22. Solid Rock

In the Gospel years, Dylan relished pronouncing the full name of this song. “You know we’re living in the last days of the end of times,” he might say by way of introduction, as he did on November 6th, 1979 at the Warfield. “In the last days of the end of times, you’re going to need something strong to hang on to, so this song is called Hanging On to a Solid Rock Made Before the Foundation of the World.“ A pause for effect. “You’re gonna need something that strong.”

In later concerts, having warmed up to his role as informal preacher, he might deliver a sermon or comment, in a tone as absorbing and charming as it would be confrontational, and over time the sermons grew longer, and the smoke in the room thicker and thicker. Then someone would count off and the great wide roar of Solid Rock would fill the room and clear the air: drums like mountains, a storm of tambourines, Tim Drummond’s bass like boulders tossed across the plains. And all four (or five, or six) singers together: “Well, I’m hanging on…”

That title phrase takes Dylan about five seconds to pronounce before the music starts, and a whole twenty-five seconds after. There were times that the Gospel band leaned towards a rootsy or bluesy sort of progressive rock; the closest brush-up with prog was on an interesting and ambitious but unfinished Shot of Love outtake known as Yes Sir, No Sir (Hallelujah), and the second closest right here on Solid Rock, in this long evolving riff, which the lyrics span like the water-breaking stones that give you a chance to cross a rapid, rain-fed stream, and in the way Fred Tackett plays his mid-song guitar solos as if he were Martin Barre from Jethro Tull.

In the live sets, Solid Rock was the second Saved song (which is to say, from the average concertgoer’s point of view, the second totally unfamiliar Dylan song) of the evening. But where Covenant Woman was song one of a two-song detour from the performance of Slow Train Coming in full (song two was a downtempo solo showcase by one of the backing singers), Solid Rock opened the second and all-new half of the Gospel set: it was the Gotta Serve Somebody equivalent of the Saved material. Its job was to pull you into a group of songs about Jesus that, except insofar as the live Slow Train Coming had prepped you, you were not ready for. Solid Rock had to prove that the next batch of songs would be just as if not more powerful than those you had just heard. If Solid Rock impressed you, you’d listen more openly and eagerly to the rest: to slower songs like Saving Grace, What Can I Do for You?, and In the Garden. And Solid Rock is so infectious, so commanding, and just so damn cool that I don’t see how anyone but the trolls of 1979, who bought or held on to their preordered tickets only for the chance to heckle a Christian Bob Dylan, could have resisted.

A taper from the era has commented, about Solid Rock live: “The line recording doesn’t give a hint of its power. In concert those drums erupted like a volcano and the guitar slammed you out of your chair. The sound was just immense … You could believe the singer had to hang on.”

I remember talking with Björn Waller about Saved when I to visit him in Stockholm. I said something about how I thought its reputation was all wrong, that people spoke of it as if it were a Bible-thumping judgment fest, whereas the album is really built out of deeply personal songs. “I don’t think there’s even one judgmental lines on Saved,” I told Björn. He thought about my claim for a minute, then said, “Actually, there is one,” and quoted: “‘People are expecting a false peace to come.’” I was impressed and delighted by his recall, and of course had to admit he was correct. (Björn, incidentally, was in the audience when Dylan revived Solid Rock live in 2002, in Stockholm, two decades after the song’s last performance. He told me about that concert with a big old grin on his face.)

As judgmental lines go, “Nations are angry / Cursed are some / People are expecting a false peace to come” doesn’t sting too hard. The heart of Solid Rock is the narrator’s gratitude that he has found a “solid rock made before the foundations of the world” to hang on to, and the amazement that “For me He was chastised / For me He was hated / For me He was rejected by a world that He created.” Also crucial is his commitment to the faith he has discovered: “I won’t let go and I can’t let go / I won’t let go and I can’t let go no more!” In performance, his lone voice is bolstered by those of his backing singers, and by the energy of the band.

The song sounds great live in 1979, but by 1980 it was flaring out like a supernova, the band so comfortable by then with their parts that they were eager (and able) to elevate it to another level. The version released on Disc 6 of Trouble No More (live at Massey Hall on April 20th, 1980) is a wondrous example of how good the song sounded that year. It was probably a favorite of Dylan’s, because when certain songs (Covenant Woman, Do Right to Me Baby (Do Unto Others), Blessed Be the Name)) began to fall away from the setlist to make room for new songs (in the April-May 1980 tour) and old songs (in the fall Warfield residency and brief Musical Retrospective tour afterwards), Solid Rock kept on getting played nightly. It lived on into 1981, in which year it not only continued to grace the set, but was completely rearranged into a version very different from but no less brilliant than the barnstormer that the band had perfected in 1980. In 1981 (check the Solid Rocks on Disc 2 and Disc 8 of Trouble No More) it became a song that simmered rather than exploded. The band played it slow and hot, having what was evidently great fun with the reinterpretation.

Where does all this live glory leave the studio version on Saved? For a while, I thought it was the weakest performance on the album, maybe alongside Covenant Woman, but I wouldn’t be able to say that with the same confidence anymore. Though from my first listen, I felt that Saved was beautifully produced, I remember having reservations about the way the sound of the kick drum and bass guitar colored the performance of Solid Rock. When I listen to Saved nowadays, I especially enjoy the way Wexler & Beckett made the bass and kick drum sound. This often happens: the things that I consider weird or off-putting about an album in my early listens to it become, over time, the very things that I treasure. That was basically how my journey with Infidels unfolded. Today, I can’t hear anything at all wrong with Saved’s Solid Rock. True, Dylan doesn’t pour his entire molten soul into the vocal as he often did live, but his nuanced control in the studio version gives us something different to enjoy. Just listen to his delivery of the refrain at 2:32! That section makes my breath catch.