In Praise of Robert Zimmerman
So Bob Dylan has a new album out. The critics say it’s pretty good, but for my money, he hasn’t recorded anything truly compelling since John Wesley Harding in 1968 (and yes, I’ll hear arguments for Blood on the Tracks, which is very good but not in the same jaw-dropping way his early work was).
At any rate, I’ve decided that today would be a good day to honor the great Bobby D. by listing my all-time top 10 favoritest Dylan lyrics. Here they are:
“Visions of Johanna” (from Blonde on Blonde)
The peddler now speaks to the countess who’s pretending to care for him,
Sayin’, “Name me someone that’s not a parasite and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him”
“When the Ship Comes in” (from The Times They are a-Changin’):
Oh the foes will rise
With the sleep still in their eyes
And they’ll jerk from their beds and think they’re dreamin’.
But they’ll pinch themselves and squeal
And know that it’s for real,
The hour when the ship comes in.Then they’ll raise their hands,
Sayin’ we’ll meet all your demands,
But we’ll shout from the bow your days are numbered.
And like Pharaoh’s tribe,
They’ll be drownded in the tide,
And like Goliath, they’ll be conquered.
“Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” (from The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan):
So long, honey babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell
Goodbye’s too good a word, babe
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind
“She Belongs to Me” (from Bringing it all Back Home):
She wears an Egyptian ring
That sparkles before she speaks.
She’s a hypnotist collector,
You are a walking antique.
“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” (from Bringing it All Back Home)
All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home.
All your reindeer armies, are all going home.
The lover who just walked out your door
Has taken all his blankets from the floor.
The carpet, too, is moving under you
And it’s all over now, Baby Blue.
“Tombstone Blues” (from Highway 61 Revisted; dedicated to John Hinderaker):
John the Baptist, after torturing a thief,
Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief,
Saying, “Tell me, great hero, but please make it brief,
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?”The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly,
Saying, “Death to all those who would wimper and cry!”
Then dropping a barbel he points to the sky,
And says, “The sun’s not yellow, it’s chicken!”
“A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall” (from The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan):
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’,
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner’s face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’,
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’.
“Love Minus Zero/No Limit” (from Bringing it all Back Home):
In the dime stores and bus stations,
People talk of situations,
Read books, repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall.
Some speak of the future,
My love she speaks softly,
She knows there’s no success like failure
And that failure’s no success at all.The cloak and dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles.
In ceremonies of the horsemen,
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of match sticks,
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.
“Ballad of a Thin Man” (from Highway 61 Revisited):
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To just give a check to
Tax-deductible charity organizationsYou’ve been with the professors
And they’ve all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You’ve been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books
You’re very well read
It’s well known.
“Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream” (from Bringing it all Back Home)
I was riding on the Mayflower
When I thought I spied some land
I yelled for Captain Arab
I have yuh understand
Who came running to the deck
Said, “Boys, forget the whale
Look on over yonder
Cut the engines
Change the sail
Haul on the bowline”
We sang that melody
Like all tough sailors do
When they are far away at sea“I think I’ll call it America”
I said as we hit land
I took a deep breath
I fell down, I could not stand
Captain Arab he started
Writing up some deeds
He said, “Let’s set up a fort
And start buying the place with beads”
Just then this cop comes down the street
Crazy as a loon
He throw us all in jail
For carryin’ harpoons
“God knows you ain’t pretty.
God know it’s true.
God knows there ain’t anybody
ever gonna take the place of you.”
from “Under the Red Sky,” a very under-rated collection
And “Blonde on Blonde” is (and I cannot even imagine entertaining dissent)
the best, the finest, the greatest rock and roll record ever made.
Honorable Mention, at least:
In a world of steel and death
And men who are fighting to be warm
Come in, She said I’ll give ya shelter from the storm
And
There’s a lone soldier on the cross,
smoke pourin’ out of a boxcar door,
You didn’t know it, you didn’t think it could be done,
in the final end he won the war
After losin’ every battle.
mikey
You’re going to dis Blood on the Tracks (“very good,” my eye) but list John Wesley Harding as one of the elite? Listen, John Wesley Harding might be able to sneak on a list of Dylan’s top ten albums, but only if you didn’t count The Basement Tapes. And even then Blood on the Tracks kicks it up and down the block.
