The Bootleg Series, Vol. 6: Bob Dylan Live 1964 - Concert at Philharmonic Hall (2004)


 

Disc One
  1. The Times They Are A-Changin'
  2. Spanish Harlem Incident
  3. Talkin' John Birch Paranoid Blues
  4. To Ramona
  5. Who Killed Davey Moore?
  6. Gates of Eden
  7. If You Gotta Go, Go Now
  8. It's Alright Ma, (I'm Only Bleeding)
  9. I Don't Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)
  10.Mr. Tambourine Man
  11.A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
  
Disc Two
  1. Talin' World War III Blues
  2. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
  3. The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
  4. Mama, You Been on My Mind
  5. Silver Dagger
  6. With God on Our Side
  7. With God on Our Side
  8. It Ain't Me Baby
  9. All I Really Want to Do

 

Of the many live Dylan recordings scattered across decades of releases—official and otherwise—few carry the historical weight and raw intimacy of this Halloween-night performance at New York City’s Philharmonic Hall in 1964. Issued as the third installment in the Bootleg Series, it finally casts a spotlight on Dylan’s early acoustic period—before the electric transition, before the rasp, and before the myth fully calcified.

This is Dylan as the solitary troubadour: just voice, guitar, and harmonica. The sound is uncannily clean for a mid-sixties concert, and Dylan’s voice—pre-smoke, pre-wine—is remarkably lucid, ringing out with youthful clarity. Yet what truly defines this performance isn’t technical proficiency or polish—it’s presence. Dylan stumbles, giggles, forgets lyrics, and jokes with the audience, but rather than detracting from the experience, these imperfections elevate it. They reinforce the authenticity of a performer still forming his legend—not through perfection, but through personality.

The setlist is sprawling, diving deep into Dylan’s early catalog. There’s stark political commentary (A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall, With God on Our Side) offset by satirical gems (Talkin’ John Birch Paranoid Blues, Talkin’ World War III Blues), the balance reflecting both the gravity and absurdity Dylan wielded with equal skill. The concert also introduces lesser-known or then-unreleased tracks, including Who Killed Davey Moore, which had yet to find its place in his official discography. Each track feels both a moment in time and a message beyond it.

Joan Baez joins near the close of the show, and while her harmonies elevate the mood and the myth, their duet on Mama, You Been On My Mind is a gloriously ramshackle affair—forgotten lyrics and all. If anything, it reveals a lack of rehearsal, but this adds more than it detracts. It’s a glimpse into a partnership more emotional than precise. Baez also contributes a solo number—Silver Dagger—a nod to the era’s folk lineage and a quiet highlight of the evening.

Perhaps the most curious omission is Blowin’ in the Wind, Dylan’s defining anthem. Its absence is never addressed, and yet it doesn’t feel missed. The performance stands strong without it, further evidence of the richness of his early repertoire.

In retrospect, this concert captures Dylan at a pivotal juncture—on the cusp of transformation, still rooted in folk but already restless. The electric shift was looming, and history would later debate its significance. But here, before that storm, we have a singular document of a Dylan still intimate, unvarnished, and utterly essential.

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