(Personal reflections
inspired by Bob Dylan songs)
Song: “Desolation Row”
Album: Highway 61 Revisited
Release Date: August
1965
What makes transcendent art? More to the point, what makes a transcendent
artist? Well, I can only speculate, but
I do think I’m in a better position to do so than I was before I started
writing these Music and Memory entries
over 8 years ago. For example, I know
now that if you are doing something creatively, you can’t cherry pick your
subject matter. If a handful of thoughts
are dangling in front of you, they all need to be plucked sooner than later.
It’s the only way you can move on to another handful of thoughts. And it’s the only way that I know of to keep
the creative juices flowing. At times, a
given thought can be daunting, even risky; be it related to the complexity or
heaviness of the subject matter. These
are the moments that make or break your creative spirit. You are either going to plow on through, take
a breather, or bag it all together.
I’ve forever been drawn to the creative risk
takers among us, which includes musicians.
A leap of faith has often proven to result in something brilliant for
such musical souls, including Neil Young, John Lennon, Pete Townshend, Van
Morrison, and of course Bob Dylan. Mr. Young confounded his live audiences time
and time again, playing only new music on many of his tours, which could on
occasion be bizarrely experimental (see Trans). At least twice he took this to the extreme, producing
his new music right there in front of the crowd. Several of my favorite Neil Young albums were
done this way, including Time Fades Away
and Rust Never Sleeps. Mr. Lennon up and quit the Beatles, and not
long after was declaring that war (Vietnam) was over (if you want it). He made these declarations during “Bed In”
interviews-for-peace with his wife Yoko Ono. One could make the argument that
this oft-ridiculed act freed Lennon’s mind-space up for his first two superb
solo albums, Plastic Ono Band and Imagine. Mr. Townshend pushed a grand concept, Lifehouse, to nervous breakdown and back,
going as far as involving a large studio audience in his concept before
succumbing to pressure to release something before it was truly ready (the
salvaged remains would end up being nothing less than the super-charged Who’s Next). Mr. Van Morrison left his band and homeland
(Ireland) behind to start anew in ‘Boston Town’ in the late 60s (broke and
forgotten), leading to his seminal work Astral
Weeks.
These chosen paths are not for the mild or meek
(all these gentleman, as well as Bob Dylan - who I’ll be getting to – have/had
abrasive sides to their personalities). Such
paths can lead to loneliness and isolation (to use the title of a beautiful John
Lennon song off Plastic Ono Band). And yet, this is what separates the top-tier
musicians from the crowd. The process of
taking big risks can be painful, and excruciatingly difficult to maintain over
an extended period. Few artists who have
tackled such risk to the degree that Neil Young, John Lennon, Pete Townshend
and Van Morrison have, can handle it in the long-term. Those who cannot either die young (Mozart),
burn out (Syd Barret) or fade away (pick em').
From my rather limited perspective, no musician
has pursued that artistic purity, nor expressed the sense of sacrifice, solitude
and what it takes to get and stay there better than Bob Dylan. The amazing thing is that he began expressing
an understanding of this at a rather early stage in his career. His song, “Mr. Tambourine Man” is a perfect
example. The real quantum leap, however
can be found in the songs off Highway 61
Revisited, personified in the closing number “Desolation Row”, which
frankly knocked me off my feet this week, as I found myself taking in the song as
if I’d never heard it before.
How to describe my mid-week clairvoyant
moment regarding all things “Desolation Row”?
Let me start with another song off the album, “Ballad of a Thin Man”,
which offers up in many ways the counterpoint to “Desolation Row”. I was originally planning to build on Thin Man as this week’s Blueprint
(which, by the way, I chalk up as one of Bob Dylan’s all-time best vocal
efforts, albeit cynical in a style Ray Davies would be proud of). I had reservations, however. Although superb in every way, “Ballad of a
Thin Man” detracts from one of my core values of this blog site, which has me attempting
to stay above the fray. The song rips
into people who just don’t get it, the type who cave to superficiality and
never see the forest for the trees. Although
Bob Dylan had reached a stage in his career at that time where I believe he was
deserving of delivering such general criticism, I myself feel as if I am far
from it (at least within the context of this blog series).