…that’s the irrationally belligerent argument, which is really the only way to fight these things. I’ll nod towards rationality by saying that while John Wesley Harding is pretty good (take that!), it’s very somnolent, for the most part lacking the emotional power (in the music and lyrics) that makes Dylan so great. “Dear Landlord” and “All Along the Watchtower” are the only favorites of mine from that album. Whereas “Tangled Up in Blue,” “Idiot Wind,” “You’re Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” “Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts,” and “Shelter from the Storm” are all immortal for me.
You’re going to dis Blood on the Tracks (“very good,” my eye) but list John Wesley Harding as one of the elite? Listen, John Wesley Harding might be able to sneak on a list of Dylan’s top ten albums, but only if you didn’t count The Basement Tapes. And even then Blood on the Tracks kicks it up and down the block.
Okay, so that’s the irrationally belligerent argument, which is really the only way to fight these things. I’ll nod towards rationality by saying that while John Wesley Harding is pretty good (take that!), it’s very somnolent, for the most part lacking the emotional power (in the music and lyrics) that makes Dylan so great. “Dear Landlord” and “All Along the Watchtower” are the only favorites of mine from that album. Whereas “Tangled Up in Blue,” “Idiot Wind,” “You’re Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” “Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts,” and “Shelter from the Storm” are all immortal for me.
I heeard the hoot-owl singing, as they were taking down the tents.
The stars above the barren trees were his only audience.
From the astonishing “Blind Willie McTell.”
“Blood On The Tracks” kicks JWH’s butt all over the Iron Range, IMHO.
I can’t ever look at Blonde on Blonde or The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, without thinking of Tim Robbins in Bob Roberts.
Pretty much everything between Freewheelin’ and Blonde on Blonde.
But especially “Desolation Row” the whole thing. And:
From “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again”
Mona tried to tell me
To stay away from the train line.
She said that all the railroad men
Just drink up your blood like wine.
An’ I said, “Oh, I didn’t know that,
But then again, there’s only one I’ve met
An’ he just smoked my eyelids
An’ punched my cigarette.”
From “On the Road Again”
Well, I asked for something to eat
I’m hungry as a hog
So I get brown rice, seaweed
And a dirty hot dog
I’ve got a hole
Where my stomach disappeared
Then you ask why I don’t live here
Honey, I gotta think you’re really weird.
Your grandpa’s cane
It turns into a sword
Your grandma prays to pictures
That are pasted on a board
Everything inside my pockets
Your uncle steals
Then you ask why I don’t live here
Honey, I can’t believe that you’re for real.
I’ve always been drawn to the absurd and surreal lyrics as much as to the more overtly political. Love this thread.
This Wheel’s on Fire:
If your mem’ry serves you well,
You’ll remember you’re the one
That called on me to call on them
To get you your favors done.
And after ev’ry plan had failed
And there was nothing more to tell,
You knew that we would meet again,
If your mem’ry served you well.
This wheel’s on fire,
Rolling down the road,
Best notify my next of kin,
This wheel shall explode.
Also, agree that BOTT is in its own way overrated.
For Jose-Gary Puppert Chung:
What was it you wanted
I ain’t keepin’ score
Are you the same person
That was here before?
Is it something important?
Maybe not.
What was it you wanted?
Tell me again I forgot.
OMFGWTFRTFMLOLM*A*S*H*!!!!11!1
Dude…you totally forgot MASTERS OF WAR!
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your death’ll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand o’er your grave
‘Til I’m sure that you’re dead
Didja ever stop to think – if Bob Dylan hadn’t changed his name, there’d be a generation of kids named “Zimmerman”?
It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)
Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.
Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover
That you’d just be
One more person crying.
So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing.
As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don’t hate nothing at all
Except hatred.
Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Made everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.
While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.
An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it.
Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not fergit
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.
While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him.
While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in.
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him.
Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn’t talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.
While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me?
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only.
