(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Here, There and
Everywhere”
Album: Revolver
Release Date: August
1966
A few weeks ago, I wandered into a rock-music record store in
downtown Lowell with my 21 year-old son, Peter.
Yes, I said that right: ‘Record Store’.
The kind you used to find on every Main Street in the country. Nothing
but vinyl on the shelves. The old fashioned, turntable, disc-shaped kind of vinyl
that any of us music lovers over the age of 50 still has nostalgia for any time
we come across such media. This was Rock and Roll packaged in the way it was
always meant to be.
Peter was curious and asked me to point out some of the better
albums in the store’s inventory. First, I guided him over to the “R” section. It was not hard to find the large selection
of “Rolling Stones” albums. I thumbed through until coming upon their superb
double album Exile on Main Street. I slipped it out of the outer store sleeve
and opened the inner album sleeve, showing Peter the song sequence and pointing
out how each of the four sides has its own distinct feel (I wrote about this in
my Stepping Stones series, # 17). I
emphasized that to connect with the album optimally you need to approach it in
this context. It was the way the Stones meant you to hear it. This was
intriguing to Peter.
Next, we thumbed through the Beatles catalog until we came upon
the “White Album”, which is also a double album. I pulled it out and opened it up. All the
original items were there including the folded poster with a montage of photos
of the band members in all their late-60s free-spirit glory. I showed him the lyrics to all the songs on
the flip side of the poster, which was a novel concept back in the day. There were also the four individual smaller 9
* 11 posters of the band members, reflecting the individuality (vs collective)
reputation of the album. I had those on every
one of my numerous bedroom walls throughout the 70s and 80s. Again, I mentioned
to Peter the distinct feel of each of the four sides.
We then poked through the Who section until we came upon the
phenomenal concept album, Quadrophenia
(yet another double album). We analyzed the picture sleeve: Jimmy the Mod on
his scooter. I pointed out the Who members in each of the scooter’s 4 mirrors (each representing one of Jimmy's 4 split "Quadro" personalities).
We then poked through the booklet, which is a nice photo summation of the
storyline (I love the image of the Who coming out of the Hammersmith Odeon in
London, likely after rehearsal, and Jimmy the Mod kneeling off to the side). We then wrapped up with a few other gems,
including Neil Young’s Everybody Knows
This is Nowhere and Bob Dylan’s Bringing
It All Back Home. Van Morrison’s Wavelength
album was playing on the turntable by the cash register. Peter had basically taken a stroll back to
his Dads youth. It was a moment I shall
not forget any time soon.
Classic albums are gratifying in many ways (including the analog
sound, which is superior to anything digital). Put all the elements I just
mentioned together, and what you really have are works of art. The most important element of all these is
that song sequencing I showed to Peter on the Exile on Main Street album. The
first time I ever got into song (aka album) sequencing was while listening to
the Beatles Revolver in the weeks
after purchasing it (one of my first album purchases back in my mid-teens). I’d
never heard of musicians putting effort into this sort of thing, so I pretty
much came to the realization on my own. One
of the more interesting storylines about this album was that in those days - the
mid-70s- what you would get would be the unique United States version of Revolver, which had 3 fewer songs on it than
the British version (Revolver was the
last Beatles album that the American record company, Capitol, would mess with). At the time, I was also unaware of this
factoid. Why is all this
interesting? Let me explain.
The 3 songs that were removed from the Capitol Records version of Revolver were all John Lennon songs;
“And Your Bird Can Sing”, “Dr. Robert” and “I’m Only Sleeping” (all three would
in turn be added to the fabricated Capitol album Yesterday and Today, which I had also purchased around the same time
I acquired American Revolver, and
which I actually have fond memories of in spite of this fact). “I’m Only Sleeping” was removed from the
middle of the first side and the others were removed from the middle of side
two.
Documentary after documentary and book after book have described John
Lennon as not a happy camper in the mid-60s (Lennon himself refers to those
years as his “fat Elvis period”), which at times was reflected in his output.
All 3 songs that were removed by the American label were rather pedestrian in
comparison to much of the rest of the album.
They also lacked a sense of experimentation, and if John Lennon was
known for anything while a Beatle, it was pushing the band into new
territory. And yet, despite being in a self-described
funk, Lennon could also have moments of innovation and brilliance in that
period, which are reflected in his 2 contributions that remained on the album….
“She Said, She Said” and “Tomorrow Never Knows” (if Lennon’s “Rain” were
included, which was written at the time, and showcases some of Ringo Starr’s
best-ever drumming, it would have easily fit too).
In my mind, the Capitol-Record-version shakedown made the album
work better. American Revolver was tight,
and the songs flowed seamlessly, which was particularly the case with side two.
I recalled this week how in my teens, I would love how “Good Day Sunshine” flowed
beautifully into “For No One”, and in turn how the latter flowed into “I Want
to Tell You”, and all down the line to “Tomorrow Never Knows”. There was something magical about it. Oddly,
the record company got it right. Did
they actually have someone there with a keen ear? Anyhow, kudos to whoever made that decision. Album sequencing being so novel in 1966 (the
only other rock musician I can think of who was doing it then was Bob Dylan), I
look at it this way: The Beatles got it 90% right and the record company gave
the band’s artistic brilliance the finishing touches in a minimalist sort of
way.
These days, we don’t have a working turntable to play records on at
home (Note to self: I must get a new cartridge for my old turntable up in the
attic). Alas, I would not be able to play my old Revolver album to connect with the Capitol-version song order (to
my knowledge, the original Capitol version is no longer available in any form, unless
you get an old copy). When I fetched the album in the basement however it was, to
my slight surprise, a more recent version of Revolver which has those three John Lennon songs added back in. What happened to my earliest version of the
album? I have no clue, but at that moment I did recall having pulled my current
copy of the album out once or twice before and scratching my head when looking
at the track list. The cd I was listening to in the car all week also had those
3 Lennon tracks. Yet, I wanted to listen to that original album order. I wanted
to connect with those early memories of Revolver.
