(Personal reflections inspired by Bob Dylan songs)
Song: “I Shall Be Released”
Album: The Basement Tapes Raw
Release Date: November 2014
Pilgrimage 2 of 3
Back in Master Blueprint # 10, I wrote of my pilgrimage-like visit to Bob Dylan’s hometown of Hibbing Minnesota in March, which occurred during an advantageous work trip to nearby International Falls. While there, I gained some great new insights into the man and his music by meeting up with a pair of Lindas (Stroback and Whiteside), who were local experts on all things Dylan, and who were more than gracious with their time, expertise, and openheartedness. At the time, I considered that trip a one-off experience for this blog series; a fortuitous opportunity to write an entry based on a personal visit to the place where Bob Dylan spent his formative years.
Here’s the thing, however… like many of us, Bob Dylan has had multiple lifeblood homes, and one of the most important ones, Woodstock, New York in the Catskills, has been gnawing at me for at least 30 years. I mean, I’ve been all around the periphery of this Appalachian plateau, including the Taconic Region to the East; the Big Apple to the South; Albany, Cooperstown and Binghamton to the North; and even the Delaware Water Gap and the Poconos on the far side. Yeah, I’d pretty much orbited the Catskills, and yet, amazingly I had never landed my ship anywhere within them.
That changed this past Monday, and it was for the most part a spur of the moment decision. The notion began to seep in two evenings earlier as I sat by the small homemade fish pond in my Pepperell, Massachusetts backyard, watching the sunset. As was the case with Hibbing, I was once again seeing “my light come shining from the west unto the east”. Indeed, this was the spontaneous, fate-driven side of me whispering in my ear; the side that used to be much more successful at pulling off such capers. By Sunday morning, the thought had evolved enough to run the crazy idea by my wife Nancy who, seeing that I was serious, pondered a moment or two before deciding it was best I go it alone. I was bummed but at the same time I knew this would give me more opportunity to focus, as well as the flexibility to play lots of Bob Dylan music – and do it loudly - from the minute I stepped into my car that early morning to the minute I stepped out that late evening (which I indeed did do). It would also allow me to take a few minor risks without involving Nancy, which I will explain. (Side Note: For those who are curious about the “Pilgrimage 2 of 3” at the top of this entry, good for you. Yeah, I have another one in mind by year’s end, and I hope to have company. More on that of course in a later entry).
I awoke at 6 am that Monday morning and set off for the Mass Pike, where I commenced to head westbound to its terminus and beyond into the Empire State. Within 4 hours of pulling out of my driveway, I found myself on the other side of the Hudson River, down NY Thruway 87, and taking Exit 20, Saugerties, Woodstock, New York. Saugerties was a name almost as familiar to me as its far more famous neighboring town to the west. This after all was the town where three of the five members of the Band - Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, and Garth Hudson - found and purchased an unassuming ranch home in early 1967, which they dubbed “Big Pink”. Big Pink is where the Band and Bob Dylan would privately record the renowned “Basement Tapes” over a 5-month period that spring and summer (see Master Blueprint # 12). And Big Pink is where I would be making my first planned visit.
But first some breakfast, which I tracked down at a classic eatery in downtown Saugerties called The Village Diner. This brief visit would lead to my first bizarro moment of a brilliantly bizarro day. I was walking along the sidewalk in front of the diner, not quite at the point of turning onto the ramp which would lead me up and inside, when a gentleman at the top of the ramp turned around and called down to me as he was making his way in. “Is that a book about diners in your hand?” he asked with a heavy British accent. Huh? What prompted that? I started to raise my book to show him it was Clinton Heylin’s voluminous Bob Dylan biography Behind the Shades Revisited. Before I could elaborate in word, he took in what he saw and stated “oh, much better than diners”. I suddenly thought, this one way ‘exchange’ must be my version of “This Englishman said ‘Fab’” (for those of you climbing the Dylan-lyric-ladder, look it up). He then went on to ask, “why do they call them diners anyway? We have nothing of the sort overseas”. It was a strange observation to make, particularly because ‘diner’ is the kind of name that is as obvious to me as ‘fire station’ or ‘bowling alley’. I had no answer for him to speak of. He tipped his hat and moseyed on into the diner. I soon followed.