Great choices, plus one:
Well, I’m stranded in the city that never sleeps
Some of these women they just give me the creeps
I’m avoidin’ the Southside the best I can
These memories I got, they can strangle a man
Well I came ashore in the dead of the night
Lot of things can get in the way when you’re tryin’ to do what’s right
You don’t understand it – my feelings for you
You’d be honest with me if only you knew
I’m not sorry for nothin’ I’ve done
I’m glad I fought – I only wish we’d won
The Siamese twins are comin’ to town
People can’t wait – they’re gathered around
When I left my home the sky split open wide
I never wanted to go back there – I’d rather have died
You don’t understand it – my feelings for you
You’d be honest with me if only you knew
My woman got a face like a teddy bear
She’s tossin’ a baseball bat in the air
The meat is so tough you can’t cut it with a sword
I’m crashin’ my car, trunk first into the boards
You say my eyes are pretty and my smile is nice
Well, I’ll sell it to ya at a reduced price
You don’t understand it – my feelings for you
You’d be honest with me, if only you knew
Some things are too terrible to be true
I won’t come here no more if it bothers you
The Southern Pacific leaving at nine forty-five
I’m having a hard time believin’ some people were ever alive
I’m stark naked, but I don’t care
I’m going off into the woods, I’m huntin’ bare
You don’t understand it – my feelings for you
Well, you’d be honest with me if only you knew
I’m here to create the new imperial empire
I’m going to do whatever circumstances require
I care so much for you – didn’t think that I could
I can’t tell my heart that you’re no good
Well, my parents they warned me not to waste my years
And I still got their advice oozing out of my ears
You don’t understand it – my feelings for you
Well, you’d be honest with me if only you knew
Honest With Me, 2002, Love and Theft
Grandpa died last week
And now he’s buried in a box
Everyone still talks about
How badly they are shocked.
But me, I expected it to happen
I knew he’d lost control.
When he built a fire on Main Street
And shot it full of holes.
(Oh! Mama! Is this really the end…? etc.)
My favorite record of all time is “Blonde on Blonde.” My second favorite is “Bringing It All Back Home.”
“Modern Times” is a very good record, very much on par with “Love and Theft” and “Time Out Of Mind.”
And “Blonde on Blonde� is (and I cannot even imagine entertaining dissent)
the best, the finest, the greatest rock and roll record ever made
Need to expand that imagination then. It’s not even the best Dylan album IMO –that’d be Highway 61— because it suffers from typical double-album bloat, i.e. the songs on the third side aren’t that great. As a single album, maybe, as a double, no. Better than Revolver? Hmmmm…..
Then take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.
tolling for the deaf and blind
tolling for the mute
for the mistreated mateless mother
the mistitled prostitute
for the misdemeanor of law
chained and cheated by pursuit
and we gazed upon
the chimes of freedom flashin’
“Masters of War” is a great song that really resonates nowadays. These chickenhawks love to fasten the triggers for others to fire, don’t they?
For what it’s worth, I’m with Henry Holland. After forty years, I still get a kick out of Highway 61.
Henry Holland said,
August 29, 2006 at 1:32
And “Blonde on Blonde� is (and I cannot even imagine entertaining dissent)
the best, the finest, the greatest rock and roll record ever made
Need to expand that imagination then. It’s not even the best Dylan album IMO –that’d be Highway 61– because it suffers from typical double-album bloat, i.e. the songs on the third side aren’t that great. As a single album, maybe, as a double, no. Better than Revolver? Hmmmm…..
Please, Mr Henry,
Mr Henry, Please …
don’t make me have to come over there and prove to you that, yes,
Highway 61 was brilliant, but it was the warm-up session for the
transcendent, incandescent “Blonde on Blonde” …
The Defense budget of the U.S. … now, that’s bloated….
My favorite albums, in this order:
1.) Bringing it All Back Home (side 2 is the greatest side of any album evar- even better’n’side 2 of Abbey Road)
2.) Highway 61
3.) Freewheelin’
4.) John Wesley Harding (most underrated album he ever made)
5.) Blonde on Blonde
6.) Blood on the Tracks
7.) Another Side
And then you got Desire, Times They are a-Changin’ and Nashville Skyline in there somewhere. Then you’ve got a whole lot of crap albums, and the Basement Tapes, which are awesome songs, but poorly recorded.
