TO NORTH CAROLINA

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Lee and I drove from Maine to my sister Libba’s house in western New York State, where Libba and Simon had already arrived. Lee flew back to her home in Los Angeles, then Libba and I headed south to North Carolina — the start of my long drive back to Las Vegas.

Meanwhile my sister Roe had driven my nephew Harry and my mom back to North Carolina, and Anna and her husband Pete had driven their clan back there, too.

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Libba and I took a route through the Shenandoah Valley to avoid Washington, D. C.. The ghosts of John Mosby (above) and Stonewall Jackson feel ever present in that valley. One of the roads we traveled was even named for Mosby — see the picture at the top of the post.

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We stayed a night in Virginia, then reached Wilmington, N. C. the next day. As soon as we hit the Tar Heel State, we stopped for barbecue, at a reliable chain called Smithfield’s — reliable but not in the same class as Jackson’s in Wilmington, which makes barbecue that tastes like it did when I was a kid:

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Oh, my . . .

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SMOKED FISH

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My sister Libba and her husband Simon and her son Jason make the best smoked fish in America — mostly salmon but also trout and tuna. If you’ve ordered smoked salmon at a fancy restaurant or bought it at a gourmet food shop in a major city, chances are you’ve eaten it, not always under their company’s name, Samaki, because they supply it to a lot of companies that re-brand it under their own names.

That’s my nephew Jason in the picture taped inside the window above, back in his childhood days in Africa — the guy whose wedding I just attended in Maine.  That’s his dad Simon below.

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They started out smoking fish in Kenya, where Simon and Jason were born — samaki is the Swahili word for fish — supplying it to game lodges and safari camps, but political instability there caused them to move to the U. S. in 1983, where the business has continued to grow by leaps and bounds, though they remain a relatively small, artisanal producer, shipping about 300,000 pounds of fish a year.

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The fresh salmon is soaked in brine and a little brown sugar, then rolled into the brick-oven smoking room:

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Smoke from burning sawdust of various aromatic woods is fed into the smoking room from this stove:

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Then the fish is sliced and shrink-wrapped and sent on its way:

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Samaki doesn’t do a lot of online selling to individuals — their volume business has gotten too big to concentrate on smaller orders — but they will, at this link:

Samaki, Inc.

. . . where you can see a short documentary on their business done for the New York Magazine web site, featuring Jason, the now newly married man.

A LITTLE MORE LOBSTER

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The wedding was over, we’d left Islesboro and were heading home, but we weren’t done with lobster — not quite yet. We decided to stop at Red’s Eats in Wiscasset, Maine and brave the long line there for what is reputed to be the best lobster roll in the world. You wouldn’t get any argument about that from me. A large hot dog roll is served up at Red’s with more lobster than a hot dog roll was ever meant to hold — there’s more than one lobster involved.

It’s served with melted butter to pour over it and is astonishing.

We’d meant to stop at Red’s on the way up to Islesboro but a hellacious traffic jam in Wiscasset threatened to make us miss our reservation on the ferry to the island, so we crept by the legendary stand wistfully.  Now we had a goodly measure of redemption.

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LAST EVENING ON THE ISLAND

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. . . and time for a lobster feast, at the house my niece Keaton and her husband Jimmy had rented for themselves and their two kids

Jimmy boiled up the crustaceans.

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The kids were suitably impressed.

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The adults no less.

The dog, who had a persistent case of diarrhea from lustily drinking seawater at every opportunity, was indifferent but generally content.

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MYSTERIES

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My sister Libba looks off at Penobscot Bay from the town beach on Islesboro. Just about a year ago she scattered our father’s ashes off this beach, as he had requested her to do. To the right in the picture, her husband Simon and my sister Lee search for a pipe of my father’s that Libba had left wedged deep down in a rock crevice as a kind of memorial. Simon had found it a few days earlier and carefully replaced it, but when we visited the beach this time, it was gone.

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ANOTHER SELF PORTRAIT — TRACKS 27 – 35

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“Bring Me A Little Water”, a traditional song, is identified as an outtake from the New Morning sessions though it’s hard to imagine how it could ever have fit onto that album.  Dylan’s lusty rendition here suggests that he might have just wanted to sing it with a good back-up ensemble.  A treasure, happily included here.

From the evidence of the alternate versions included in this collection, Dylan seems to have been perplexed about how to present the original material on New Morning.  They are for the most part simple, lyrical, heartfelt songs, but he tried in a number of instances to tart them up with overblown orchestral accompaniments.  This version of “Sign On the Window” is case in point — the sobbing strings all but drown the beautiful, emotional vocal, which is the same track used on the album but in a simpler arrangement.  Fortunately, he made the right choices in the end.  This misstep is a curiosity, at best.

“Tattle O’Day” is a nonsense song from the folk repertoire — Dylan sings it deadpan, as he sings his own nonsense songs.  A modest treasure.

“If Dogs Run Free” is an alternate version of the song on New Morning.  Dylan sings a melodic chorus here, whereas in the album version he half speaks it, as he does the rest of the lyrics.  A curiosity.

The version of “New Morning” here has been gussied up with a wildly miscalculated horn accompaniment.  Why did Dylan go for effects like this on the early versions of his New Morning songs?  Did he not trust their simplicity, his ability to infuse them with presence by means of his vocals alone?  It’s a mystery.  A curiosity.

On this version of “Went To See the Gypsy”, Dylan has progressed a ways from the demo version also included in this collection.  The lyrics have been significantly refined.  This is a slower, graver rendition than what made it onto New Morning, trying harder for an air of mystery and portentousness.  Dylan struck a better balance on the album version, letting the images in the lyrics speak for themselves, but this version is instructive as an insight into the deep meaning the song seems to have had for Dylan — whatever it was.  A treasure.