One thing that this encounter established for me was that it made me feel right at home in this Sleepy Hollow region of New York. Saugerties had a New England touch for sure, starting with that diner. Soon I would be driving the twisting, hilly, woodsy country roads, which also had a regional familiarity. Most important, it all gave me a sense of kinship with Bob Dylan and The Band, all of whom fell in love with Woodstock and its surrounding hamlets.
After a hearty breakfast, I headed for the hills, in search of Big Pink. Within minutes I passed a street named “Happy Road”, noting at about the same time that I was driving on “Buddy’s Highway”. I then passed a pair of homemade signs 20 or so yards apart, the first which read “Chantilly Lace” followed by “And A Pretty Face”. This was a funky, eclectic region, Woodstock. I forked off the main road and soon found Band Camp Road. I was getting close. The hairpin turns of Stoll Rd were next, which lead me to Parnassus Lane, my anticipated destination. My first venture down that dirt road was ah, hesitant. There were at least four No Trespassing signs and as I inched my car forward I could see up ahead what looked to be a somewhat intimidating ramshackle dwelling with several trailers and an old home on the lot. It also looked like the end of the road, with clearly no Big Pink in sight. I turned around back to Stoll Road. A little way down Stoll, I stopped and knocked on a door. A nice fella answered, heard me out, and told me I was on the right track. That ramshackle property, he stated, was owned by a peaceful hippie, and when you reached his home, the road made a sharp, almost hidden turn where it would drop down to reveal Big Pink. I went back, and ‘lo and behold’, that’s precisely how it played out.
The structure was unmistakable, and still pink to boot. I stared for a few moments, transfixed, and trying to see if I could hear remnant reverberations from long ago original renditions of “Odd and Ends”, “Don’t Ya Tell Henry”, “Tiny Montgomery” along with so many other songs performed in that ground-level basement in front of me, the remainder of the home looming above. It was clear that no one was home. I took a few selfies in front of it, recalling several famous images of the Band on that lawn (linked below are images of me and The Band for compare/contrast). I then loitered about for a few more moments before getting in my car and turning back up the dirt road, satisfied with my experience. As I passed back by the hippie home, I spotted a psychedelic sign that read “Woodstock Museum Free Film Fest Aug 30 – Sept 4, 13 Charles Bach Rd. Saugerties, NY”. Hmm. I stopped, got out of the car and, since I heard music emanating from one of the trailers (60s music, what else?), I knocked on that door. A voice inside asked who it was. After proceeding to say I was interested in hearing more about the museum, he stated he’d be out in 5 minutes.
Five minutes later a kindly looking man with a great big Santa beard walked out to greet me. His name was Sion Mitrany, and in a brief 30 minutes our conversation covered a lot of ground, from Bob Dylan, to antiwar protests, to the Mafia. Sion then led me back down the hill to Big Pink, where he took a film of me describing why I was there. He said he does this with anyone who will let him, and that he’s in the process of putting together a documentary. I thought I nailed it, talking about my blog site. I hope to post the video on a future entry. Anyhow, Sion put a perfect personal stamp onto my Big Pink visit, in similar ways to what Linda Stroback and Linda Whiteside did for me in Hibbing. I told him so.
Sion concluded our chat with a brief description of the Woodstock Museum, and its owners, Nate and Shelly (“lovely people”) and then gave me directions (which were excellent). As I departed he stated he would be at a place called “The Lodge” later that afternoon to watch some Reggae music and he invited me to meet him there. I replied that this was entirely plausible, but in the back of my mind I was thinking my focus by that time of day would likely be to settle in somewhere for a few hours and start writing. We said our goodbyes, and I drove off.
As I got to the end of Parnassus Lane, I pulled over and called Nancy. Just then a pickup truck pulled up and an enthusiastic guy behind the wheel asked if this was the way to Big Pink (“he said his name was Columbus, and I just said ‘Good Luck’” – again look it up). His pet beagle looked just as excited as he did. I told him he was pretty-much there and to not be intimated by the signs or the ramshackle home at the bend. He then reminded me that it was the 50th Anniversary of The Band’s Music from Big Pink (he thought it was to the day, but when I looked it up later that evening, I saw the album was released earlier that summer of ’68). Anyhow, I wished him a nice pilgrimage and suggested he should try to connect with Sion. Nancy was listening to all this over the phone. We got back on the phone and I brought her up-to-date. She could tell that my spontaneous, venture-creating self was back in the saddle.