And “Blonde on Blonde� is (and I cannot even imagine entertaining dissent)
the best, the finest, the greatest rock and roll record ever made
Nope. Not even the best Dylan album.
Brad, I am hurt. Wounded deeply by that.
But, I want to put in for two albums that I don’t think get enough attention:
“Another side of Bob Dylan” (despite the dumb title)
& “Under the Red Sky”
You know, it’s not just the songs …. there are amazing musicians and amazing performances as well as Uncle Bob and his magic words, particularly on “Highway61,”
“Blonde and Blonde,” and “Under the Red Sky.”
Check the liner notes on that last one …. it’s a fantastic roster of players.
Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief
Saying, “Tell me great hero, but please make it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?”
The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly
Saying, “Death to all those who would whimper and cry”
And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky
Saving, “The sun’s not yellow it’s chicken”
Desolation Row … far and away my favourite Dylan song and which unfortunately seems all too appropriate these days
They’re selling postcards of the hanging
They’re painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They’ve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they’re restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row
Cinderella, she seems so easy
“It takes one to know one,” she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning
“You Belong to Me I Believe”
And someone says,” You’re in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave”
And the only sound that’s left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row
Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortunetelling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he’s dressing
He’s getting ready for the show
He’s going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row
Now Ophelia, she’s ‘neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession’s her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah’s great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row
Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row
Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They’re trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She’s in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
“Have Mercy on His Soul”
They all play on penny whistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row
Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains
They’re getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They’re spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the Phantom’s shouting to skinny girls
“Get Outa Here If You Don’t Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row”
Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row
Praise be to Nero’s Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody’s shouting
“Which Side Are You On?”
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain’s tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row
Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can’t read too good
Don’t send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row
“Bringing It All Back Home” and “Blonde on Blonde” are possibly my two favorite albums of all time. Surprised no one has mentioned the mesmerizing, surreal “Subterranean Homesick Blues” yet…
Maggie comes fleet foot
Face full of black soot
Talkin’ that the heat put
Plants in the bed but
The phone’s tapped anyway
Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early May
Orders from the D. A.
Look out kid
Don’t matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes
Don’t try “No Doz”
Better stay away from those
That carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose
Watch the plain clothes
You don’t need a weather man
To know which way the wind blows
“I didn’t mean to treat you so bad;
you shouldn’t take it so personal.
I didn’t mean to make you so sad;
you just happened to be there that’s all.”
All this “Blonde on Blonde” talk brought that to my mind …
a casual and devastating remark.
I heard a story once (a hundred years ago, give or take a decade or two, in the 70s)
from a Teaching Assistant at some Land Grant College in the Midwest.
He said he had grown up in Hibbing and used to work at the local YMCA there
and part of his job was handing out the ping-pong paddles and balls.
As the story goes, the young Robert Allen Zimmerman would come in and get the paddles and a ball to play, but every time it came time to turn them in, young Bob would have the paddles but he would never have the ball.
Now this Teaching Assistant (at the Land Grant College in the Midwest)
said he would always ask young Bob, “Hey, where’s the ball?” and young Bob
would always shrug, and just mumble, “I lost it.” Every time.
I remember when I heard the story (at a party … I’m told I had a good time)
when I heard the story, I thought, wherever Bob is, somewhere in his house,
I bet he’s got every one of those ping-pong balls.
I lived with them on Montague Street
In a basement down the stairs,
There was music in the cafes at night
And revolution in the air.
Then he started into dealing with slaves
And something inside of him died.
She had to sell everything she owned
And froze up inside.
And when finally the bottom fell out
I became withdrawn,
The only thing I knew how to do
Was to keep on keepin’ on like a bird that flew,
Tangled up in blue.
So now I’m goin’ back again,
I got to get to her somehow.
All the people we used to know
They’re an illusion to me now.
Some are mathematicians
Some are carpenter’s wives.
Don’t know how it all got started,
I don’t know what they’re doin’ with their lives.
But me, I’m still on the road
Headin’ for another joint
We always did feel the same,
We just saw it from a different point of view,
Tangled up in blue.
