Happy Birthday Mr. Dylan

Ten years ago you couldn't get a picture of the man because he wore a hoodie and kept to himself - his face well hidden. Now days, he's sporting some fine cowboy attire and struttin' his stuff again.

Here's one of many personal favorites of mine: the Hard Rain version of "Shelter from the Storm".

Some pieces are coming together….

When the NYTimes ran an article about one of Bob Dylan’s sources of material for Modern Times, it immediately reminded me of Confessions of a Yakuza by Junichi Saga. In much the same way as Confederate poet Henry Timrod worked his words into Dylan’s lyrics, so too did Junichi Saga find several Yakuza lines in Love and Theft. Both stories had a refreshing episode: upon hearing about the borrowing of Timrod’s phrases biographer Walter Cisco was delighted at the nod and the recognition it would earn the poet. Likewise, when Junichi Saga heard about Dylan’s use of his material, he was flattered. Meanwhile, Dylan pretty much never flinched or felt a need to explain. Why would he? After all, as he described himself in Scorsese’s documentary No Direction Home, he’s a 'musical expeditionary.' Perhaps the best phrase to describe him. As such, he’s free from any rules the bind the rest of us. Not that his last transgressions were offenses. But it wouldn’t matter if it was, because it is Dylan.

However, the connections between Timrod and Modern Times don’t stop with lines from poems. I’m not sure who actually suggested the idea, but there apparently floats a notion that the title of Modern Times is a rearranging of the letters that spell Henry Timrod. Now before you spit your drink out in a fine mist of surprise at the absurdity of it all….before you notice that the title and the name are hardly a match in letters – consider that the six letters (three in each) that do not have counterparts spell the telling word shymer eshmyr rhymes. That’s right! Just what was Dylan thinking? What clues does this offer to those trying to break the Dylaninci Code?

Perhaps two poems from Timrod will offer more clues into the bottomless mystery of Bob Dylan, and, if not, perhaps they will provide a glimpse from the poet himself:


At Magnolia Cemetery (Charlston, 1967)
SLEEP sweetly in your humble graves,
Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause;
Though yet no marble column craves
The pilgrim here to pause.

In seeds of laurel in the earth
The blossom of your fame is blown,
And somewhere, waiting for its birth,
The shaft is in the stone!

Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years
Which keep in trust your storied tombs,
Behold! your sisters bring their tears,
And these memorial blooms.

Small tributes! but your shades will smile
More proudly on these wreaths to-day,
Than when some cannon-moulded pile
Shall overlook this bay.

Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!
There is no holier spot of ground
Than where defeated valor lies,
By mourning beauty crowned.



Poet! If on a Lasting Fame Be Bent
Poet! if on a lasting fame be bent
Thy unperturbing hopes, thou will not roam
Too far from thine own happy heart and home;
Cling to the lowly earth, and be content!
So shall thy name be dear to many a heart;
So shall the noblest truths by thee be taught;
The flower and fruit of wholesome human thought
Bless the sweet labors of thy gentle art.
The brightest stars are nearest to the earth,
And we may track the mighty sun above,
Even by the shadow of a slender flower.
Always, O bard, humility is power!
And thou mayst draw from matters of the hearth
Truths wide as nations, and as deep as love.

Dylan hotter than Jessica Simpson?

He sure as hell is! He's got his first #1 album since Desire, which, incidentally, was also a masterpiece as well as his biggest selling album. He beat out Jessica Simpson and that other singer with the blonde hair for sales last week. Kudos, Dylan!

Thanks to Ed Copeland for sharing the news with me.

Bob Dylan's Modern Times

I have a post of the album up at Edward Copeland on Film.

Happy Birthday Bob Dylan

65 years old and going on 130.

I thought there would be more discussion about last week’s Bob Dylan documentary on PBS….

but I was mistaken.

John Derbyshire had a typical piece – mainly about where he was when he first discovered Dylan. While a testament to the artist, it had little to do with Scorcese’s film. Bulldog at Ankle Biting Pundits, apparently not a Dylan fan, asked his readers to explain why Dylan was such a big deal. Sadly, the readers weren’t much help. In fact, few even came to his defense - and of those few, nobody praised Dylan’s singing ability. That’s a pity, since, by my seemingly singular estimation, he’s the best singer out there.