On Monday morning this past week, I popped the cd into my car player and allowed
my younger self to kick in as each song ended, anticipating the next one. And so, when one of those 3 John Lennon songs
began to play instead, I immediately advanced the cd to the next song. Soon
enough, it all fit like a glove and after several play-throughs, I began doing
it unconsciously. I had my old album back (which I verified by doing a little
research later).
Album sequencing is a dying art form. These days, individual songs
are downloaded far more frequently than the albums they are on. Is this dying art form a bad thing? After
all, most art forms are fleeting. New ones enter the fray. I can accept this,
although, as I experienced with Peter a few weeks ago, I sense that there will
be a lasting impression. This is the case with any great art form, is it not? If so, the album concept will persevere, even
if only on the fringe-artistic edges of our society (I guess that’s me).
One of the most radiant of love songs from Paul McCartney - not
only off Revolver but in his entire catalog
– is “Here, There and Everywhere” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdcSFVXd3MU
). As I listened this week,
in the context of the original Capitol version of the Revolver album (song 4, side 1), I was pulled back in, floored by
the beauty of the music and lyrics. As
be the case with “Hey Jude” (which I am certain to write about in a future
entry) this song fascinatingly appears to channel the then near-future life of
his writing partner John Lennon, more particularly Lennon’s soon to be funk-ending
union with his soulmate Yoko Ono (where with “Hey Jude” it was already playing
out). All of this is only in my
imagination, but when I read the lyrics “but
to love her is to need her everywhere” I envision Lennon including Yoko in
future studio sessions with the band, or “someone
is speaking, but she doesn’t know he’s there" I envision the ‘she’ – or he for that matter – being Yoko
and John, drowning out those around them, including Lennon’s bandmates. Is it a
McCartney premonition of what was to come? That being John Lennon replacing his
love for the Beatles with a new love (which would factor significantly in
breaking up the band). Or, is it simply a generality love song of no one in
particular, of the most infatuated kind?
John and Yoko is a story for another blog entry though. To close here, I’ll briefly mention another
memory of this week’s celebrated song on that celebrated Revolver album. At a close friend’s wedding many years ago, the bride
and groom (my friend) approached my wife, Nancy and I before their nuptials and
pleaded for our last-minute input on what should be the wedding song for her to
walk down the aisle to (why they waited this late in the game would make sense
if you knew my friend). Immediately,
“Here, There and Everywhere” came to Nancy’s mind. And so it was.
Yes indeed, the Beatles are always Here for the celebration, There
for the taking, and Everywhere for
the moment.
- Pete
Sunday, January 19, 2020
Saturday, January 11, 2020
Fab Foundations # 2: "In the Beginning”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Michelle”
Album: Rubber Soul
Release Date: December 1965
One of the unique peculiarities of my extended family is that there is not a single descendant of “Flower Power” age (which I equate to being in your collegiate years during the late 60s – early 70s). This is particularly striking to me, because my extended family is very large. My paternal grandparents had 5 children and my maternal grandparents had 12. Between the two there were over 70 grandchildren. My Mom was one of the youngest in her large family, which rounded out in the early 1940’s (my Dad’s family was a bit older). My oldest cousins are not much older than I, born in the mid to late 50s. This leaves a gap of about 12 years or so, within which that Flower Power (aka Age of Aquarius) generation was born.
And so, in terms of family, my parents had no strong ties to the counter-culture movement. This can also be said for their taste in music. Neither my Mom or Dad gave much thought to the fledgling years of Rock and Roll. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis were not on their radar. My Dad loves classical music, particularly Mozart. He’s also big into symphony orchestras. My Mom grew up to musicals and other sing-alongs from the 30s and 40s, which her family would emulate around their piano. Their music, along with wholesome early-70s soft-rock radio play (“Summer Breeze”, “A Horse with No Name”, “Precious and Few” etc.) was what I was exposed to in my pre-teen years.
Which makes it kinda fascinating to me that my parents would introduce Beatles music into our home (see Fab Foundations # 1) around the time of my adolescence. Simply reading my first 2 paragraphs here, you would think this to be a big leap for them. But my parents are not the type you can shoehorn into a class or category of culture. They can be flexible and adaptable because they are grounded in faith, hope and love, which has had a rather significant influence on me.
The other piece of that puzzle, however, was that the Beatles and their Rock & Roll contemporaries were beginning to prove by that time (early 70s) that they were not going away any time soon. Their music had staying power, which continues to be proven to this day. Anything with staying power eventually makes its way across generational divides. There is a strong corollary to my parents’ story here. The Beatles and a handful of their contemporaries (several of whom I’ve already written about in this blog) are also adaptable, and they also are grounded in faith, hope, and love.
My adolescence also coincided with the family move to 17 Park Road, Franklin Massachusetts, an old Victorian house with a sprawling porch wrapped around it, nestled on a hill near the center of town. Before moving there from a few blocks away, the entire house had to be gutted, remodeled, and painted. I did not think of it as home until about six months in. Not soon after, it became everyone’s home; friends, cousins, neighbors. My parents still live there. Not long ago, an older cousin who had moved to Texas after college, was back East visiting family and arrived at 17 Park Road for a Christmas party. As we talked, he mentioned what a wonderful home it was. I realized at that moment that the house was new to his eyes. I stared at him somewhat incredulously: “You mean to tell me you’ve never been here before? Everyone-and-their-brother has been to this house!”.
Yeah, that about sums up the vibes of 17 Park Road.
Being about twice the size of our prior home, there was space to get away from the hustle and bustle of family life if you wanted. I am the oldest of six, and so this was a welcome commodity. One place to escape was the living room/dining room space, which was often closed off in the winter, seeing as Dad, in protest of OPEC oil prices, shut off the radiator heat and went full bore with wood stoves (my brothers and I got very good at chopping wood in those years). The family record player was in that living room in the early Park Road years (my soon to be Santa-delivered record player had not arrived yet… but that’s a story for another time), along with my parent’s album collection, which by that time included the Beatles “Red Album” (1962-1966). Ignoring the chilly air, I’d close myself off in that space and listen, read the album sleeve, and listen some more.