I get kinda roll-eyed on the surreal nonsense songs Dylan wrote intentionally to throw people off, as Joan Baez suggested that he did in the Scorcese doc. Putting on her best giggling Dylan voice, which is really good, she quoted him saying something like, ‘People are gonna ask me what this song was ’bout, hee hee, but I’ll be damned if I know!’
But still, this bit of lunacy is just too inspired and self-assured not to cart out:
Oh, god said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”
Abe said, “Man you must be puttin’ me on!”
God said, “No”, Abe said “What?”
God said, “You can do what you want Abe but
The next time you see me comin’ you better run”
Well, Abe said “Where do you want this killin’ done”
God said, “Out on highway 61.”
You’ve got a lot of nerve to say you are my friend
When I was down, you just stood there grinning
You’ve got a lot of nerve to say you’ve got a helping hand to lend
You just want to be on the side that’s winning
Positively 4th Street
Positively 4th Street
You got a lotta nerve
To say you are my friend
When I was down
You just stood there grinning
You got a lotta nerve
To say you gota helping hand to lend
You just want to be on
The side that’s winning
You say I let you down
You know it’s not like that
If you’re so hurt
Why then don’t you show it
You say you lost your faith
But that’s not where it’s at
You had no faith to lose
And you know it
I know the reason
That you talk behind my back
I used to be among the crowd
You’re in with
Do you take me for such a fool
To think I’d make contact
With the one who tries to hide
What he don’t know to begin with
You see me on the street
You always act surprised
You say, “How are you?” “Good luck”
But you don’t mean it
When you know as well as me
You’d rather see me paralyzed
Why don’t you just come out once
And scream it
No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I’d rob them
And now I know you’re dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don’t you understand
It’s not my problem
I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you
Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you
Will this fix the tag?
Curious:
Any opinions on “Tarantula” ?
And what about the mountain of books aBout Uncle Bob?
Has anyone read Christopher Ricks “Visions of Sin” ?
Or Greil Marcus: “Invisible Republic” ?
What about “Chronicles” ?
Like I said: just curious.
Chronicles is good. Haven’t finished it, but my bf did, loved it. Also, the Scorsese documentary is awesome. But, I dunno, I’m biased, not at all objective. For me, pre-accident Dylan + Martin Scorsese = four hours of unadulterated pleasure.
After seeing Scorsese’s documentary…. with those bits from, I think, ten hours of filmed interviews…. I noticed word for word sections that were in Chronicles. I suspect Dylan used the interview tapes for the book.
I noticed word for word sections that were in Chronicles. I suspect Dylan used the interview tapes for the book.
Yeah, I noticed that too. Eh, it doesn’t bother me, though. At least it’s a consistant version. That’s rare with Dylan 😉
Dylan & consistent…. nope, not two words seen together very often.
I just see it as a perfectly good working approach, (the use of the interview tapes)
particularly suitable for memoir/autobiography.
I just see it as a perfectly good working approach
Oh, yeah, absolutely, I agree. It’d be dumb not to use resources at hand.
You know, Dylan (and James Taylor and the Dead and Tommy James) were among the bands that helped get me thru a miserable time. And even today I am grateful to those people who made those songs that I heard on the radio and on tape machines and I sung in my head at full volume to take my mind off the fear and the misery. But now, 2006, I’m gonna say this. I LOVE Dylan, but the guy who out-Dylans Dylan, who really spoke to me, with the great band and the amazing lyrics and, well, not a great singer, was Warren Zevon. Now there’s the guy. And “Excitable Boy” is a better album (taking out the context of the times) than any Dylan album…
mikey
Hey mr. Tamborine Man (just ask Hunter Thompson)
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.
Though I know that evenin’s empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I’m branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street’s too dead for dreaming.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin’ ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can’t feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin’.
I’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.