And so, as I listened to Highway 61 Revisited I kept my options
opened. I had already tackled the
opening number, the monumental “Like A Rolling Stone” (see Master Blueprint #
15), which was much more affiliated with “Ballad of A Thin Man” anyhow in terms
of song meaning. But there are so many
other masterful songs on this album.
Indeed, roughly one fifth of my eventual 50 Bob Dylan entries could conceivably
be based on songs off Highway 61
Revisited alone. It’s that
good.
In preparation for most entries into this
blog series, I’ve often done a bit of homework, researching here and there on
what others have said about the song at hand.
Not this go around. At least, not
consciously. This time it was 100% personal
and visceral, which is the ideal place to go mentally. It’s what I truly strive for in this blog
series: A moment listening to the music
when I can say “Wow. I am so thrilled to finally make this connection. I have broken on through to the other side”.
How did this come to be this time around? Again, I was tooling around with “Ballad of a
Thin Man”, trying to conjure up ideas related to losing/finding yourself, when
I let the album play out in its entirety for the umpteenth time. “Desolation
Row”, the 9th and final song on the album, queued up and played out
in my ears as it had so often before. Most of my connections with this song to
date had been confusing. Bob Dylan sings
of a seemingly endless parade of real and fictional characters, as well as a
place with the type of name (Desolation Row) which leads one to believe that…… you
just don’t want to go there. Which in ways
already described earlier in this entry is somewhat true (in terms of how hard
it is), just not in the way I had been thinking to that point.
But for whatever reason, this time it was
different. Suddenly I was hearing
“Desolation Row” like I’d never heard it before (it happens with this blog
series). I don’t know how to explain…it
just clicked! Where before there was
randomness, now there was a pattern. Tears
welled up in my eyes. In a ‘New York Minute’ the song had become…. beautiful ( https://vimeo.com/11222889 ) I’ll try to
explain in the paragraphs below, but right up front I’ll say this: Bob Dylan’s harmonica breaks, both prior to
the last stanza and in closing the song, are telling. Where before my ‘breakthrough’, these
instrumental breaks were borderline irritating, now they were deeply
moving. They put the icing on the
cake. I believe there is analogy here
with Dylan’s vocals too, not only in this song, but in all his music. You just
hope for the moment where you can finally see what all the fuss is about.
Before I get into the lyrics I feel a need
to reach out to the true Dylanologists out there. I know that you know how deep this song is.
But I admit, I’m a relative novice because deep inside, I’m more of an
integrator: I’ve been writing about many
musicians in these blog entries over the years.
And although I realize Bob Dylan is at the top of the heap, I’m often spread
too thin to be able to master the subject matter in a way that you can. I only hope you can appreciate my peripheral
insights in a way where you can say “yeah, this guy gets it”. This is more than I could hope for.
At the heart of “Desolation Row” is purity
and pain. The two go hand in hand.
Brilliance (which is there too) is but a biproduct. The song opens with lyrics that are very
misleading in terms of the song’s core meaning: “They’re selling postcards of the hanging”. This is Bob Dylan at his best. He throws you off the scent. What he’s really doing here, however, is
presenting a polar-opposite character trait from what he eventually gets to;
the type of persona that is defined by integrity and wisdom. The opening stanza must continue along this vulgar
vein first though, and soon Dylan is rolling out one of his most all-time classic
lines:
“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”
Dylan sings this with such hopeless resignation.
These characters go nameless, as everyone who Dylan sings about in a negative
light goes in this song. These are
individuals on the outside of Desolation Row, which again, can be confusing to
the novice listener. What’s the twist? The first hint is at the very end of that
first stanza, when Dylan sings “As Lady
and I look out tonight from Desolation Row”. Here is where the insider perspective kicks
in. And it carries on with Cinderella in
the 2nd stanza, and the hunchback of Notre Dame and Good Samaritan
in the 3rd stanza, and Einstein in the 5th, and Casanova
and the Phantom of the Opera in the 7th and T.S. Eliot in the 9th
(Dylan toggles between outsiders and insiders every other stanza). These are individuals, both real and fictional,
who have beared their crosses so to speak.
