Naomie Klaus in residency at les ateliers claus - recording her debut album

  • Naomie Klaus in residency

by Lucian K. Truscott IV

The following is a copy of a story I wrote for the Village Voice on November 2, 2016, on the occasion of Dylan receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature. I’m republishing it here on the occasion of his 80th birthday. Happy birthday, Bob.

The year was 1974 and things in New York, in a word, sucked. The city was in financial meltdown. Bankruptcy and the famous Daily News headline “Ford to City: Drop Dead” were only a year away. Maybe the meltdown was part of the reason Bob Dylan was back in his townhouse on MacDougal Street, just north of Houston. He and his wife Sara were on the rocks after almost a decade together. A melting-down city and a melting-down marriage.

At the time, I lived in a $200-a-month loft on the fourth floor of 124 West Houston, on the edge of Soho, then still an industrial wasteland. Dylan had a practice space on the first floor, right around the corner from his MacDougal Street residence. When I’d rented my loft three years before and the landlord informed me that Dylan was on the first floor, I found it completely unremarkable. You read about how Dylan had decamped from New York in those years — first for Woodstock, then Santa Fe, then Malibu — but he was so much a part of the fabric of the city that there was never a sense he’d left. Of course when I rented a loft on Houston Street, Dylan would be in the building.  Of course he would.

When you walked in the lobby you could hear him sometimes, composing music and trying out lyrics. There was only a thin Sheetrock wall between Dylan’s studio and the lobby, and Dylan had an upright piano right against that wall. I knew this because I had given him a hand moving amps and other equipment in and out of the studio. One day, on my way to work at the Village Voice, I found a folding chair on the street and stashed it under the stairs so I could pull it out and sit there, inches away from Dylan, and listen to him writing at the piano.

That’s how I first heard him working on something extraordinary in the summer of ’74: the songs that would make up Blood on the Tracks. “Tangled Up in Blue,” “You’re Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” “If You See Her, Say Hello.” Our auteur of adolescent angst was trying to put his life back together at the piano.

Dylan had always had a way of distilling being young and living in New York City. His songs piled up images, metaphors, hints about his life. Trying to read into them, we could also read who we were. But this was something entirely different. This was Dylan without the cloak of lyrical mystery. This was how he felt unfettered, who he saw looking in the mirror. He was doing in public something we had all gone through in private — breaking up with a lover, bleeding anger and regret, love and loss, and pain. Lots and lots of pain.

One afternoon I came downstairs and heard him working on something new, so I got out my folding chair and listened. He was writing his midlife masterpiece, “Idiot Wind.” He had that melody down, with its mix of wistfulness and acid resentment, but he was having a hell of a time with the lyrics. He would sing a verse and, dissatisfied, bang his fists on the keyboard. Then he’d take a moment and start again.

He knocked out the refrain quickly, his anger bubbling up in raw bile. “Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth.” Vicious stuff. I sat and listened as he struggled with the reckoning, that there wasn’t just one idiot to blame.

Idiot wind

Blowing through the buttons of our coats

Blowing through the letters that we wrote

(Bang bang on the keyboard…another pass…bang bang…what next?)

Blowing through the dust upon our shelves

Then the banging stopped, and — so quietly I could barely hear him through the thin wall — he caressed the keys as he wrote the final lines of the song:

We’re idiots, babe

It’s a wonder we can even feed ourselves.

That fall, the Voice sent me to the Middle East to cover terrorism and various wars. Dylan began recording Blood on the Tracks in September in New York, then redid five of the ten tracks in Minneapolis in December. I returned from the Middle East in January ’75. He released Blood on the Tracks on January 20, to almost universal acclaim — his best album in nearly a decade, since Blonde on Blonde in 1966. I quit the Voice that summer. I was freelancing for magazines, spending quite a bit of time on the road. Then one night when I was back in town, a friend called and told me to come over to the Bitter End (it had been rechristened the Other End then, though it was the same place and they’d change the name back down the line). Dylan was showing up every night around midnight and jamming.

It took us only a short while to realize he was auditioning a band. I heard him telling his friend Bob Neuwirth one night between sets that he wanted to travel the country in a bus, like the country and rhythm and blues guy did. They would call it the Rolling Thunder Revue.


João Lobo: ‘Simorgh’ (Les Ateliers Claus, 2020). The featured compositions highlight the musicians’ unique physical aspect to control their instruments and their hidden techniques that underlying these tracks. The result is an ongoing aural interplay. #vinyloftheday

  • joao lobo

Joâo Lobo trio featuring Soet Kempeneer and Norberto Lobo - this week in residency at les ateliers claus


  • joao lobo

Celebrating Tony Conrad 
a two-day online streaming festival honoring and highlighting the late artist’s collaborations with musicians and performers from around the world. 
Thursday May 27 + Friday May 28, 4–8 PM CT
Admission Free RSVP:
Day 1 - Thursday May 27
4:00 PM CST Jean-Hervé Péron of Faust
4:20 PM CST Jennifer Walshe
4:35 PM CST Lary 7
4:55 PM CST Keiji Haino + Ted Conrad
5:25 PM CST MV Carbon
5:35 PM CST Charlemagne Palestine + Tony Conrad
Day 2 - Friday May 28
4:00 PM CST Arnold Dreyblatt
4:30 PM CST Angharad Davies
4:50 PM CST Tony Billoni + Tony Conrad
5:00 PM CST David Grubbs
5:20 PM CST C. Spencer Yeh
5:35 PM CST Jim O'Rourke + Tony Conrad

Note that the start is CST, which is +1 EST, +6 BST, +7 CEST, + 14 JST. 
So 5pm start NYC each day. 

  • Tony Conrad

”Lisäsiiven porras”

gouache, coloured pencil, acrylic on paper

47 cm x 35 cm

  • Jan Anderzén

David Grubbs is a composer, musician, and author who has performed and recorded music in a multitude of settings throughout his career. Notably, he was a founding member of Squirrel Bait, Bastro, and Gastr del Sol, and was also a member of Red Krayola. He’s released numerous collaborative albums with artists including Mats Gustafsson, Taku Unami, and Loren Connors.

Grubbs has released three books published by Duke University Press, including Records Ruin the Landscape, a meditation on experimental music, their practitioners during the ’60s, and the recorded medium. He also has published two book-length poems titled Now that the audience has assembled and The Voice in the Headphones, which detail a live performance and studio recording session, respectively. His upcoming book, Good night the pleasure was ours, will be released in spring 2022.

His most recent albums include a live recording with guitarist Ryler Walker called Fight or Flight Simulator and a new album titled Instant Opaque Evening with Gustafsson and Mazurek in their group The Underflow. He also has a new collaborative album with poet Susan Howe out in September via Blue Chopsticks. Joshua Minsoo Kim talked with Grubbs via phone on October 13th, 2020 to discuss his latest ventures, his time with Red Krayola, and the various collaborators he’s had throughout the years. Additional questions were asked via email in May 2021.




  • david grubbs