Though you might hear laughin’, spinnin’, swingin’ madly across the sun,
It’s not aimed at anyone, it’s just escapin’ on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin’.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin’ reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it’s just a ragged clown behind,
I wouldn’t pay it any mind, it’s just a shadow you’re
Seein’ that he’s chasing. – link
OT -but have you ever heard – Play It All Night Long by warren zevon
Grandpa pissed his pants again
He don’t give a damn
Brother Billy has both guns drawn
He ain’t been right since Vietnam
“Sweet home Alabama”
Play that dead band’s song
Turn those speakers up full blast
Play it all night long
Daddy’s doing Sister Sally
Grandma’s dying of cancer now
The cattle all have brucellosis
We’ll get through somehow
“Sweet home Alabama”
Play that dead band’s song
Turn those speakers up full blast
Play it all night long
I’m going down to the Dew Drop Inn
See if I can drink enough
There ain’t much to country living
Sweat, piss, jizz and blood
“Sweet home Alabama”
Play that dead band’s song
Turn those speakers up full blast
Play it all night long
No offense intended, but that’s the weirdest list I’ve seen in a while:
Dylan (and James Taylor and the Dead and Tommy James)
Just imagine it: Tommy James & the Shondells opening for the Grateful Dead …
wait a minute …. this is starting to make sense ….
I married Isis on the fifth day of May
But I could not hold on to her very long
So I cut off my hair, and I rode straight away
To the wild, unknown places where I could not go wrong
…
I was thinking about turquoise, I was thinking about gold
I was thinking about diamonds, and the world’s biggest necklace
As we rode through the canyon, through the devilish cold
I was thinking about Isis, how she thought I was so reckless.
How she told me that one day we’d meet up again,
And things would be different, the next time we wed
If I only could hang on and just be her friend;
I still can’t remember all the best things she said.
I’ll Second It’s Alright Ma
“While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.”
No offense intended, but that’s the weirdest list I’ve seen in a while:
Yep. Dood, South Vietnam in 1970 was the weirdest trip you can conceive of. Ever done disneyland on acid? That’s weird. 1970 in the belly was that times a thousand. And it all made sense at the time. Or maybe we just didn’t know any better….
mikey
Ever done disneyland on acid?
I always assumed Disneyland was like acid, but more expensive.
If you chew up 1500 mics, you don’t need to buy anything…
mikey
The next day everybody got up
Seein’ if the clothes were dry.
The dogs were barking, a neighbor passed,
Mama, of course, she said, “Hi!”
“Have you heard the news?” he said, with a grin,
“The Vice-President’s gone mad!”
“Where?” “Downtown.” “When?” “Last night.”
“Hmm, say, that’s too bad!”
“Well, there’s nothin’ we can do about it,” said the neighbor,
“It’s just somethin’ we’re gonna have to forget.”
“Yes, I guess so,” said Ma,
Then she asked me if the clothes was still wet.
That was Clothes Line Saga, by the way.
Actually, weirdly enough the line that’s always in my head is
“Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride
You will not die, it’s not poison”
It’s something I use to remind myself to cool off and not get into pointless fights. Which, man, that sounds kinda dumb, but it’s worked more than once.
Which, man, that sounds kinda dumb, but it’s worked more than once.
Hey MJ, I’m buying. The whole concept makes sense to me. A guy once told me, when you’re too scared, when you’re gonna panic and do something stupid, he told me “Your tongue’s stuck to the roof of your mouth. Go ahead, check. See? Unstick your tongue, let that stress drop, and you won’t panic. Your fear will start to melt.” Know what? It works. Every time….
mikey
Don’t the moon look good, mama, shining through the trees
Don’t the brakeman look good, mama, flagging down the Double E
Don’t the sun look good going down over the seas
But don’t my gal look fine when she’s coming after me.
Don’t the moon look good, mama, shining through the trees
Don’t the brakeman look good, mama, flagging down the Double E
Don’t the sun look good going down over the seas
But don’t my gal look fine when she’s coming after me.
Oh HELLZ yeah motherfucker. THAT is the good shit. I can’t believe I forgot it. The best line is the last: “I wanna be your lover, baby, I don’t wanna be your boss / Don’t say I never warned you when your train gets lost.”
Also- to the gentleman who mentioned Warren Zevon above. Yes. That is a good lyric. I also like, “Don’t the sun look angry through the trees / Don’t the trees look like crucified thieves / Don’t ya feel like desperadoes under the eaves?”
And pick any line in “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner” or “The French Inhaler” and you’re gold.