Who have chosen the truer path.
Who have confronted tyranny by not caving to it; sticking to the ideals
of who they are. These are the
individuals on Desolation Row. Others
are peaking in (Ophelia). The remainder
avoid it at all cost, with some (the Fascist types) even trying to prevent
people from getting there.
I’m a good way into Clinton Heylin’s voluminous
Bob Dylan biography Behind the Shades
Revisited, which is loaded with quotes about the man. One of my favorite
quotes thus far is from poet Allan Ginsberg who stated around the time of the
release of Highway 61 Revisited in
1966; “Dylan has sold out to God. That is to say, his command was to spread his
beauty as wide as possible. It was an
artistic challenge to see if great art can be done on a jukebox. And he proved
it can”. I’m guessing Ginsberg had “Desolation
Row” in mind when he said that.
I too was elevated this week after my cathartic
moment of insight. I’ll try to hold on to that burst of wisdom for as long as I
can. I’ll keep this week’s Blueprint in
mind when I see someone do something extraordinary, or utter kind words, or
stick to their virtuous ideals rather than cave to weaker, easier choices. And I’ll try to keep it in mind if I see
someone beaten down and weathered.
Perhaps that someone “was famous long ago”, and now they are simply
gazing out at me ….from Desolation Row.
- Pete
Sunday, September 30, 2018
Saturday, September 22, 2018
Master Blueprints # 35: "Sitting with a Girl Named Nancy in a Garden Feelin’ Kinda Lazy”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Bob Dylan songs)
Song: “Handy Dandy”
Album: Under the Red Sky
Release Date: September 1990
Life and lyrics have converged often in these Music and Memory writeups, but rarely in the way that they did this past week. I’d been listening to Bob Dylan’s 27th studio album, Under the Red Sky searching for inspiration in the music and words, as I always do. The album, which is dedicated to Dylan’s then four-year-old daughter, “Gabby Goo Goo” (Desiree Gabrielle Dylan), is chockfull of nursery-rhyme-like lyrics, which is all fine and ‘dandy’, particularly seeing as this theme would ultimately lead to my talking points this week. However, I initially ran into detours (hence the lengthy gap between entries) which can be attributed to the strong likelihood that Under the Red Sky will not go down in history as anywhere near one of Bob Dylan’s best efforts. Relatively speaking, it’s a somewhat disjointed product, lacking cohesion. You get the sense that if just a little more attention was given to one aspect or another, that a much clearer artistic statement would have emerged. And so, early on I was struggling to make the type of connection that I needed to make to write something related to it that was compelling.
But as with virtually all of Bob Dylan’s projects, there’s an aura to Under the Red Sky that inevitably peaks your curiosity and draws you in. In this case, that process started for me when I picked up on occasional bizarre lyrics sprinkled in among much more standard fare (for nursery rhymes). Soon those lyrics were jumping out at me left and right, including “Wiggle till you vomit fire” in the opening track “Wiggle Wiggle” (which was universally slammed by critics upon release); as well as “One day the man in the moon went home and the river went dry” in the impressive title track; and finally “Handy dandy, if every bone in his body were broken he would never admit it” in this week’s Master Blueprint “Handy Dandy” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrrsAuzI0hU ) . A persuasive viewpoint was settling in my mind that one should never think that a nursery rhyme needs to be sugarcoated. After making these inroads, I persisted, and soon enough the wheels began to churn as my own childhood wonderments seeped in.
