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The seventh volume of Bob Dylan's Bootleg Series doubles as the soundtrack to No Direction Home, Martin Scorsese's feature-length documentary covering Dylan's career from its beginnings to 1966 (it was aired in two parts on PBS in September 2005 and released in expanded form on DVD that same month). Unlike the previous three installments of The Bootleg Series, which focused exclusively on live concerts, No Direction Home is assembled from a variety of sources, including home recordings, publishing demos, alternate studio takes, and live recordings, with the first disc devoted to early acoustic recordings and the second to electric music. In fact, No Direction Home proceeds chronologically, filling in gaps between the proper albums or, more often, providing a parallel history of the most productive era of Dylan's career. All of this material - with the exception of "Song to Woody," taken from his debut, and a cataclysmic version of "Like a Rolling Stone" taken from the Royal Albert Hall show that was released as The Bootleg Series, Vol. 4 - is previously unreleased, and much of it has not been widely bootlegged (and the cuts that have been bootlegged, such as "Dink's Song," have never been heard in such crystal-clear fidelity). Where the inaugural edition of The Bootleg Series had many previously unreleased Dylan originals, there is only one here, the tentative opener, "When I Got Troubles," a sweet, simple 1959 song that finds Dylan in his formative stage. In place of unheard songs are a slew of alternate versions of familiar tunes. On the first disc, these are largely live versions of such warhorses as "Blowin' in the Wind," "Masters of War," and "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall," recorded when the songs were still fresh. These live performances have an immediacy and intimacy that not only illustrate what a powerful folksinger Dylan was, but also suggest how the songs might have sounded when they were new tunes. Toward the end of the first disc, alternate versions that are significantly different from the final versions begin to surface with an early take on "Mr. Tambourine Man" recorded at the Another Side of Bob Dylan sessions with Ramblin' Jack Elliott on second guitar and backing vocals. The second disc has several alternates that are similarly notably different, highlighted by a lively, careening "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry" with a different final verse, a "Desolation Row" with electric guitar, "Highway 61 Revisited" without the siren whistle, a slower, heavier, blusier take on "Leopard-Skin Pill Box Hat," a relaxed version of "Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again" that lacks the carnivalesque swirl of sound from the Blonde on Blonde version, and a lean, insistent "Visions of Johanna."As different as some of these versions are, there are no great revelations here, apart from the realization that the best takes really did make the finished records. But looking for revelations on this seventh edition of The Bootleg Series may be setting the bar too high, particularly because even if few things here are earth-shaking (a rampaging "Maggie's Farm" from Dylan's legendary electric set at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965 could qualify, thanks in great deal to an incendiary Mike Bloomfield), everything here is uniformly excellent and worth hearing well more than once. That alone, of course, would make this yet another worthwhile addition to any serious Dylan collection, but what makes No Direction Home noteworthy as an album is that it is the first Dylan record to offer an aural biography of Dylan. This does a superb job of tracing the development of Dylan as a musician, taking him from a young folkie singing standards, through the rush of his early standards, and to the visionary music he made once he went electric. Put in this context, the electric music on disc two sounds as bracing and brilliant and surprising as it did in the '60s, while the acoustic folk on disc one sounds vibrant, pure, and alive. After all these years, that's a hard accomplishment to pull off, and to the credit of everybody involved in this terrific release, they've been able to make even the most familiar Dylan tunes feel new again.&mdash; Stephen Thomas Erlewine<hr/>In his 2004 memoir Chronicles, Bob Dylan writes of his time in Greenwich Village in the early 1960s: "Down in the Village, nothing seemed wrong. Life was not complex. Everybody was looking for openings. Some would get 'em and they'd be gone and others never did. Mine was coming, but just not yet." No Direction Home traces Dylan's career from the summer of 1961 (when Dylan first moved to New York) through the 1966 release of Blonde on Blonde, and doubles as the soundtrack to the Martin Scorsese documentary of the same name, which will be aired on PBS later this month.Unlike the previous three installments of the Bootleg Series, which captured complete live performances, No Direction Home is a collection of demos, alternate takes, and live recordings, ranging from a barely audible "When I Got Trouble", recorded in 1959 by one of Dylan's high school classmates (making it, in all probability, the first original song Dylan ever laid to tape, all strummy guitar and dim, somersaulting blues-vocals) to the raucous, full-band explosion of "Like a Rolling Stone" (the infamous "Judas!" version, which also appeared on the fourth volume of the Bootleg Series, Live 1966). The songs are laid out chronologically, designed to let listeners see exactly how far Bob Dylan came in six years. 