The first song I really locked into was “Michelle”. I suppose it could then be said that “Michelle” is the foundation for this blog site. Why “Michelle”? Well, it so happened that I was infatuated with a girl named Michelle at that time. However, there was way more to it than that. This song was sophisticated…. the melody, the lyrics (half in French), the instrumentation, everything. It put me in a different world. I was no longer just sitting in the family living room. I was connecting to something much bigger and broader. I had the distinct sense that I was tapping into a universal sensation. My innocent, insular world was beginning to break apart.
“Michelle” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WoBLi5eE-wY ) paved the path for far deeper dives into the Beatles (and others) catalog in the years to come. It’s primarily a Paul McCartney song (John Lennon contributed to the bridge) which has had me thinking these past months – as I prepped for this series – that McCartney played a vital role for many of us Beatles fans as a bridge to the great beyond of Lennon, Dylan, Townshend, Young, Reed, Richards, Davies, Waters, and others. Breaking out of innocent, insular lives was not going to be done by diving into the deep end. That would have been too much of a quantum mental leap. No, a process was needed, and McCartney guided us in.
This past Thursday and Friday, I spent, appropriately, in the French-speaking city of Montreal, Quebec, with my daughter Charlotte, who is getting her master’s in biology at McGill University and needed to initiate an Environmental Policy course before continuing the course and her field research in Panama this coming semester. The two of us left home in Pepperell, Massachusetts at 3 am, drove up through New Hampshire and Vermont on a beautiful moonlit nite, and watched the sunrise over Lake Champlain as we island hopped our way to the Northeast corner of New York (Rouses Point), and the Canadian border. I dropped Charlotte off at her class on the MacDonald Campus, and not long after, checked into the funky little AirBnB we stayed at on the western corner of the island of Montreal.
I was too exhausted to write…. but not to listen. I queued up “Michelle” on the laptop. The music resonated through that charming, immaculate, French-suburban home ("Michelle, Ma belle"). I was alone with my thoughts which brought me back to those solitary evenings in the living room of 17 Park Road. A then and now moment of sorts. Oh, what has transpired since! It’s the stuff that hundreds of Music and Memory blog entries could be written about.
- Pete
Song: “Michelle”
Album: Rubber Soul
Release Date: December 1965
One of the unique peculiarities of my extended family is that there is not a single descendant of “Flower Power” age (which I equate to being in your collegiate years during the late 60s – early 70s). This is particularly striking to me, because my extended family is very large. My paternal grandparents had 5 children and my maternal grandparents had 12. Between the two there were over 70 grandchildren. My Mom was one of the youngest in her large family, which rounded out in the early 1940’s (my Dad’s family was a bit older). My oldest cousins are not much older than I, born in the mid to late 50s. This leaves a gap of about 12 years or so, within which that Flower Power (aka Age of Aquarius) generation was born.
And so, in terms of family, my parents had no strong ties to the counter-culture movement. This can also be said for their taste in music. Neither my Mom or Dad gave much thought to the fledgling years of Rock and Roll. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis were not on their radar. My Dad loves classical music, particularly Mozart. He’s also big into symphony orchestras. My Mom grew up to musicals and other sing-alongs from the 30s and 40s, which her family would emulate around their piano. Their music, along with wholesome early-70s soft-rock radio play (“Summer Breeze”, “A Horse with No Name”, “Precious and Few” etc.) was what I was exposed to in my pre-teen years.
Which makes it kinda fascinating to me that my parents would introduce Beatles music into our home (see Fab Foundations # 1) around the time of my adolescence. Simply reading my first 2 paragraphs here, you would think this to be a big leap for them. But my parents are not the type you can shoehorn into a class or category of culture. They can be flexible and adaptable because they are grounded in faith, hope and love, which has had a rather significant influence on me.
The other piece of that puzzle, however, was that the Beatles and their Rock & Roll contemporaries were beginning to prove by that time (early 70s) that they were not going away any time soon. Their music had staying power, which continues to be proven to this day. Anything with staying power eventually makes its way across generational divides. There is a strong corollary to my parents’ story here. The Beatles and a handful of their contemporaries (several of whom I’ve already written about in this blog) are also adaptable, and they also are grounded in faith, hope, and love.
My adolescence also coincided with the family move to 17 Park Road, Franklin Massachusetts, an old Victorian house with a sprawling porch wrapped around it, nestled on a hill near the center of town. Before moving there from a few blocks away, the entire house had to be gutted, remodeled, and painted. I did not think of it as home until about six months in. Not soon after, it became everyone’s home; friends, cousins, neighbors. My parents still live there. Not long ago, an older cousin who had moved to Texas after college, was back East visiting family and arrived at 17 Park Road for a Christmas party. As we talked, he mentioned what a wonderful home it was. I realized at that moment that the house was new to his eyes. I stared at him somewhat incredulously: “You mean to tell me you’ve never been here before? Everyone-and-their-brother has been to this house!”.
Yeah, that about sums up the vibes of 17 Park Road.
Being about twice the size of our prior home, there was space to get away from the hustle and bustle of family life if you wanted. I am the oldest of six, and so this was a welcome commodity. One place to escape was the living room/dining room space, which was often closed off in the winter, seeing as Dad, in protest of OPEC oil prices, shut off the radiator heat and went full bore with wood stoves (my brothers and I got very good at chopping wood in those years). The family record player was in that living room in the early Park Road years (my soon to be Santa-delivered record player had not arrived yet… but that’s a story for another time), along with my parent’s album collection, which by that time included the Beatles “Red Album” (1962-1966). Ignoring the chilly air, I’d close myself off in that space and listen, read the album sleeve, and listen some more.
The first song I really locked into was “Michelle”. I suppose it could then be said that “Michelle” is the foundation for this blog site. Why “Michelle”? Well, it so happened that I was infatuated with a girl named Michelle at that time. However, there was way more to it than that. This song was sophisticated…. the melody, the lyrics (half in French), the instrumentation, everything. It put me in a different world. I was no longer just sitting in the family living room. I was connecting to something much bigger and broader. I had the distinct sense that I was tapping into a universal sensation. My innocent, insular world was beginning to break apart.