The 5-mile drive to the Woodstock Museum was mostly uphill and windy. I thought about the high-speed driving accidents Levon Helm, Rick Danko, and Richard Manuel were all involved in on these roads, having read both Helm’s and Robbie Robertson’s autobiographies. I wondered if I was driving past any of those scenes now. When I arrived at the museum, I immediately felt immersed in a hippie haven. It was not long before I met Nate, who emerged from his offices next to the indoor theatre. He told me a bit about the film running at that moment, which was the story of a son reflecting on his father’s life as he read the letter’s his Dad wrote from Vietnam before he was killed in combat. It was clear the lessons Nate gained from that period would never be lost on him. He then talked about the upcoming 50th Anniversary of the historic Woodstock Festival. Plans were coming together, and the Museum would be very much involved in the festivities.
I went inside the film room and watched some of the movie, which appeared to be half way through. There were at least 20 people in the darkness of the small theatre. When I emerged back into daylight, Nate was sitting on the porch with Shelly. I sat with them for a while. They were very cordial. At one point, Nate told me about the period when Rick Danko was once his landlord. One day Nate called Danko to tell him the pipes were leaking. The Band’s gifted bass player showed up with a plunger. When he saw the situation was a bit more serious then what he was prepared for, he said to Nate “ah, let’s just roll a big fatty and call the plumber”. I laughed. It sounded just like I would imagine Rick Danko, one of the most laidback musicians in rock and roll history (along with his 2 Big Pink roommates). Shelly was a bit more serious on the subject, expressing head shaking dismay at having lost so many of her friends and contemporaries to substance abuse and its after-effects, including 2 (arguably 3) members of the Band – the same three who just so happened to be in those local highspeed car accidents all those years ago - as well as several significant-others Shelly knew who were close to them. I respected Shelly’s viewpoint for sure.
My next stop was Levon Helm’s studio barn, where his “Midnight Rambles” occurred in the years before his passing. Sion had mentioned that Sandy Helm, Levon’s widow who still lived there, was a very nice human being with a heart of gold, and if I were to see her during my visit to let her know Sion sent me (also adding she often comes out to greet people). I pulled down the long driveway while thinking “if Bob Dylan can prowl around Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen’s old homes at all hours, why can’t I do something similar?”. Anyhow, there are still rambles taking place here, which kinda makes it a public place (unfortunately, nothing was scheduled until the following weekend). I was alone with my thoughts as I parked my car in front of the very cool looking structure – complete with classy artistic touches - which included the Helm home. The Band’s aura was everywhere here, just as it was at Big Pink. The feel was joyous, and for that reason more than any, I left Sandy Helm at peace on that lovely mid-afternoon, refraining from knocking on the door.
My unofficial tour was pretty much complete, but I still had downtown Woodstock to visit, which was a short jaunt out of the woods from Levon Helm’s home. My first stop was the prior-mentioned rustic “The Lodge” where I talked briefly with one of the employees about rates as I flirted with the idea of staying the night. The Lodge is the standard locale in town for musicians and other performers who need a place to lay their head after a night of music. The employee told me she was convinced she’d found the right place to work when Bill Murray walked in earlier that year, making her day with his engaging demeanor.
Next, I tracked down Albert Grossman’s Bearsville Complex, but it took me a while to find, due to the fact it was in a smaller section of Woodstock (Bearsville) about 2 miles from downtown. The classy Bear Café is on that Complex premises, hovering over a bubbling stream like a treehouse. Recent renovations gave it an upscale feel, but it retains a rock and roll charm with classic photos that adorn the walls. Along with Bob Dylan and the Band, Albert Grossman managed Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, both of whom loved the region, and each were represented on those Café walls. I decided not to stay. The atmosphere was not quite right for my muse, but the bartender recommended the Station Bar closer to town, which turned out to be funky, yet again, not quite right. It was not until I stepped into the upstairs section of Joshua’s Café a few blocks away from the Station, that I felt I could settle in. And settle in I did, for two hours, getting most of my key points in print so I could flesh them out later.