Typically, I will pull my talking points together for a blog entry as I listen to the music in my car or in my mind’s eye while jogging or hiking. This time, however, my most inspiring moments came literally in my own backyard. Why didn’t I optimize on this locale before? Ok, let me explain: There’s a Zen-like location in my backyard that is like no other place for me. It’s by our fish/frog pond (complete with waterfall), which I built about 14 years ago. In that spot I can sit and zorb out for hours on end, without a need for reading material or company. I just glance around and take in my surroundings.
The pond itself is the most tranquil element of this pastoral backyard world, replete with koi and goldfish, as well as green frogs, who make their way to this oasis from nearby wetlands every year (this year, at least 8 have settled in around the edges). An abundance of wildflowers has thrived in and around the pond too, including burweed; a type of wetland reed grass that daughter Charlotte transplanted from a local stream not long after the pond was built. And mayapple, which in May springs up from the ground, mimicking a cluster of Lilliputian palm trees.
The original intent of designing the pond was not so much for koi as it was to have a place where Charlotte, as well as my son Peter and their friends could deposit creatures that were collected from nearby streams, including dragonfly nymphs and mayfly nymphs, as well as mussels, crayfish, catfish, slugs, and I’m sure a handful of other creatures that are slipping my mind. As the kids have grown older, this activity has faded, but just the sight of the pond brings back those memories for all of us. And just this spring, as I was cleaning out the pond of debris after a tough winter, I spotted a hellgrammite (a dobsonfly nymph) which is the sign of a healthy, balanced biome, and a sign that perhaps some of those transplanted creatures decided their once new home was a perfect place for decedents.
The pond is about 40 feet from the back door. To connect the two, I came up with a patio design in the shape of a river network, which has the effect (for me anyway) of the waterfall pouring into that real pond, then ‘continuing’ onto the patio which ‘flows’ as flagstone from a small pond shape to a river shape to a large pond shape to the back door. In the middle of the backyard, just beyond the patio is a firepit, which we also built; a cast iron ring within a brick ring… the latter separating the blaze from the crowd. Stately oaks and maples, as well as white and red pine, crown much of this, and tucked within them is another memory for the kids; a treehouse, which was the first thing I built in the yard, and which amazingly remains standing. It’s one of my proudest achievements in terms of the use of my hands to build something, but that’s a story for another time.
Anyhow, I’m sitting in this home-haven-location earlier in the week, this time with my wife Nancy, enjoying a peaceful end to a long day when the lyrics to (arguably) the best song on Under the Red Sky, “Handy Dandy” popped into my head. Those lyrics are in the title of this entry, but I’ll repeat here for the sheer enjoyment of doing so: “Sitting with a girl named Nancy in a garden feelin’ kinda lazy”. It was fleeting at first, this synergistic thought, but it did not take long for a domino effect to kick in. I went back to the song and started listening with more intent. “Handy Dandy” has been dissected by several very insightful souls on the web ( https://www.expectingrain.com/discussions/viewtopic.php?f=6&t=64707 ). They see lines of lyrics that reference the Sermon on the Mount, and lines that are confessional, among other factoids. I’m not going to attempt to add to those discussion points here. What I will hone in on, however is the fairytale element, because, first off, this appears to be the central concept of the album, and secondly, the fairytale angle is at the core of why I got that lightbulb moment in my backyard.
This summer has been an unusually active one for wildlife in our backyard. Along with the fish, frogs, and hellgrammites, a bear loped through in the late spring (in turn, having to contend with the no-win predicament of a stare-down with Nancy). Both red shouldered hawks and barred owls have decided to call the forest immediately behind and adjacent to our home…their home as well. The call of the pileated woodpecker has echoed around us and we occasionally spot them darting between the trees like an alien spaceship. There have been voles, moles, shrews, and flying squirrels, along with bats, opossum and deer. There have been dragonflies and butterflies by the dozens, as well as katydid, cicada, treefrogs, garter snakes, and a woodchuck the size of a racoon (not good for the garden). And of course, there have been a broad range of birds in both variety and abundance: Hummingbirds, jays, cardinals, goldfinch, doves, robins, chickadees, nuthatch, titmice, oriole, flicker, bunting, waxwing, wren, and kingbirds to name a few. Chipmunks scurry about at my feet. Red and Grey Squirrels challenge me to a staring match.