“Michelle” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WoBLi5eE-wY ) paved the path for far deeper dives into the Beatles (and others) catalog in the years to come. It’s primarily a Paul McCartney song (John Lennon contributed to the bridge) which has had me thinking these past months – as I prepped for this series – that McCartney played a vital role for many of us Beatles fans as a bridge to the great beyond of Lennon, Dylan, Townshend, Young, Reed, Richards, Davies, Waters, and others. Breaking out of innocent, insular lives was not going to be done by diving into the deep end. That would have been too much of a quantum mental leap. No, a process was needed, and McCartney guided us in.
This past Thursday and Friday, I spent, appropriately, in the French-speaking city of Montreal, Quebec, with my daughter Charlotte, who is getting her master’s in biology at McGill University and needed to initiate an Environmental Policy course before continuing the course and her field research in Panama this coming semester. The two of us left home in Pepperell, Massachusetts at 3 am, drove up through New Hampshire and Vermont on a beautiful moonlit nite, and watched the sunrise over Lake Champlain as we island hopped our way to the Northeast corner of New York (Rouses Point), and the Canadian border. I dropped Charlotte off at her class on the MacDonald Campus, and not long after, checked into the funky little AirBnB we stayed at on the western corner of the island of Montreal.
I was too exhausted to write…. but not to listen. I queued up “Michelle” on the laptop. The music resonated through that charming, immaculate, French-suburban home ("Michelle, Ma belle"). I was alone with my thoughts which brought me back to those solitary evenings in the living room of 17 Park Road. A then and now moment of sorts. Oh, what has transpired since! It’s the stuff that hundreds of Music and Memory blog entries could be written about.
- Pete
Saturday, January 4, 2020
Fab Foundations # 1: "Album-Cover Duality”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Beatles songs)
Song: “Something”
Album: Abbey Road
Release Date: September 1969
How was it that the Beatles became so successful? I’ve brought this up before in these blog pages - in the context of ‘luck’ (the question “were they just lucky?” was posed by my Mom a while back) - but it’s worth revisiting. I mean, here were four aspiring musicians who formed a band, not unlike so many who had done it before and who have done it since. They were from lower-middle class families, each with a below average formal education from what I can gather. This made it clear to me and many others in my generation that an Ivy League degree (or anything even close) was no prerequisite for generating Beatlemania. It was an eye opener and a game changer.
John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr were not born with silver spoons in their mouths. There was no regal British blood running through their veins. Opportunity was not knocking at their doors.
In one of the great ironies of life, tragedy must have played a factor in the band’s success, seeing as both Lennon and McCartney lost their mothers at a young age, and the band lost a founding member, Stu Sutcliffe, in the early years. We all know people who have had to overcome adversity. Some tackle it head-on and then rise to amazing levels. Others never find their moorings.
The times certainly had something to do with it too, as the Beatles were part of a post-war-England generation with a chip on its shoulder, a need to prove to their parents who sacrificed so much that they had something of their own to show the world.
Hard work cannot be overlooked, nor can talent. And yes, lady luck could have played a role. I mean, how often can it be said that four individuals hit the jackpot by finding each other in such a way (as with my Rolling Stones and Who blog series, this narrative – the whole being greater than the sum of its parts - has so much juicy potential here).
But there was something more.
When I was deep into my original Gem Music Video series back in 2007-08, tackling a different musician every week for 100 weeks, my sister Amy challenged me to write an entry about my Beatles music-loving roots. (the Gem Music Videos eventually morphed into this Music and Memory blog site and those “Gems” are now available here). Amy was spot on. By that time (~ 90 entries in), I had not really written much on this sensational band. Sure, they had been discussed in fits and starts throughout, and several videos of their songs had even been posted. And yet, I had not given the Fab Four they’re just dues. But what could I say about the Beatles that has not been said by others? It seemed as if their lives and music had already been covered ad nauseam. In truth, I was intimidated: If there were any new angles to write on regarding this band - while weaving them into my personal linkages (as I do with all these series) - it was going to take some thought.
To get a unique slant on things, I had to go back to the beginning, recalling my first foray into a magical mystery tour that has had me caught in its wake for 44 years and counting. Strangely enough, this initial seed proved not to be the music itself. The initial seed was an album cover, more specifically the cover of “The Red Album” (1962 -1966). And as I thought more, I came to the realization that this album cover was my inroad to understanding the reason for the Beatles success as well.
“The Red Album”, along with Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, were the first real rock albums to make their way into the Steeves Family household, thanks to my Mom and Dad. I would later get beyond the trappings and allure of ‘Greatest Hits’ albums like “The Red Album” but seeing as this album was a ground breaker, I have no gripes about it, only praise (as opposed to greatest hits albums in general, which I feel undermine the creative intent of the original albums that the songs were plucked from). The Red Album was my initiation into the Beatles early-mid years, which greased the skids for all my subsequent rock album purchases, including most of the Beatles catalog. Songs like “Michelle”, “Eleanor Rigby” and “Paperback Writer” were the first songs I would play repeatedly, lifting the needle up on the turntable, moving it backwards, and dropping it back down again. While listening, I would read the words, song dates, and credits.
I would also stare at the album cover.
The cover of the album was pretty darn cool. On the front side was a photo of the Beatles circa 1963 on the stairwell of EMI studios, looking over the balcony, down at the camera man, and on the flip side were the Beatles in the same pose (same positions, left to right: Ringo, Paul, George, John), on that same stairwell, near the end of their collaboration in 1969. As I would glance back and forth, one photo to the next, it felt as if I were looking at eight people, not four. This was fascinating to me. The difference in their appearance, particularly John and George, but also Paul and Ringo, was striking.
Now, I’m not talking about age, hair growth, or the possible ravages of drug abuse per se as principle driving factors. I’ve seen all these as being much greater factors when looking at change in others. For example, the difference in Keith Richards is dramatic when comparing a ’67 photo of him to a ’69 photo, which can be chalked up to all three of these factors (the good news for Keith: He’s barely aged since!). Comparing these two Red Album photos however, I saw much more that should be attributed to the changes in the Beatles appearance. And though I could not really nail it down at the time, what I was observing were the sage-like faces of knowledge, experience and wisdom. This proved to be incredibly enlightening to me. The changes in the Beatles were more in line with what you would expect to see in, say a grandparent when comparing their teen photos to their later years, particularly if that grandparent had been through much in the interim. For the Beatles, however, there were only six years separating these two photos!