After contemplating my next move, which included that Reggae show and a night stay at The Lodge, I decided I had what it took to head home. On the way out of town, I spotted homemade signs again, very similar to the “Chantilly Lace” ones I saw on the way in that morning. These ones, however, said “CD’s Vinyl, next left!” I turned around after missing the mark and pulled into a neighborhood cul-de-sac with a large tent smack in the middle, housing.....cd’s and vinyl. I pulled up, got out of the car, and asked one of the worker bees where the Dylan section was. I was skeptical of finding something that I really wanted, having pretty much exhausted those avenues over the past year and a half. But wouldn’t you know, the first disk I spotted was the soundtrack to “I’m Not There”, which had slipped through the cracks for me.
After making the purchase, I hopped in the car and slipped disc 1 in the player. Each Dylan song on that extensive playlist was heavy, emotional, and beautifully covered by a range of musicians from Eddie Vedder to Willie Nelson. Every word “rang true and glowed like burnin’ coal”. It’s arguably the best set of Dylan “Blueprint” interpretations of them all, but I left room for the fact that, perhaps my ‘Woodstock Day’ had something to do with my level of enjoyment too. As I cruised North on Highway 87 along the mighty Hudson River, headed for home, I got to a cover song by a band I had never heard before, who were majestically tackling The Basement Tapes song “Goin’ to Acapulco”. I quickly glanced at the cd sleeve and identified the singer as Jim James (of My Morning Jacket fame) and the band as Calexico. When I looked back up, an exit sign came into view which read “Next Exit: Coxsackie”. I did a double take. Calexico/Coxsakie. Close enough to completely juxtapose in my mind. And close enough to cap off my brilliantly bizarro Catskill Monday.
I shall be released? ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MjtPBjEz-BA ). If only for a day, yeah…. If only for a day
- Pete
Song: “I Shall Be Released”
Album: The Basement Tapes Raw
Release Date: November 2014
Pilgrimage 2 of 3
Back in Master Blueprint # 10, I wrote of my pilgrimage-like visit to Bob Dylan’s hometown of Hibbing Minnesota in March, which occurred during an advantageous work trip to nearby International Falls. While there, I gained some great new insights into the man and his music by meeting up with a pair of Lindas (Stroback and Whiteside), who were local experts on all things Dylan, and who were more than gracious with their time, expertise, and openheartedness. At the time, I considered that trip a one-off experience for this blog series; a fortuitous opportunity to write an entry based on a personal visit to the place where Bob Dylan spent his formative years.
Here’s the thing, however… like many of us, Bob Dylan has had multiple lifeblood homes, and one of the most important ones, Woodstock, New York in the Catskills, has been gnawing at me for at least 30 years. I mean, I’ve been all around the periphery of this Appalachian plateau, including the Taconic Region to the East; the Big Apple to the South; Albany, Cooperstown and Binghamton to the North; and even the Delaware Water Gap and the Poconos on the far side. Yeah, I’d pretty much orbited the Catskills, and yet, amazingly I had never landed my ship anywhere within them.
That changed this past Monday, and it was for the most part a spur of the moment decision. The notion began to seep in two evenings earlier as I sat by the small homemade fish pond in my Pepperell, Massachusetts backyard, watching the sunset. As was the case with Hibbing, I was once again seeing “my light come shining from the west unto the east”. Indeed, this was the spontaneous, fate-driven side of me whispering in my ear; the side that used to be much more successful at pulling off such capers. By Sunday morning, the thought had evolved enough to run the crazy idea by my wife Nancy who, seeing that I was serious, pondered a moment or two before deciding it was best I go it alone. I was bummed but at the same time I knew this would give me more opportunity to focus, as well as the flexibility to play lots of Bob Dylan music – and do it loudly - from the minute I stepped into my car that early morning to the minute I stepped out that late evening (which I indeed did do). It would also allow me to take a few minor risks without involving Nancy, which I will explain. (Side Note: For those who are curious about the “Pilgrimage 2 of 3” at the top of this entry, good for you. Yeah, I have another one in mind by year’s end, and I hope to have company. More on that of course in a later entry).