Yes, this backyard summer has had its share of moments where I’ve felt an affiliation with Dr. Doolittle, St. Anthony, and…. the Scroobius Pip.
The Scroobius Pip? What manner of beast is this? I’m glad you ask. The Scroobius Pip is a character from an Edward Lear poem of the same name that may have had the greatest effect on me as a child when it comes to nursery rhymes. In the poem, the Scroobius Pip is the Pied Piper of the entire animal world ( http://www.nonsenselit.org/Lear/pw/pip.html ). He’s a bizarre looking chimera-of-a-dude who gains the fascination of all the earth’s creatures through imitation. He does this by inheriting the best body part of each of them (much like a platypus). The poem starts “The Scroobiusb Pip went out one day, when the grass was green, and the sky was grey”. When the animals ask if he’s bird, beast, fish, or insect, he answers in riddle and rhyme: “Chippetty Flip; Flippety Chip; My only name is the Scroobius Pip”.
When I was a boy I loved the wild world of animals, from okapi, to tapir, to aardvark, to platypus, and was for the most part very serious about this passion. The Scroobius Pip was one way to add a little bizarre fun and imagination to the mix. It’s an important piece of the pie for any child who gets in deep with any subject matter, be it dinosaurs, cars, dolls, whatever. And the more edge there is to that piece of the pie, the better. That edge can be witty, bizarre, scary, even a little dark. Without it, children’s stories – heck all stories for that matter – can ring hollow.
Bob Dylan of course, understands this. In fact, I’d go much further and say that he’s done a helluva of an amazing job bringing that angle back into all his songs, particularly those that played out on his fantastic series of albums that followed Under the Red Sky. Perhaps this album was a pivot; an attempt to bring back some of his old self. I hear all sorts of old and new Dylan on Under the Red Sky now. I hear “Quinn the Eskimo”, “Senor”, “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts”, “Tweedledee and Tweedledum”, “Jokerman” and “Tempest”. As with all those brilliant tunes (several of which I have written about already), Dylan adds a human touch to songs on Under the Red Sky, most notably “Handy Dandy”. Case in point, his stuttering of the line “Boy you’re t-talkin’ crazy”. It’s intentional (he does the same thing on alternate takes that he does on the studio version). It’s fun. Indeed, it’s almost childlike in its delivery.
Back to my back yard. I suppose I’ve created an adult fantasy world; a carryover of my childhood. It’s where I allow my younger self to take over, assisted by a flurry of wildlife this year, large and small, winged and slithering, climbing and tunneling, swimming and hopping, chirping and hooting. The Scroobius Pip would feel comfortable in such a locale. So too, I think, would Bob Dylan.
Riddle Me This!
- Pete
Song: “Handy Dandy”
Album: Under the Red Sky
Release Date: September 1990
Life and lyrics have converged often in these Music and Memory writeups, but rarely in the way that they did this past week. I’d been listening to Bob Dylan’s 27th studio album, Under the Red Sky searching for inspiration in the music and words, as I always do. The album, which is dedicated to Dylan’s then four-year-old daughter, “Gabby Goo Goo” (Desiree Gabrielle Dylan), is chockfull of nursery-rhyme-like lyrics, which is all fine and ‘dandy’, particularly seeing as this theme would ultimately lead to my talking points this week. However, I initially ran into detours (hence the lengthy gap between entries) which can be attributed to the strong likelihood that Under the Red Sky will not go down in history as anywhere near one of Bob Dylan’s best efforts. Relatively speaking, it’s a somewhat disjointed product, lacking cohesion. You get the sense that if just a little more attention was given to one aspect or another, that a much clearer artistic statement would have emerged. And so, early on I was struggling to make the type of connection that I needed to make to write something related to it that was compelling.