How could the Beatles have changed so much in so short a time? Yes, they had seen the world, and met with virtually all the most famous people of their times. They had become wealthy beyond their wildest imaginations. And yet, this has been the case for many others, without such a dramatic effect. No, I believe what changed the Beatles the most during the group’s career came from within. It was their openness, the breadth of their willingness to share their hearts, minds and souls with the world through the music they made together. This more than anything was also why the Beatles were so successful. They did not hold back one iota, which is a very, very hard thing to do. Perhaps it was not so hard in the beginning, when they presumably had nothing to lose, but as time went by it must have gotten much more difficult to maintain that openness. The Beatles did it for eight years, an amazing run. As George Harrison once stated, “They (fans) gave their money and they gave their screams, but the Beatles kind of gave their nervous systems”.
After absorbing this concept to some degree all those years ago while looking at and listening to the Red Album as a 13 year-old kid, it was effortless to connect with the rest of the Beatles music. It was all about filling in the song-story between those two pictures. And boy has it ever been fun: From the Dylanesque “White Album” (The Beatles), to the psychedelic dream state of Sgt Pepper. From the willingness to cry for “Help”, to the spiritual depth and beauty of “Long, Long, Long”; from the beautifully melodic “Martha My Dear”, to the intensity of “Oh, Darling”; from the brutal honesty of letting the cameras role as the band broke up in front of our eyes during the film Let it Be to their classy, brilliant, final regrouping for Abbey Road (side two after “Here Comes the Sun” is simply put, one, long, magnificent, harmonious, subconscious, goodbye). From the original album-oriented music of Revolver to the singles that defined a generation: “Hey Jude”, “All You Need is Love”, and“Strawberry Fields”.
It certainly has been fun.
The Beatles were common ground for a family (Steeves) with very diverse musical interests. They were the one band you could find in all our album/tape collections. This, I believe was the case in many other families. Come Together? Yeah, Yeah, Yeah! You Bet.
I could have picked any number of songs to open this Fab Foundations series, but I had to settle on something…. “Something”, yes that works! ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UelDrZ1aFeY ). This video (“Something”) was the last real collaboration the four Beatles worked on together, although they were by this time (late ’69) pretty much defunct as a band. It shows the Beatles in separate clips with their spouses - a coordinated montage of sorts – and reflects well those older, wiser Beatles in the photo on the flip side of the Red Album (Side Note: Everyone looks happy in this video except Paul McCartney, who looks devastated, which supports my hypothesis that “Oh Darling” was a plea to John Lennon). George Harrison’s “Something” is one of the most beautiful of love songs. For a band that espoused love in their music more than any other I know, it was a perfect music video for the Beatles to sign out to.
As for this Fab Foundations series, well… I’m just getting started. With the intention of building on that Red Album-cover enlightenment angle, I look forward to a year of listening to Beatles music (along with sprinklings of their solo material, because the Beatles story is far too short, and the solo albums are a natural extension). It’s been a long, long, ….long time.
- Pete
Song: “Something”
Album: Abbey Road
Release Date: September 1969
How was it that the Beatles became so successful? I’ve brought this up before in these blog pages - in the context of ‘luck’ (the question “were they just lucky?” was posed by my Mom a while back) - but it’s worth revisiting. I mean, here were four aspiring musicians who formed a band, not unlike so many who had done it before and who have done it since. They were from lower-middle class families, each with a below average formal education from what I can gather. This made it clear to me and many others in my generation that an Ivy League degree (or anything even close) was no prerequisite for generating Beatlemania. It was an eye opener and a game changer.
John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr were not born with silver spoons in their mouths. There was no regal British blood running through their veins. Opportunity was not knocking at their doors.
In one of the great ironies of life, tragedy must have played a factor in the band’s success, seeing as both Lennon and McCartney lost their mothers at a young age, and the band lost a founding member, Stu Sutcliffe, in the early years. We all know people who have had to overcome adversity. Some tackle it head-on and then rise to amazing levels. Others never find their moorings.
The times certainly had something to do with it too, as the Beatles were part of a post-war-England generation with a chip on its shoulder, a need to prove to their parents who sacrificed so much that they had something of their own to show the world.
Hard work cannot be overlooked, nor can talent. And yes, lady luck could have played a role. I mean, how often can it be said that four individuals hit the jackpot by finding each other in such a way (as with my Rolling Stones and Who blog series, this narrative – the whole being greater than the sum of its parts - has so much juicy potential here).
But there was something more.
When I was deep into my original Gem Music Video series back in 2007-08, tackling a different musician every week for 100 weeks, my sister Amy challenged me to write an entry about my Beatles music-loving roots. (the Gem Music Videos eventually morphed into this Music and Memory blog site and those “Gems” are now available here). Amy was spot on. By that time (~ 90 entries in), I had not really written much on this sensational band. Sure, they had been discussed in fits and starts throughout, and several videos of their songs had even been posted. And yet, I had not given the Fab Four they’re just dues. But what could I say about the Beatles that has not been said by others? It seemed as if their lives and music had already been covered ad nauseam. In truth, I was intimidated: If there were any new angles to write on regarding this band - while weaving them into my personal linkages (as I do with all these series) - it was going to take some thought.
To get a unique slant on things, I had to go back to the beginning, recalling my first foray into a magical mystery tour that has had me caught in its wake for 44 years and counting. Strangely enough, this initial seed proved not to be the music itself. The initial seed was an album cover, more specifically the cover of “The Red Album” (1962 -1966). And as I thought more, I came to the realization that this album cover was my inroad to understanding the reason for the Beatles success as well.