I awoke at 6 am that Monday morning and set off for the Mass Pike, where I commenced to head westbound to its terminus and beyond into the Empire State. Within 4 hours of pulling out of my driveway, I found myself on the other side of the Hudson River, down NY Thruway 87, and taking Exit 20, Saugerties, Woodstock, New York. Saugerties was a name almost as familiar to me as its far more famous neighboring town to the west. This after all was the town where three of the five members of the Band - Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, and Garth Hudson - found and purchased an unassuming ranch home in early 1967, which they dubbed “Big Pink”. Big Pink is where the Band and Bob Dylan would privately record the renowned “Basement Tapes” over a 5-month period that spring and summer (see Master Blueprint # 12). And Big Pink is where I would be making my first planned visit.
But first some breakfast, which I tracked down at a classic eatery in downtown Saugerties called The Village Diner. This brief visit would lead to my first bizarro moment of a brilliantly bizarro day. I was walking along the sidewalk in front of the diner, not quite at the point of turning onto the ramp which would lead me up and inside, when a gentleman at the top of the ramp turned around and called down to me as he was making his way in. “Is that a book about diners in your hand?” he asked with a heavy British accent. Huh? What prompted that? I started to raise my book to show him it was Clinton Heylin’s voluminous Bob Dylan biography Behind the Shades Revisited. Before I could elaborate in word, he took in what he saw and stated “oh, much better than diners”. I suddenly thought, this one way ‘exchange’ must be my version of “This Englishman said ‘Fab’” (for those of you climbing the Dylan-lyric-ladder, look it up). He then went on to ask, “why do they call them diners anyway? We have nothing of the sort overseas”. It was a strange observation to make, particularly because ‘diner’ is the kind of name that is as obvious to me as ‘fire station’ or ‘bowling alley’. I had no answer for him to speak of. He tipped his hat and moseyed on into the diner. I soon followed.
One thing that this encounter established for me was that it made me feel right at home in this Sleepy Hollow region of New York. Saugerties had a New England touch for sure, starting with that diner. Soon I would be driving the twisting, hilly, woodsy country roads, which also had a regional familiarity. Most important, it all gave me a sense of kinship with Bob Dylan and The Band, all of whom fell in love with Woodstock and its surrounding hamlets.
After a hearty breakfast, I headed for the hills, in search of Big Pink. Within minutes I passed a street named “Happy Road”, noting at about the same time that I was driving on “Buddy’s Highway”. I then passed a pair of homemade signs 20 or so yards apart, the first which read “Chantilly Lace” followed by “And A Pretty Face”. This was a funky, eclectic region, Woodstock. I forked off the main road and soon found Band Camp Road. I was getting close. The hairpin turns of Stoll Rd were next, which lead me to Parnassus Lane, my anticipated destination. My first venture down that dirt road was ah, hesitant. There were at least four No Trespassing signs and as I inched my car forward I could see up ahead what looked to be a somewhat intimidating ramshackle dwelling with several trailers and an old home on the lot. It also looked like the end of the road, with clearly no Big Pink in sight. I turned around back to Stoll Road. A little way down Stoll, I stopped and knocked on a door. A nice fella answered, heard me out, and told me I was on the right track. That ramshackle property, he stated, was owned by a peaceful hippie, and when you reached his home, the road made a sharp, almost hidden turn where it would drop down to reveal Big Pink. I went back, and ‘lo and behold’, that’s precisely how it played out.
