Well?
Ruby Begonia
Wayne: A Face in the Crowd
> Didja watch it? Whudja think?
If you're asking about the Bob Dylan thing, it's hard for me to be
objective. Zimmie's tunes are a common thread running through the major
turning points of my life. A few years--maybe five or six--after JFK's
assassination, I happened to be...well, let's say having a psychotropic
experience with an intimate friend.
She had stacked some albums on the changer and we were
half-paying-attention to the images on her TV with the stereo supplying
a soundtrack.
Every once in awhile, there was a serendipitous moment where the video
and the audio seemed to have unexpected sync. I guess it must have been
close to November 22nd, and suddenly the TV was showing clips of Jack,
Jackie, Caroline and John-John. The usual stock footage of touch
football, family on the beach, progressing into the ominous ramp-up to
the motorcade in Dallas.
All of a sudden, we were both in tears. "Hard Rain" was on the
soundtrack, and little JFK Jr. was saluting his father's funeral
procession.
On or about September 14, 2001 I was sitting alone watching new Yorkers
searchingg through the rubble at Ground Zero, and something made me
play "Hard Rain" again.
I can't hear that song without thinking about the ugliness wrought by
the murderous bastards in our midst. I know it's only a song.
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways,
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin',
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin',
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
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',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Copyright © 1963; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music
Dylan made the point that he isn't a topical songwriter. His lyrics are
also kind of murky and tantalizing. I've heard it said that the
sentiment is clear but the meaning is shaped by the listener.
Bittersweet is an adjective I'd use to describe my adult life, and Bob
Dylan's poetry fits bittersweet like a glove.
Oh, yeah. If you were asking about something else:
***never mind***
Pastor Mac
"Ruby Begonia" <junkyard...@aol.com> wrote:
> Didja watch it? Whudja think?
Short answer is that he seems very much like a guy who did not want the
mantle of being the "voice of a generation." The folk music which
propelled him to fame seemed to be more a vehicle rather than something
he truly wanted to embody, he seemed to say. The fans, OTOH, saw it
differently. They wanted Woody Guthrie but being Woody Guthrie provided
the opportunity to plug in at Newport. That seems to be all that
mattered to him. The chants of "Traitor!" on the '65 tour fell flat.
I saw another show where Mary Travers was reminiscing about the Village
folk scene and Zimmie's name was profoundly absent from her lips.
Telling, I thought.
--
Pax,
Pastor Mac
Made on a Macintosh.
Junkyard Ballerina
The old footage....absolutely wonderful, imo. Pure pleasure to watch.
Of course, I won't share my personal stories about Dylan's music...and
all that music, -here-, but thanks for sharing yours, Wayne.
One part of Bob Dylan that Scorsese left out...and I'm thinkin' by
request...is that Dylan is very generous with his writing...his lyrics.
Although he was a clever businessman (who knew!) in those
days...something that rarely goes along with being an artist, he was
and is open and giving with his lyrics notebooks...his art.
Over the years I've realized there are people who can't get past his
"voice"...should be "voices", really, because he is an actor who
changed his voice often according to the song & situation. It always
surprises me to hear people rag him for his sound. His sound is one
thing that was always an after-thought for me, except for some of the
words he stressed by dragging out syllables (sorry if there's a term
for that..I don't know what it is).
Anyway, whatever, I'm glad I live in a time where there is Bob Dylan.
My mother is the one who introduced his music to me, cocking her ear,
saying, "Listen ...did you hear that..". (oops..a personal story...)
xoxo LiZa
jack freeman
"Ruby Begonia" <junkyard...@aol.com> wrote:
> Didja watch it? Whudja think?
I thought it was brilliant. Scorsese was the perfect man for the
job. It is amazing to consider the scope of Dylan's career. It
spans decades, like Miles Davis or Paul Simon. On the question
of his technique and intonation - I think it can be fairly said that
it is perfect unto his purposes. If Rainy Day Woman had been
sung by anyone else, it's affect and mood would have been
totally different, and lessened. His songs, each of them, capture
a very specific and powerful mood, and have the further ability
of staying with the listener for many years without losing their
immediacy. His records always sound to me like they could
have been recorded yesterday. Or tomorrow.
He knows, and has always known, exactly what he is doing.
Looking forward to part II tonight.
Thanks for asking.
Junkyard Ballerina
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.