Michael Gray

It is Sunday, July 25, 1965, at the Newport Folk Festival in Rhode Island, one of the most anticipated events on the American folk calendar.

Darkness has fallen on a gently rolling field crammed with eager music fans.

46-year-old Pete Seeger, an elder statesman of this music community and a member of the festival board, now emerges from backstage.

Slim, with the receding hairline, he crosses the empty stage and adjusts the microphone.

It's almost time for the headline act.

24-year-old Bob Dylan is a rising star, but the folk community still feels a sense of ownership over him.

It was Newport, after all, that helped to make his name.

Even so, Seeger is a little nervous right now.

He's heard rumors of the afternoon's sound check, murmurs that not all the instruments in the set are acoustic.

Now the performer himself appears at the edge of the stage and gives him a nod.

Seeger introduces Dylan and steps aside, and the audience erupts.

But when he steps out of the shadows onto the dark stage, he looks nothing like the young troubadour they know and love.

Gone is the traditional folk uniform of jeans and work shirt.

In their place is a black leather jacket that could have come straight from London's Carnaby Street.

He still wears his harmonica holder around his neck, but in his hands is an electric guitar, something the folk purists see as a symbol of capitalism.

With his band behind him, Dylan begins defiantly strumming his song, Maggie's Farm.

The noise of the electric instruments hits the audience like a shockwave.

There's some scattered applause as the audience tries to work out what's going on.

Some cover their ears, while others lean forward, caught up in the raw, unfiltered energy, feeling something new crackle through the summer air.

Seeger, though, is unimpressed.