Carl Perkins' & Elvis
Presley's "Blue Suede Shoes", and Bo Diddley's & Muddy Waters' "I'm A Man" /
"Manish Boy". (In actual fact, since this list was generated by simply asking a
bunch of people what their 10 or so favorite songs were and simply adding up
the results, rather than locking a bunch of people in a room to come up with a
consensus between them, this simply reflects a difference of opinion on which
version of these songs is "definitive")
Brian
Brett A. Pasternack
>
> In article <31afs9F...@individual.net>, Mister Charlie
> <smoker...@myway.com> wrote:
>
> > Thanks for posting this, quite fascinating.
>
> Ditto. :)
I used to have a radio feature called "The Story Behind The Music". This
would be perfect for it. Excellent stuff.
Tony Borgosano
"DianeE" <Tired...@SorryFolks.com> wrote in message
news:Nc0sd.30$ZK6.8@trndny07...
Those dopes at Rolling Stone probably did!
Tony Borgosano
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