But as with virtually all of Bob Dylan’s projects, there’s an aura to Under the Red Sky that inevitably peaks your curiosity and draws you in. In this case, that process started for me when I picked up on occasional bizarre lyrics sprinkled in among much more standard fare (for nursery rhymes). Soon those lyrics were jumping out at me left and right, including “Wiggle till you vomit fire” in the opening track “Wiggle Wiggle” (which was universally slammed by critics upon release); as well as “One day the man in the moon went home and the river went dry” in the impressive title track; and finally “Handy dandy, if every bone in his body were broken he would never admit it” in this week’s Master Blueprint “Handy Dandy” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrrsAuzI0hU ) . A persuasive viewpoint was settling in my mind that one should never think that a nursery rhyme needs to be sugarcoated. After making these inroads, I persisted, and soon enough the wheels began to churn as my own childhood wonderments seeped in.
Typically, I will pull my talking points together for a blog entry as I listen to the music in my car or in my mind’s eye while jogging or hiking. This time, however, my most inspiring moments came literally in my own backyard. Why didn’t I optimize on this locale before? Ok, let me explain: There’s a Zen-like location in my backyard that is like no other place for me. It’s by our fish/frog pond (complete with waterfall), which I built about 14 years ago. In that spot I can sit and zorb out for hours on end, without a need for reading material or company. I just glance around and take in my surroundings.
The pond itself is the most tranquil element of this pastoral backyard world, replete with koi and goldfish, as well as green frogs, who make their way to this oasis from nearby wetlands every year (this year, at least 8 have settled in around the edges). An abundance of wildflowers has thrived in and around the pond too, including burweed; a type of wetland reed grass that daughter Charlotte transplanted from a local stream not long after the pond was built. And mayapple, which in May springs up from the ground, mimicking a cluster of Lilliputian palm trees.
The original intent of designing the pond was not so much for koi as it was to have a place where Charlotte, as well as my son Peter and their friends could deposit creatures that were collected from nearby streams, including dragonfly nymphs and mayfly nymphs, as well as mussels, crayfish, catfish, slugs, and I’m sure a handful of other creatures that are slipping my mind. As the kids have grown older, this activity has faded, but just the sight of the pond brings back those memories for all of us. And just this spring, as I was cleaning out the pond of debris after a tough winter, I spotted a hellgrammite (a dobsonfly nymph) which is the sign of a healthy, balanced biome, and a sign that perhaps some of those transplanted creatures decided their once new home was a perfect place for decedents.
The pond is about 40 feet from the back door. To connect the two, I came up with a patio design in the shape of a river network, which has the effect (for me anyway) of the waterfall pouring into that real pond, then ‘continuing’ onto the patio which ‘flows’ as flagstone from a small pond shape to a river shape to a large pond shape to the back door. In the middle of the backyard, just beyond the patio is a firepit, which we also built; a cast iron ring within a brick ring… the latter separating the blaze from the crowd. Stately oaks and maples, as well as white and red pine, crown much of this, and tucked within them is another memory for the kids; a treehouse, which was the first thing I built in the yard, and which amazingly remains standing. It’s one of my proudest achievements in terms of the use of my hands to build something, but that’s a story for another time.
Anyhow, I’m sitting in this home-haven-location earlier in the week, this time with my wife Nancy, enjoying a peaceful end to a long day when the lyrics to (arguably) the best song on Under the Red Sky, “Handy Dandy” popped into my head. Those lyrics are in the title of this entry, but I’ll repeat here for the sheer enjoyment of doing so: “Sitting with a girl named Nancy in a garden feelin’ kinda lazy”. It was fleeting at first, this synergistic thought, but it did not take long for a domino effect to kick in. I went back to the song and started listening with more intent. “Handy Dandy” has been dissected by several very insightful souls on the web ( https://www.expectingrain.com/discussions/viewtopic.php?f=6&t=64707 ). They see lines of lyrics that reference the Sermon on the Mount, and lines that are confessional, among other factoids. I’m not going to attempt to add to those discussion points here. What I will hone in on, however is the fairytale element, because, first off, this appears to be the central concept of the album, and secondly, the fairytale angle is at the core of why I got that lightbulb moment in my backyard.