“The Red Album”, along with Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, were the first real rock albums to make their way into the Steeves Family household, thanks to my Mom and Dad. I would later get beyond the trappings and allure of ‘Greatest Hits’ albums like “The Red Album” but seeing as this album was a ground breaker, I have no gripes about it, only praise (as opposed to greatest hits albums in general, which I feel undermine the creative intent of the original albums that the songs were plucked from). The Red Album was my initiation into the Beatles early-mid years, which greased the skids for all my subsequent rock album purchases, including most of the Beatles catalog. Songs like “Michelle”, “Eleanor Rigby” and “Paperback Writer” were the first songs I would play repeatedly, lifting the needle up on the turntable, moving it backwards, and dropping it back down again. While listening, I would read the words, song dates, and credits.
I would also stare at the album cover.
The cover of the album was pretty darn cool. On the front side was a photo of the Beatles circa 1963 on the stairwell of EMI studios, looking over the balcony, down at the camera man, and on the flip side were the Beatles in the same pose (same positions, left to right: Ringo, Paul, George, John), on that same stairwell, near the end of their collaboration in 1969. As I would glance back and forth, one photo to the next, it felt as if I were looking at eight people, not four. This was fascinating to me. The difference in their appearance, particularly John and George, but also Paul and Ringo, was striking.
Now, I’m not talking about age, hair growth, or the possible ravages of drug abuse per se as principle driving factors. I’ve seen all these as being much greater factors when looking at change in others. For example, the difference in Keith Richards is dramatic when comparing a ’67 photo of him to a ’69 photo, which can be chalked up to all three of these factors (the good news for Keith: He’s barely aged since!). Comparing these two Red Album photos however, I saw much more that should be attributed to the changes in the Beatles appearance. And though I could not really nail it down at the time, what I was observing were the sage-like faces of knowledge, experience and wisdom. This proved to be incredibly enlightening to me. The changes in the Beatles were more in line with what you would expect to see in, say a grandparent when comparing their teen photos to their later years, particularly if that grandparent had been through much in the interim. For the Beatles, however, there were only six years separating these two photos!
How could the Beatles have changed so much in so short a time? Yes, they had seen the world, and met with virtually all the most famous people of their times. They had become wealthy beyond their wildest imaginations. And yet, this has been the case for many others, without such a dramatic effect. No, I believe what changed the Beatles the most during the group’s career came from within. It was their openness, the breadth of their willingness to share their hearts, minds and souls with the world through the music they made together. This more than anything was also why the Beatles were so successful. They did not hold back one iota, which is a very, very hard thing to do. Perhaps it was not so hard in the beginning, when they presumably had nothing to lose, but as time went by it must have gotten much more difficult to maintain that openness. The Beatles did it for eight years, an amazing run. As George Harrison once stated, “They (fans) gave their money and they gave their screams, but the Beatles kind of gave their nervous systems”.
After absorbing this concept to some degree all those years ago while looking at and listening to the Red Album as a 13 year-old kid, it was effortless to connect with the rest of the Beatles music. It was all about filling in the song-story between those two pictures. And boy has it ever been fun: From the Dylanesque “White Album” (The Beatles), to the psychedelic dream state of Sgt Pepper. From the willingness to cry for “Help”, to the spiritual depth and beauty of “Long, Long, Long”; from the beautifully melodic “Martha My Dear”, to the intensity of “Oh, Darling”; from the brutal honesty of letting the cameras role as the band broke up in front of our eyes during the film Let it Be to their classy, brilliant, final regrouping for Abbey Road (side two after “Here Comes the Sun” is simply put, one, long, magnificent, harmonious, subconscious, goodbye). From the original album-oriented music of Revolver to the singles that defined a generation: “Hey Jude”, “All You Need is Love”, and“Strawberry Fields”.
It certainly has been fun.
The Beatles were common ground for a family (Steeves) with very diverse musical interests. They were the one band you could find in all our album/tape collections. This, I believe was the case in many other families. Come Together? Yeah, Yeah, Yeah! You Bet.
I could have picked any number of songs to open this Fab Foundations series, but I had to settle on something…. “Something”, yes that works! ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UelDrZ1aFeY ). This video (“Something”) was the last real collaboration the four Beatles worked on together, although they were by this time (late ’69) pretty much defunct as a band. It shows the Beatles in separate clips with their spouses - a coordinated montage of sorts – and reflects well those older, wiser Beatles in the photo on the flip side of the Red Album (Side Note: Everyone looks happy in this video except Paul McCartney, who looks devastated, which supports my hypothesis that “Oh Darling” was a plea to John Lennon). George Harrison’s “Something” is one of the most beautiful of love songs. For a band that espoused love in their music more than any other I know, it was a perfect music video for the Beatles to sign out to.
As for this Fab Foundations series, well… I’m just getting started. With the intention of building on that Red Album-cover enlightenment angle, I look forward to a year of listening to Beatles music (along with sprinklings of their solo material, because the Beatles story is far too short, and the solo albums are a natural extension). It’s been a long, long, ….long time.
- Pete
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Master Blueprints Table of Contents (personal reflections inspired by the music of Bob Dylan)
Below are links to each of the 50 Master Blueprint entries,
which are personal reflections inspired by the music of Bob Dylan, written
throughout 2018.
# 1
# 2
#3
#4
#5
#6
#7
#8
#9
#10
#11
#12
#13
#14
#15
#16
#17
#18
#19
#20
#21
#22
#23
#24
#25
#26
#27
#28
#29
#30
#31
#32
#33
#34
#35
#36
#37
#38
#39
#40
#41
#42
#43
#44
#45
#46
#47
#48
#49
#50
Sunday, January 13, 2019
Master Blueprints # 50: “Someday Everything is Gonna Be Smooth Like a Rhapsody, When I Paint My Masterpiece”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Bob Dylan songs)
Song: “When I Paint My Masterpiece”
Album: Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits Vol. II
First Recorded: March 1971
Welcome to my final Master Blueprint entry, capping off a yearlong commitment of listening almost exclusively to the music of Bob Dylan, and in the process, writing down the thoughts and memories that his music ignites in me on a weekly basis. When I started this series, I must admit it was with a bit of dread, which I hope you can come to understand as you read on. That feeling began to seep in a full 6 years earlier, when I made the decision on the order I would tackle this overriding Music and Memory concept. At the time, I zeroed in on 5 musicians/bands who I believed I had enough ammo on to dedicate an entire year each of weekly writing; those being the Rolling Stones (2012), Neil Young (2014) the Who (2016), Bob Dylan (2018), and the Beatles (planned for 2020).