2005 has seen a new glut of Dylan insight, and Chronicles, No Direction Home, and Live at the Gaslight 1962 (a companion piece to No Direction Home, presently available only at your local Starbucks, and sadly worth the stench of burned milk and spilled espresso) are impossibly telling when swallowed together: the end result is a comprehensive glimpse into Dylan-at-21, an oddly detailed examination of a perpetually misunderstood artist."This Land Is Your Land", recorded in 1961 at New York's Carnegie Chapter Hall (little sister to the famed concert space) is an earnest homage to Dylan's beloved muse Woody Guthrie, growled with endearing conviction. "This Land" is followed by a wobbly-voiced "Song to Woody" ("I'm singing you this song, but I can't sing enough/ 'Cause there's not many men who've done the things that you've done"); Dylan's unfettered admiration for Guthrie's work is perfectly (and prominently) posed, captured six years before Dylan perched himself on Guthrie's deathbed. Both feature Dylan's early caw and watchful strums, his veneration for Guthrie's politics and practices heartbreakingly rendered.Dylan has always been an especially convincing protest singer, and given the post-Katrina events of the last week, his heartfelt rendition of "This Land is Your Land" is almost too much to take: it may be every Kindergarten class' premier singalong, but "This Land" is still one of the most elegant and subversive folk songs ever written. Guthrie's anthem was scribbled in terse response to Irving Berlin's comparably one-sided "God Bless America," and the song's telling fourth verse (typically censored in service of patriotism) seems just as apt now as it did in 1940: "One bright sunny morning in the shadow of the steeple/ By the Relief Office I saw my people/ As they stood hungry, I stood there wondering/ If God Blessed America for me." Appropriately, "Song to Woody" features Dylan's response: "It's sick and it's hungry/ It's tired and it's torn/ It looks like it's dying and its hardly been born/ But hey Woody Guthrie, I know that you know." Guthrie and Dylan's distress is palpable, thick: Nudge your dial, put CNN on mute, and sob yourself to sleep. (Don't stop when you get to "Masters of War", or, worst of all, "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall").An early demo of "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" (sometimes circulated as a part of the Witmark Demos) sees Dylan cawing with atypical prettiness, his guitar nimble and soft. Recorded in Lou Levy's office at Columbia ("I opened my guitar case, took the guitar out and began fingering the strings. Lou had put a microphone on the desk in front of me and plugged the cord into one of the tape recorders, all the while chomping on a big, exotic stogie," Dylan writes), "Don't Think Twice" justifies the purchase price of No Direction Home all on its own: Levy had Dylan recording original songs, which would eventually be transposed into sheet music and offered around to other artists, Brill Building-style. Accordingly, Dylan seems less concerned with perpetuating his own mythology than with capturing the grim soul of the song, and we're rewarded with three and a half minutes of pure, un-smirking, alarmingly honest Dylan (read: three minutes more than usual).Disc Two features some outstandingly weird studio outtakes, including Take 9 of Highway 61 Revisited's "Tombstone Blues", complete with loping fuzztone bass, backing vocals, noodling by guitarist Mike Bloomfield of the Butterfield Band, and Dylan's own giggles. Largely electric, Disc Two also offers a source-tape recording of Dylan's infamous 1965 Newport Folk Festival performance of "Maggie's Farm", where he plugged-in, brazenly defaming the acoustic-only preservationists present, most of whom had comprised much of his fanbase (supposedly, Pete Seeger was hovering nervous backstage, muttering to himself and threatening to cut the power lines.) The Newport Folk Festival had long admitted a thorny relationship with amplifiers, even when the music demanded magnification&mdash;festival organizers often stuck howling blues musicians with tiny, whispering stacks, smugly denying their right to wail. Even though Dylan had released the largely electric Bringing It All Back Home earlier that year, "Maggie's Farm" was ultimately received with a mixture of limp, knee-jerk applause and wildly dissatisfied boos&mdash;and folk music changed.No Direction Home is fairly essential listening for Dylan enthusiasts and an interesting history lesson for everyone else. Not only is American politics skewered and forked apart, but one songwriter's artistic evolution is laid out bare. As ever, Dylan reminds us that there is plenty left to learn.&mdash; Amanda Petrusich, Pitchfork

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