Oh, and two words. Mohammeds. Radio.
mikey
mikey- nice. I think that whole first album is one of the great records of all time. He recorded a lot of other good shit over the years, but nothing topped that debut.
working title for “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry” was
(wait for it….) “Phantom Engineer”
[Please, do not ask why. It’s a Bob thing.]
Ain’t nothin’ left here, partner
Just the dust of a plague that’s left this whole town afraid
From now on, this’ll be where you’re from
Let the dead bury the dead, your time will come
He let the hot iron blow as he raised the shade
Ain’t no goin’ back when the foot of pride come down
Ain’t no goin’ back.
Def. the best song from Dylan’s Xtian years. Some scorched-earth Old Testament type shit. Check out Lou Reed’s cover from the 30th anniversary concert.
PS I second “Blind Willie McTell” (arguably Dylan’s best song) and “Mohammed’s Radio,” clearly the best song WZ ever recorded. Even if I don’t get it at all, it gets me every time. Somewhere out there on the Internets there’s a live duo recording of Zevon and Jackson Browne, just piano and guitar, and the version of that song is among the best things ever.
whetstone —
How’d you miss:
“Make all this money from sin.
Build big universities to study in.
Sing “Amazing Grace” all the way to the Swiss bank.”
Can’t imagine someone picking Zevon, whom I love, over Dylan. Doesn’t compute for me at all.
Somebody also ought to mention “Tweeter And The Monkeyman,” Bobby’s Springsteen parody, that he did with the Traveling Wilburys.
Kudos for the mention of “Isis”, a personal favorite. My old band used to do it, introduced as “a Dylan song our bass player likes”. In any event, as groovy as His Bobness’ words are, these days I’m diggin’ much more on the musical side of things. The wild gypsy violin of the aforementioned “Isis”. The driving groove of “Groom’s Still Waiting At The Altar”. The lazy sultriness of “Spanish Harlem Incident”. Total bleak hopelessness in “The Ballad of Hollis Brown”, the bile of “Jokerman” and the transcendent, otherworldy joy of “Series Of Dreams”.
Good shit, man.
Tragically, I can’t listen to Dylan anymore. Harmonica and migraines do not mix. And I’ve *always* got a migraine. Can’t listen to bagpipes, either. Some might call that an up-side.
Nice choices Brad. Even if Dylan had done nothing else, he would still be great simply for getting “tax deductible charity organisations” into a song.
You’re very wrong about the 1968 thing, though. And clearly the best bit of Visions of Johanna is this:
If you ask my kids (ages 8 and 6) “Is the Sun yellow?”, they will invariably respond, “No, it’s chicken!”
…………
George Lewis told the Englishman, the Italian, and the Jew,
“You can’t open up your minds, boys, to every conceivable point of view”
They’ve got Charles Darwin trapped out there on Highway 9
The Judge says to the High Sheriff, “I want him dead or alive”
“Either way, I don’t care”
High water everywhere
………….
My absolute favorite thing about Dylan is that he is the worst filmaker ever to live. It is comforting to know that even someone that magnificently talented, is really, really bad at something. Renaldo and Clara is a mess, but man, Masked and Anonymous…….never before or since ave so many talented people combined to make such a steaming pile of dung.
I know it’s from the Christian years, but one of my favourites is “Every Grain of sand”
In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There’s a dyin’ voice within me reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.
Don’t have the inclination to look back on any mistake,
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay.
I gaze into the doorway of temptation’s angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer’s dream, in the chill of a wintry light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me.
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.
I love Masked and Anonymous. It’s a Dylan freaks only thing, for sure, but on those terms it’s great. Way better than Renaldo and Clara. And the soundtrack is outstanding.
Sorry, Ginger, but I am a Dylan freak*, and Masked was a turd. If it weren’t Dylan’s film, I would put it in the “so bad it’s good” category, but I can’t help but feel a little embarassed by the whole thing (try watching it with someone who isn’t a Dylan fan, and then trying to convince them that yes, this man is a genius).
* – How big of a Dylan freak am I? I actually sat through “Catchfire” just to see his cameo. Speaking of which, does anyone know where you can get a copy of “Paradise Cove”? Dylan as a chauffeur? That has got to be fun.
All this way, and nobody has yet mentioned:
“Jewels and binoculars, hang from the head of the mule.”