David Yaffe at Slate had an actual review, though he seemed to take exception that Dylan’s new documentary came “complete with a Starbucks tie-in, an Apple logo”. Such is life, Yaffe, such is life. He also faulted it for not mentioning drugs. Neither gripe warrants much attention. Dylan was an opportunist at 19 and he still is at 64. Like all rock stars. And drugs? Such an omission in No Direction Home is very minor, especially when you can just look at the young Dylan and tell the score. Yaffe seemed to notice this:

…to the bleary-eyed near rock 'n' roll suicide of '66. We witness him singing "I'm not weary" in a '66 performance of "Mr. Tambourine Man," but he looks weary as hell. Has any 25-year-old ever been so jaded?

Yaffe makes other good observations, but treats Dylan’s control over the project as he would some politician engaged in a cover up:

But before you get too excited about this crossroads meeting [Dylan/Scorcese], viewer, beware: This project was co-produced by Dylan's manager Jeff Rosen. Scorsese was brought in well after Rosen had already conducted the interviews and approved the material. What will all these assholes be saying about Dylan? In this "Martin Scorsese Picture," whatever the Dylan people want.

Mickey Kaus had the most thoughtful take on Dylan:

The excellent PBS Dylan documentary last night convinced me he was neither the voice of his generation nor all that influential--more of a sui generis artist. If he hadn't done what he did nobody else would have. Chuck Berry, on the other hand, was influential--he diverted a mighty river of popular music. But if Chuck Berry hadn't done what he did arguably somebody else would have, soon enough.

I thought No Direction Home was excellent as well, perhaps the best thing Scorcese has done since his Personal Journey through American movies. What impressed me most, though, was that it showed a consistency to his character – something that the litany of Dylan biographies have yet been able to do. Much credit for that should go to the new interviews with Dylan (from about 10 hours of material! Bootleg, please!). Granted, he doesn’t say much, specifically, yet generalities allow him to be more candid than otherwise possible. He was even downright talkative. The sum total of the other interviews contributed to this consistancy.

Scorcese constantly cuts forward to Dylan’s ’66 tour – seemingly to draw a stark contrast to his chronological counterpart in the narrative, but those contrasts are drawn ever closer in the narrative.

BEFORE THE BETRAYAL!

Dylan’s a young lad way up north in Hibbing, MN. Small town life interrupted by terrible freezes. According to Dylan: “It was so cold, you couldn't be bad." I remember the Minneapolis weatherman describing it as “pipe-busting batter-drenching” cold – so cold that it couldn’t snow. And so it was. Scorcese manages to show Hibbing as a small vibrant community. A place with a main street and parades – the circus and sideshow barkers. But those barkers weren’t the only links to the rest of the country. AM radio was another. There’s a nice sequence between young boy Dylan listening to the radio and a shot of the thin Minnesota night sky, receiving those remote signals – Hibbing was an outpost.

Dylan doesn’t seem to mind parting with his home, or his family. He’s remarkably cold when it comes to that stuff. By all accounts, he’s a cocksure young buck soaking up influences like a super-duper-kwicker-picker-upper. He describes himself as a “musical expeditionary”. He is.

He rolls into the village of freaks, and out freaks them all with his Huck Finn demeanor! No one ever thought to ask him about his okie accent. Meanwhile, he’s soaking. And singing. And soaking. He taps into the protest scene, makes the best protest songs they ever heard, and walks away.

THE BETRAYAL!

Part two goes through the transition pretty well up through the Newport ’65 show. Although attention is paid to the Highway 61 sessions, there is no mention of the Blonde on Blonde sessions, which could have been a natural counterweight to the chaotic tour. The documentary breaks down and ends abruptly. Instead of the motorcycle accident as an ending (as forshadowed) we end during the ’66 tour and a few titles mentioning the accident. And curiously no mention of his wife! Yet part two is half an hour shorter. Dylan’s people could have reconsidered.

Nevertheless, this is fine documentary. The live performances are great and Scorcese ties all the material into a gripping story. It would be a real shame if No Direction Home isn’t followed up with two other installments covering the remainder of his career.