The structure was unmistakable, and still pink to boot. I stared for a few moments, transfixed, and trying to see if I could hear remnant reverberations from long ago original renditions of “Odd and Ends”, “Don’t Ya Tell Henry”, “Tiny Montgomery” along with so many other songs performed in that ground-level basement in front of me, the remainder of the home looming above. It was clear that no one was home. I took a few selfies in front of it, recalling several famous images of the Band on that lawn (linked below are images of me and The Band for compare/contrast). I then loitered about for a few more moments before getting in my car and turning back up the dirt road, satisfied with my experience. As I passed back by the hippie home, I spotted a psychedelic sign that read “Woodstock Museum Free Film Fest Aug 30 – Sept 4, 13 Charles Bach Rd. Saugerties, NY”. Hmm. I stopped, got out of the car and, since I heard music emanating from one of the trailers (60s music, what else?), I knocked on that door. A voice inside asked who it was. After proceeding to say I was interested in hearing more about the museum, he stated he’d be out in 5 minutes.
Five minutes later a kindly looking man with a great big Santa beard walked out to greet me. His name was Sion Mitrany, and in a brief 30 minutes our conversation covered a lot of ground, from Bob Dylan, to antiwar protests, to the Mafia. Sion then led me back down the hill to Big Pink, where he took a film of me describing why I was there. He said he does this with anyone who will let him, and that he’s in the process of putting together a documentary. I thought I nailed it, talking about my blog site. I hope to post the video on a future entry. Anyhow, Sion put a perfect personal stamp onto my Big Pink visit, in similar ways to what Linda Stroback and Linda Whiteside did for me in Hibbing. I told him so.
Sion concluded our chat with a brief description of the Woodstock Museum, and its owners, Nate and Shelly (“lovely people”) and then gave me directions (which were excellent). As I departed he stated he would be at a place called “The Lodge” later that afternoon to watch some Reggae music and he invited me to meet him there. I replied that this was entirely plausible, but in the back of my mind I was thinking my focus by that time of day would likely be to settle in somewhere for a few hours and start writing. We said our goodbyes, and I drove off.
As I got to the end of Parnassus Lane, I pulled over and called Nancy. Just then a pickup truck pulled up and an enthusiastic guy behind the wheel asked if this was the way to Big Pink (“he said his name was Columbus, and I just said ‘Good Luck’” – again look it up). His pet beagle looked just as excited as he did. I told him he was pretty-much there and to not be intimated by the signs or the ramshackle home at the bend. He then reminded me that it was the 50th Anniversary of The Band’s Music from Big Pink (he thought it was to the day, but when I looked it up later that evening, I saw the album was released earlier that summer of ’68). Anyhow, I wished him a nice pilgrimage and suggested he should try to connect with Sion. Nancy was listening to all this over the phone. We got back on the phone and I brought her up-to-date. She could tell that my spontaneous, venture-creating self was back in the saddle.
The 5-mile drive to the Woodstock Museum was mostly uphill and windy. I thought about the high-speed driving accidents Levon Helm, Rick Danko, and Richard Manuel were all involved in on these roads, having read both Helm’s and Robbie Robertson’s autobiographies. I wondered if I was driving past any of those scenes now. When I arrived at the museum, I immediately felt immersed in a hippie haven. It was not long before I met Nate, who emerged from his offices next to the indoor theatre. He told me a bit about the film running at that moment, which was the story of a son reflecting on his father’s life as he read the letter’s his Dad wrote from Vietnam before he was killed in combat. It was clear the lessons Nate gained from that period would never be lost on him. He then talked about the upcoming 50th Anniversary of the historic Woodstock Festival. Plans were coming together, and the Museum would be very much involved in the festivities.
I went inside the film room and watched some of the movie, which appeared to be half way through. There were at least 20 people in the darkness of the small theatre. When I emerged back into daylight, Nate was sitting on the porch with Shelly. I sat with them for a while. They were very cordial. At one point, Nate told me about the period when Rick Danko was once his landlord. One day Nate called Danko to tell him the pipes were leaking. The Band’s gifted bass player showed up with a plunger. When he saw the situation was a bit more serious then what he was prepared for, he said to Nate “ah, let’s just roll a big fatty and call the plumber”. I laughed. It sounded just like I would imagine Rick Danko, one of the most laidback musicians in rock and roll history (along with his 2 Big Pink roommates). Shelly was a bit more serious on the subject, expressing head shaking dismay at having lost so many of her friends and contemporaries to substance abuse and its after-effects, including 2 (arguably 3) members of the Band – the same three who just so happened to be in those local highspeed car accidents all those years ago - as well as several significant-others Shelly knew who were close to them. I respected Shelly’s viewpoint for sure.