Classic.
“try watching it with someone who isn’t a Dylan fan, and then trying to convince them that yes, this man is a genius”
Try watching Dylan live thise days with someone who isn’t a Dylan fan, and then trying to convince them that, yes, this man is a genius.
errr – I swear I checked this site ten times yesterday, and I didn’t see this post until just now.
I second Ginger Yellow, that is my favorite verse from my favorite Dylan song, and I have to jump on the Blonde on Blonde bandwagon. (but only because on both Bringing it all Back Home and Highway 61 Revisitied not all of the instruments are in tune, and it drives me up a wall. I can’t even listen to “Queen Jane.” I’m also with those folks who think Blood on the Tracks is overrated, or at the very least, overexposed. “Idiot Wind” is definitely in my top 3, but I have to be in a particular mood to listen to the rest of them.
But 70 comments, and I have to be the first one to mention Desire, which has more going for it than just “Hurricane?” A couple of people mentioned “Isis,” but my favorite song from that album is “Romance in Durango:”
Past the Aztec ruins and the ghosts of our people
Hoofbeats like castanets on stone.
At night I dream of bells in the village steeple,
And I see the bloody face of Ramon.
Was it me that shot him down in the cantina?
Was it my hand that held the gun?
Come, let us fly, my Magdalena
The dogs are barking and what’s done is done.
If I ever have a daughter, I’m naming her Magdalena.
oh, I also forgot, from Thin Man:
You raise up your head, and ask ‘is this where it is?’
and somebody points to you, and says ‘it’s his.’
And you say ‘what’s mine,’ and someone else says ‘well, what is,’
and you say ‘oh my God, am I here all alone?’
Best. Away message. Ever.
Ginger Yellow – I took my mom to see Dylan a few years ago, when he was on tour with Van Morrison (she loves him), and she thought he was great.
I had heard that his live shows during the late 80s and early 90s were crap, but by the time I saw him in 1998 or 1999 he was awesome. A kick-ass band, and he sang really well. Has he gone into decline again? That would be too bad, because now I have the time and the disposable income to go to concerts again.
I couldn’t say for sure because I failed to get tickets for his last couple of UK tours. I’ve seen him six times since 1998, though, and in four of them he was fantastic, two pretty bad. But especially since the histoplasmosis incident his voice is pretty cracked, which makes it hard for non-fans to follow many of the songs because they don’t know the lyrics. I went to one of the fantastic gigs with three Dylan freak mates and two non-fans. We freaks all thought it was amazing, but the non-fans thought it was appaling and left halfway through.
Well, I asked the doctor if I could see you
It’s bad for your health, he said
Yes, I disobeyed his orders
I came to see you
But I found him there instead
You know, I don’t mind him cheatin’ on me
But I sure wish he’d take that off his head
Your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat
Well, I see you got a new boyfriend
You know, I never seen him before
Well, I saw him
Makin’ love to you
You forgot to close the garage door
You might think he loves you for your money
But I know what he really loves you for
It’s your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat
Also love this song for one of the worst guitar solos ever.
Listening to Hard Rain after Katrina hit was an amazing experience – that song is like a tarot reading, you can always read something insightful into it.
William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
at a Baltimore hotel society gathering
with a cane that he twirled from his diamond ring finger
and the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
as they rode him in custody down to the station
and booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder
The first time that I went there
they treated me so fine
man alive, I’m telling you
I thought the whole dang town was mine
Champaign
Champaign, Illinois
Oh, I certainly do enjoy
A taste of Champaign….Illinois
there is a single line for me that encapsulates the ethic of the young dylan, his instinctive style. from my favourite dylan record back pages:
Ah, but I was so much older then,
’m younger than that now.
deep, layered, this record goes all the way down the vortex
My back pages
Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin’ high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
We’ll meet on edges, soon, said i
Proud ’neath heated brow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
’m younger than that now.
Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth
Rip down all hate, I screamed
Lies that life is black and white
Spoke from my skull. I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
Girls’ faces formed the forward path
From phony jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history
Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, though, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
A self-ordained professor’s tongue
Too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
Equality, I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
In a soldier’s stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I’d become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My existence led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.