“Belle Isle”, a folk standard, was one of the more enjoyable tracks on Self Portrait — a simple song that Dylan seemed to take simple pleasure in.  It’s presented here without the album overdubs and is neither more nor less enjoyable than the album version — a curiosity.

“Time Passes Slowly #2” is a second alternate version of the song, from New Morning, on this collection.  In this arrangement Dylan tries to rock the sweet little song.  What was he thinking?  A curiosity.

“When I Paint My Masterpiece” is a demo of the song The Band covered on their album Cahoots.  It’s wonderful, with a few amusing lyrical variants from The Band’s version.  A treasure.

So . . . of the 35 tracks on Another Self Portrait, I nominate 19 as treasures and 16 as curiosities.  All of the curiosities are fascinating, but probably of more interest to hardcore Dylan fans than to casual admirers.

ANOTHER SELF PORTRAIT — TRACKS 18 – 26

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“If Not For You” is an alternate take of the song which appears on New Morning.  It’s softer and more emotional than the album version, and features Dylan on piano with a somewhat perfunctory but pleasant violin accompaniment.  I have to rank it as a minor treasure, just because it shows how emotionally committed to the song Dylan was.

“Wallflower” is a terrific country ballad by Dylan, and seems infused with stronger feeling, a more authentic tenderness, than he brought to the country ballads on Nashville Skyline.  Dylan did a great version of it on the album Doug Sahm and Band, but this version is almost as good.  A treasure.

“Wigwam” is a lovely Dylan melody that he didn’t put words to — he just supplies “la de da dum”s for the vocal.  An odd number, it appeared on Self Portrait with orchestral overdubs and is featured here with just guitar and piano accompaniment.  Not much is revealed in the leaner version — it’s a pleasant curiosity.

“Days Of ’49” was one of the high points of Self Portrait — a vintage song about the Gold Rush that Dylan performed with obvious gusto.  It was released on the album with overdubs, which were perfectly fine, but it’s good to engage the vocal more intimately here.  A treasure.

“Working On A Guru” is a song Dylan recorded with George Harrison, a bluesy number with an improbable chorus about a guru.  I guess it’s some sort of satire on the blues getting mixed up with psychedelia, and the lyrics are pretty funny.  George seemed to find the whole thing amusing at any rate, in addition to laying down some spirited guitar licks.  An enjoyable curiosity.

“Country Pie” is an unfinished alternate take of a song from Nashville Skyline.  It’s a throwaway number, not all that impressive on the album and no more impressive here.  A curiosity.

“I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight” was one of the two straight-ahead country songs that ended the album John Wesley Harding and pointed the way to Nashville Skyline.  The version here is the live performance with The Band at the Isle Of Wight, also appearing on the CD with the whole concert included in the deluxe edition of Another Self Portrait, which I’ve already written about here.  It’s delightful, a treasure, like all the songs from that concert.

“Highway 61”, from the same concert, is a killer.  The Band helps Dylan get back closer to the song’s musical roots in Chicago blues, lending some genuine funk to Dylan’s satirical lyrics.  A true treasure.

Like “Days Of ’49”, “Copper Kettle” was one of the gems on Self Portrait. It sounds like a venerable old folk song, and may have had older precedents, but its credited author, A. F. Beddoe, said he wrote it in 1953.  It’s a paean to making bootleg whiskey, outside the reach of the law, and Dylan sings it with a mixture of enthusiasm for the enterprise and longing for a simpler life.  This is one instance when the overdubs on the released album weakened the track — it’s much more powerful with just the superb vocal backed by guitars and piano and some organ fills.  A treasure.

THE RECEPTION

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. . . was an extravaganza of great food and mad dancing, with a DJ who spun a terrific playlist designed by Jason and Liz.

You could dine al fresco under a half moon, with lights strung in the trees — see above.

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. . . or in a big inviting tent as the night wore on.

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Family friend Nan Becker made the cake — about 145 thin layers which Nan baked at her home in New Jersey, froze, drove up to Maine then assembled and frosted in situ. It was delicious.

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THE WEDDING

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Jason and Liz got hitched in the lovely setting above, by a small beach near the house they’d rented for the occasion.

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My niece Liz, with the phone, her sister, my niece Katie, await the ceremony. Their dad, my brother-in-law Pete, married to my sister Anna, also with his phone, is on the right — Blake, Liz’s boyfriend, is on the left.

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My cousin Katherine, above, with the water bottle, chats before the ceremony.

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My niece Keaton with her son Jackson arrives at the scene. Jackson was extremely proud of his new seersucker suit, and justly so. He managed to trash it completely during the festivities that followed the wedding.

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The mother and father of the groom, my sister Libba and her husband Simon.

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Liz’s father escorts her to the altar.  She looked to me like a vision of Titania from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

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My mom does not always cooperate cheerfully in the taking of photographs — she has no one but herself to blame for this one. She’s seated next to Simon after the ceremony, with my sister Lee behind her and Jackson, on the left, gearing up for the party, where he danced the night away in mad abandon.

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THE REHEARSAL DINNER

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The rehearsal dinner, hosted by my sister Libba and her husband Simon, offered us a rare glimpse of the groom and bride to be, my nephew Jason and Liz, his intended, above. They had a million things to do preparing for the wedding, the logistics of which were insanely complicated on an island in Maine accessible only by boat.

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I got to hang out briefly with my great-nephew Jackson, above, who sat in my lap only because he was distracted by the recent gift of a toy truck from his grandmother, to replace a party favor he had graciously shared with another child, who promptly lost it. Toy vehicles of any kind send Jackson into paroxysms of joy.

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