The mythology and lure of the recordings have also extended to a new generation of rockers. Tom Waits has called the 1975 collection one of his favorite albums of all time. Neil Young was given a pristine copy made from the master tapes for his personal archives. Wenner in Rolling Stone in 1968, the first report on the tapes. “If this were ever to be released, it would be a classic,” wrote Jann S. In the 47 years since those nearly 40 reels of tape were made, the so-called Basement Tapes have become one of rock’s worst-kept secrets: bootlegged, analyzed, written about, passed around. But beyond a captivating but incomplete 1975 compilation, the majority of the recordings were never officially released. Some of the tracks - “I Shall Be Released,” “This Wheel’s on Fire,” “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” - would go on to become some of Dylan’s best-known and most covered. But with these songs, he had been reborn. After Blonde on Blonde in May 1966, he had gone a year and a half without releasing new music - a lifetime in the Sixties pop world. Dylan didn’t even look the same: The jittery wraith of 1966 now resembled an earnest rabbinical student with short hair and glasses. Locals knew what Dylan had been through lately: burnout from touring and fame, a shadowy motorcycle crackup just outside of town, followed by a life makeover as an unassuming Woodstock family man. “It was, ‘Oh, my God, what is that playing?’” The song was “I Shall Be Released” Manuel’s bandmate Rick Danko would chime in on harmonies. “People weren’t even listening at first,” says Traum.

Happy Traum - a musician and friend of Dylan from the Greenwich Village folk scene who had recently moved upstate - remembers one gathering where Richard Manuel of the Hawks sat down at a piano and started playing a gorgeous ballad that sounded like a gospel song. Other Woodstock locals in Dylan’s orbit had similar moments around that time.

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