One early idea I had was that I would alternate between the three established bands and the two musicians who are known better as individualists, which has helped to keep things fresh (as it turns out this alternating also happens to be between British and North American musicians, which has also kept things fresh). Another early thought was that I would write every other year, taking a break in between each series. A key reason I did this was in anticipation of this Master Blueprint series. I knew I would need an extra year to prep for Bob Dylan; the depth and breadth of his material was simply too expansive to dive right in after wrapping up the prior series. Dylan was intimidating in other ways too. Just listen to any of his albums. He’s challenging his listeners all the time, and I felt strongly six years ago that this all-encompassing challenge was going to translate big time when it came to writing thoughts that centered around his music. Sure enough, it most certainly did.
Perhaps because Bob Dylan is always challenging us can at least partly explain why many people struggle with making inroads to his Nobel-winning ‘literature’ (music) despite its grandeur. In other words, the ear training is much more than just adapting to his oft simple, sparse arrangements and even more-often raspy vocals. Indeed, there are multiple layers of peeling needed to truly connect with this artist, who can only be embraced a bit at a time. Put it all together though – the lyrics, tonality, instrumentation, grammar, phonality, semantics, melody, attitude, sincerity, longevity, spirituality, depth, breadth - and you ultimately have a very good angle on truth.
I’m sure I surprised a majority of my family and friends this year with the intensity of my connection to Bob Dylan’s songs. Anyone who knows me well is fully aware of my on-again/off-again enthrallment with the Who, Neil Young, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, among other great musicians. But not so much Dylan. The fact of the matter is that I’ve always found it relatively easy to get those other band’s music on to my turntable when entertaining others. Bob Dylan, however, has ended up being the one musician I listen to primarily on my own. Why? Well, not only is Dylan an acquired taste (as discussed above), he also requires focus. Accordingly, my guests would have had to deal with my being constantly distracted or immerse themselves in my distraction.
And so, like the boy who hears the jingle bell in The Polar Express or, closer to home like my Dad when listening to Mozart, I’ve kinda had to accept this semi-private world as is. How do you explain the jingle bell? You don’t, unless you are in communion with others who hear it. I long ago concluded that it is up to the individual to make inroads into Bob Dylan’s music. No one’s going to compel you….at least audibly. The written word might be another matter though, seeing as over the past year I think I’ve been able to relay my Dylan fascination to those who read this blog series on a regular basis. Regardless, we all know there are many ways for people to tap into the deeper meaning of things. This just happens to be a significant one for me, which has allowed me to expound.
Listening to Bob Dylan’s music this past year has taught me a few things about myself. For example, I’ve always known that I have an odd tendency to refrain from taking in or tackling the entirety a good thing, be it a band’s discography, a television series, a programming language, a coin collection, a book series, etc. In the past I’ve explained this away as my taking comfort in the fact that there would always be some undiscovered treasure out there. I mean, what fun is it to know you’ve found it all? To a degree I still believe this to be true.
But now I know there’s much more to it. Bob Dylan has committed himself fully to his craft, which is a very difficult thing to do. This includes the musical historian in him, and the artist, and the poet, the writer, the stage act, the DJ, and of course, the musician. Enveloping it all is his spirituality; his quest for salvation. I now see my resistance to taking in the entirety of something through this prism. I’ve tried to put my all into this blog series however (as well as the ones that preceded it), and I hope to build on that effort with other works in my future, be they related to writing, faith, or any other endeavor.
As with my other blog series on the Rolling Stones, Neil Young and the Who, there were a handful of Bob Dylan songs that blew me away for the first time this past year, including “Desolation Row” (more on this one below), “Heart of Mine”, “I Feel a Change Comin’ On”, and “Roll on John”. Other songs cut deeper than they ever had before, including “Foot of Pride”, “Brownsville Girl”, and “Chimes of Freedom”. Alternatively, I knew I was not going to soar much higher than I already had with anything off Bringing It All Back Home, John Wesley Harding, The Basement Tapes, Blood on the Tracks, Slow Train Coming, Infidels, Oh Mercy or Time Out of Mind. In those circumstances, it was up to me to recall my highest of highs from the past. Capturing a past high can be a lot harder to do than taking a fresh perspective on something of quality, where you have never reached the mountaintop before. Those new peaks for me were achieved with the overall essence that is Blonde on Blonde, Street Legal, Shot of Love, and Modern Times.
Back in 2008 and 2009, before I started these blog series, I wrote 100 email letters to family and friends, which I dubbed Gem Music Video of the Week (these can be found on this blog site, if you scroll to the very beginning). My very first entry began:
‘Hey everyone, here’s my new home email address. I'm launching this address with a weekly series: Gem Music Video of the Week. It's pretty amazing having all this video music at your disposal on YouTube, so for those who are search-challenged I am tracking some chestnuts.’
The idea started small – posting music videos and concert tracks of many of my favorite musicians and their songs with some commentary - but grew over those 2 years, leading to what I’m doing today. The very last of those 100 email letters was centered on Bob Dylan’s song “When I Paint My Masterpiece”. In a rare case of double dipping, I would like to use it again here.
In that writeup, I wrote about the concept of quality, having just finished the Robert Pirsig novel Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which has this concept at the core to the storyline (so much so, that the word is capitalized throughout). The book had been recommended to me earlier that year by one of the recipients of those emails, one of my great Canadian friends, Pat Shea. I went on to write about some of Pat’s unique qualities and then followed up writing about the unique qualities of several other recipients. To sum up, I then went on to say:
Yet the concept of Quality can be related to other things as well: Music, writing, friendship, parenthood, anything you put your mind to. I hope by opening myself here over these past 2 years, a bit of Quality came out in this writing. As for the selected set of Gem Videos, well, there's no question.’