This summer has been an unusually active one for wildlife in our backyard. Along with the fish, frogs, and hellgrammites, a bear loped through in the late spring (in turn, having to contend with the no-win predicament of a stare-down with Nancy). Both red shouldered hawks and barred owls have decided to call the forest immediately behind and adjacent to our home…their home as well. The call of the pileated woodpecker has echoed around us and we occasionally spot them darting between the trees like an alien spaceship. There have been voles, moles, shrews, and flying squirrels, along with bats, opossum and deer. There have been dragonflies and butterflies by the dozens, as well as katydid, cicada, treefrogs, garter snakes, and a woodchuck the size of a racoon (not good for the garden). And of course, there have been a broad range of birds in both variety and abundance: Hummingbirds, jays, cardinals, goldfinch, doves, robins, chickadees, nuthatch, titmice, oriole, flicker, bunting, waxwing, wren, and kingbirds to name a few. Chipmunks scurry about at my feet. Red and Grey Squirrels challenge me to a staring match.
Yes, this backyard summer has had its share of moments where I’ve felt an affiliation with Dr. Doolittle, St. Anthony, and…. the Scroobius Pip.
The Scroobius Pip? What manner of beast is this? I’m glad you ask. The Scroobius Pip is a character from an Edward Lear poem of the same name that may have had the greatest effect on me as a child when it comes to nursery rhymes. In the poem, the Scroobius Pip is the Pied Piper of the entire animal world ( http://www.nonsenselit.org/Lear/pw/pip.html ). He’s a bizarre looking chimera-of-a-dude who gains the fascination of all the earth’s creatures through imitation. He does this by inheriting the best body part of each of them (much like a platypus). The poem starts “The Scroobiusb Pip went out one day, when the grass was green, and the sky was grey”. When the animals ask if he’s bird, beast, fish, or insect, he answers in riddle and rhyme: “Chippetty Flip; Flippety Chip; My only name is the Scroobius Pip”.
When I was a boy I loved the wild world of animals, from okapi, to tapir, to aardvark, to platypus, and was for the most part very serious about this passion. The Scroobius Pip was one way to add a little bizarre fun and imagination to the mix. It’s an important piece of the pie for any child who gets in deep with any subject matter, be it dinosaurs, cars, dolls, whatever. And the more edge there is to that piece of the pie, the better. That edge can be witty, bizarre, scary, even a little dark. Without it, children’s stories – heck all stories for that matter – can ring hollow.
Bob Dylan of course, understands this. In fact, I’d go much further and say that he’s done a helluva of an amazing job bringing that angle back into all his songs, particularly those that played out on his fantastic series of albums that followed Under the Red Sky. Perhaps this album was a pivot; an attempt to bring back some of his old self. I hear all sorts of old and new Dylan on Under the Red Sky now. I hear “Quinn the Eskimo”, “Senor”, “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts”, “Tweedledee and Tweedledum”, “Jokerman” and “Tempest”. As with all those brilliant tunes (several of which I have written about already), Dylan adds a human touch to songs on Under the Red Sky, most notably “Handy Dandy”. Case in point, his stuttering of the line “Boy you’re t-talkin’ crazy”. It’s intentional (he does the same thing on alternate takes that he does on the studio version). It’s fun. Indeed, it’s almost childlike in its delivery.
Back to my back yard. I suppose I’ve created an adult fantasy world; a carryover of my childhood. It’s where I allow my younger self to take over, assisted by a flurry of wildlife this year, large and small, winged and slithering, climbing and tunneling, swimming and hopping, chirping and hooting. The Scroobius Pip would feel comfortable in such a locale. So too, I think, would Bob Dylan.
Riddle Me This!
- Pete
Friday, September 7, 2018
Master Blueprints # 34: "I See My Light Come Shining, From the West unto the East”
(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
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