My next stop was Levon Helm’s studio barn, where his “Midnight Rambles” occurred in the years before his passing. Sion had mentioned that Sandy Helm, Levon’s widow who still lived there, was a very nice human being with a heart of gold, and if I were to see her during my visit to let her know Sion sent me (also adding she often comes out to greet people). I pulled down the long driveway while thinking “if Bob Dylan can prowl around Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen’s old homes at all hours, why can’t I do something similar?”. Anyhow, there are still rambles taking place here, which kinda makes it a public place (unfortunately, nothing was scheduled until the following weekend). I was alone with my thoughts as I parked my car in front of the very cool looking structure – complete with classy artistic touches - which included the Helm home. The Band’s aura was everywhere here, just as it was at Big Pink. The feel was joyous, and for that reason more than any, I left Sandy Helm at peace on that lovely mid-afternoon, refraining from knocking on the door.
My unofficial tour was pretty much complete, but I still had downtown Woodstock to visit, which was a short jaunt out of the woods from Levon Helm’s home. My first stop was the prior-mentioned rustic “The Lodge” where I talked briefly with one of the employees about rates as I flirted with the idea of staying the night. The Lodge is the standard locale in town for musicians and other performers who need a place to lay their head after a night of music. The employee told me she was convinced she’d found the right place to work when Bill Murray walked in earlier that year, making her day with his engaging demeanor.
Next, I tracked down Albert Grossman’s Bearsville Complex, but it took me a while to find, due to the fact it was in a smaller section of Woodstock (Bearsville) about 2 miles from downtown. The classy Bear Café is on that Complex premises, hovering over a bubbling stream like a treehouse. Recent renovations gave it an upscale feel, but it retains a rock and roll charm with classic photos that adorn the walls. Along with Bob Dylan and the Band, Albert Grossman managed Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, both of whom loved the region, and each were represented on those Café walls. I decided not to stay. The atmosphere was not quite right for my muse, but the bartender recommended the Station Bar closer to town, which turned out to be funky, yet again, not quite right. It was not until I stepped into the upstairs section of Joshua’s Café a few blocks away from the Station, that I felt I could settle in. And settle in I did, for two hours, getting most of my key points in print so I could flesh them out later.
After contemplating my next move, which included that Reggae show and a night stay at The Lodge, I decided I had what it took to head home. On the way out of town, I spotted homemade signs again, very similar to the “Chantilly Lace” ones I saw on the way in that morning. These ones, however, said “CD’s Vinyl, next left!” I turned around after missing the mark and pulled into a neighborhood cul-de-sac with a large tent smack in the middle, housing.....cd’s and vinyl. I pulled up, got out of the car, and asked one of the worker bees where the Dylan section was. I was skeptical of finding something that I really wanted, having pretty much exhausted those avenues over the past year and a half. But wouldn’t you know, the first disk I spotted was the soundtrack to “I’m Not There”, which had slipped through the cracks for me.
After making the purchase, I hopped in the car and slipped disc 1 in the player. Each Dylan song on that extensive playlist was heavy, emotional, and beautifully covered by a range of musicians from Eddie Vedder to Willie Nelson. Every word “rang true and glowed like burnin’ coal”. It’s arguably the best set of Dylan “Blueprint” interpretations of them all, but I left room for the fact that, perhaps my ‘Woodstock Day’ had something to do with my level of enjoyment too. As I cruised North on Highway 87 along the mighty Hudson River, headed for home, I got to a cover song by a band I had never heard before, who were majestically tackling The Basement Tapes song “Goin’ to Acapulco”. I quickly glanced at the cd sleeve and identified the singer as Jim James (of My Morning Jacket fame) and the band as Calexico. When I looked back up, an exit sign came into view which read “Next Exit: Coxsackie”. I did a double take. Calexico/Coxsakie. Close enough to completely juxtapose in my mind. And close enough to cap off my brilliantly bizarro Catskill Monday.
I shall be released? ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MjtPBjEz-BA ). If only for a day, yeah…. If only for a day
- Pete
