I don't want to hear your Bob Dylan impression.

When you think of Bob Dylan, you don't think of the grinnin' fool of Nashville Skyline. And you don't think of the sour jam-rocker from Dylan and the Dead, the Dylan that stand-ups and metalheads like to rail on, or even the grim face of death he plays in that new Victoria's Secret commercial (fans of postmodernism: If you haven't seen this, you're clearly not watching enough TV). You think of Dylan the street-singing wordsmith with the harmonica around his neck, mumbling something about how many roads and the jingle-jangle morning and all that. Dylan changed the world simply because Dylan wrote songs so unlike anything that came before -- poetic, tuneful, a little sinister maybe, but always shot through with a healthy dose of wit. Dylan's legacy (fodder for bad imitation though it may be) is a picture of him alone, playing stark, brilliantly constructed songs to whoever would listen.

And with the latest Dylan release, the impossibly titled Bootleg Series, Vol. 6: Bob Dylan Live 1964 - Concert at Philharmonic Hall, we're treated to just that. Taped before a very sympathetic audience on Halloween night, young man Dylan holds the giant room totally rapt, hanging on his every carefully chosen word. He forgets lyrics, makes jokes that don't really make sense and sings off-key on more than one occasion. But he also takes a little guitar and that raspy voice and makes some magic happen. And 40 years later, even on CD, whatever happened that night still sounds incredible.

Dylan starts off things with a rambling take on the still relevant "The Times They Are A-Changin'," leaving little doubt that this night was something special. The plaintive "Gates of Eden" is dark and beautiful, and "Mr. Tambourine Man" is lovely as ever. And, in these times of war, the take on "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" is just as affecting now as it ever was.

Dylan sticks fairly close to the original takes of these songs, but since he's always been about letting the people hear music, it's great to hear him playing to a crowd and allowing it to respond to his talent.

The second disc is even better. His impassioned take on "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" (still the best breakup song ever written) is worth the price of the disc alone. The low rumble of "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll" is absolutely gut wrenching, made even more so by the hush of the crowd. And when Joan Baez comes up and joins Bob for a couple songs, things get very interesting. "Mama, You Been On My Mind" only helps to intensify my time-travel crush on the woman, as she and Bob sing in even better harmony than they did on 2002's Rolling Thunder Revue. "It Ain't Me, Babe" is as good as ever, and when Joan leaves the stage and Bob closes things out with "All I Really Want To Do," you'll want to start the whole thing over again.

The set isn't just some document of some bygone era, some old man playing some 40-year-old songs. It's actually one of the most vital pieces of music you're likely to hear this year and essentially not only for Dylan fans, but anyone who's ever loved to hear somebody singing over an acoustic guitar. This is the source.

So why, then, don't I want to hear your Bob Dylan impression? Because it's friggin' blasphemy, is why. Pay your respects. And check out Philharmonic.