When I was back to Ottawa this past fall for work (and an opportunity to see Pat), a guy sat next to me at a bar as I watched my hometown Boston Red Sox in the World Series against the L.A. Dodgers. He was an amiable fellow and I soon concluded that my undivided attention to the game was not going to happen. That was ok. This guy was interesting. At one point, he mentioned Robert Pirsig, and asked if I’d read his books. I told him, yes, I’d read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. He then responded, ‘how about the sequel, Lila’. I told him no, I had not. He finally suggested I check it out.
I just this week finished Lila, and although not as good as Zen, it has its moments. Where the central concept of Zen is quality, with Lila, its morals. While reading, I was probing for a tie-in to this closing writeup. I’d pretty much concluded that thoughts related to Lila were not going to fit in with this series. That is, until I got to the last sentences of chapter 26, near the end of the book, which references the 18th century short poem “The Tyger” (also referred to as The Tiger: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43687/the-tyger ), by 19th century artist/poet English William Blake. At the time, I’d thought, ‘ok, I’d never heard of this poem until 3 months ago (when I referenced it in Master Blueprint # 39), and here I am hearing about it again’. That first occurrence was initiated by a Bob Dylan twist of the poem in the closing lyrics of his last original song on a studio album to date; “Roll on John” off 2012’s Tempest. It was just another serendipitous moment in a year loaded with them.
There’s all sorts of intriguing stuff going on here, but I need to hit the homestretch, else I could be in danger of starting my own sequel (and besides, much in relation to “Roll on John” and “The Tyger” was already covered in that earlier #39 entry). The connection I want to focus on has to do with a lyric in this week’s closing Master Blueprint, “When I Paint My Masterpiece” (https://vimeo.com/75113136 ). It’s what gave me a nice final headshaking moment to this amazing year. The lyric goes:
“Oh, those mighty kings of the jungle, I could hardly stand to see em’ “
“When I Paint My Masterpiece” is a song that Bob Dylan appears to have had a lot of fun with. He’s messed with the lyrics over the years, and blended ancient history with modern times. It’s like a painter trying to figure out color and layout. What I’d not observed until this week is that he also appears to have lyrics out of place. For example, “young girls pullin’ muscles” doesn’t seem to fit where it is with “clergymen in uniforms”, but it most certainly would fit with “had to be held down by big police” (connoting a Beatles-like fan riot). Same with the notion that “a long, hard climb” would fit much better with “when I ran on the hilltop following a pack of wild geese”.
I believe what Bob Dylan is saying here is that you can have all your pieces to a masterpiece there right in front of you, but if you don’t see how to arrange them you may as well be sitting in front of a blank canvas. It gets an artist to do inconsequential things like messing with the color or the layout. These thoughts are what “mighty kings of the jungle” jarred out of me. The line before, Bob Dylan sings of lions in the Coliseum. The thing about lions is, they live in savannah’s not jungles. But their close relative, the tiger is a jungle dweller. Perhaps Bob Dylan never had this nuance in mind, but I do think he had a lot of riddle-like fun with this song. Regardless, I’d have never gone down that thought process without reading the aforementioned last sentences in chapter of Lila.
It’s been so much fun making these kinds of observations of Bob Dylan’s songs this past year. I’ve made a good number of them, although I’m sure there are many more left on the cutting room floor. A favorite of mine was when I tackled “Desolation Row” (Master Blueprint # 36). One thing for sure, if you are going to paint a masterpiece it’s going to have to be from that proverbial place, Desolation Row. It’s a mental space, and anyone who explores the arts, be it music, literature, painting, is going to have to pay a price to find it. I may or may not have painted my masterpiece with this blog series (there likely being one too many pieces out of place?), but I do believe I at least found that mental place to write it. I’ll take it. It puts me in good company.
- Pete
Song: “When I Paint My Masterpiece”
Album: Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits Vol. II
First Recorded: March 1971
Welcome to my final Master Blueprint entry, capping off a yearlong commitment of listening almost exclusively to the music of Bob Dylan, and in the process, writing down the thoughts and memories that his music ignites in me on a weekly basis. When I started this series, I must admit it was with a bit of dread, which I hope you can come to understand as you read on. That feeling began to seep in a full 6 years earlier, when I made the decision on the order I would tackle this overriding Music and Memory concept. At the time, I zeroed in on 5 musicians/bands who I believed I had enough ammo on to dedicate an entire year each of weekly writing; those being the Rolling Stones (2012), Neil Young (2014) the Who (2016), Bob Dylan (2018), and the Beatles (planned for 2020).
One early idea I had was that I would alternate between the three established bands and the two musicians who are known better as individualists, which has helped to keep things fresh (as it turns out this alternating also happens to be between British and North American musicians, which has also kept things fresh). Another early thought was that I would write every other year, taking a break in between each series. A key reason I did this was in anticipation of this Master Blueprint series. I knew I would need an extra year to prep for Bob Dylan; the depth and breadth of his material was simply too expansive to dive right in after wrapping up the prior series. Dylan was intimidating in other ways too. Just listen to any of his albums. He’s challenging his listeners all the time, and I felt strongly six years ago that this all-encompassing challenge was going to translate big time when it came to writing thoughts that centered around his music. Sure enough, it most certainly did.
Perhaps because Bob Dylan is always challenging us can at least partly explain why many people struggle with making inroads to his Nobel-winning ‘literature’ (music) despite its grandeur. In other words, the ear training is much more than just adapting to his oft simple, sparse arrangements and even more-often raspy vocals. Indeed, there are multiple layers of peeling needed to truly connect with this artist, who can only be embraced a bit at a time. Put it all together though – the lyrics, tonality, instrumentation, grammar, phonality, semantics, melody, attitude, sincerity, longevity, spirituality, depth, breadth - and you ultimately have a very good angle on truth.
I’m sure I surprised a majority of my family and friends this year with the intensity of my connection to Bob Dylan’s songs. Anyone who knows me well is fully aware of my on-again/off-again enthrallment with the Who, Neil Young, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, among other great musicians. But not so much Dylan. The fact of the matter is that I’ve always found it relatively easy to get those other band’s music on to my turntable when entertaining others. Bob Dylan, however, has ended up being the one musician I listen to primarily on my own. Why? Well, not only is Dylan an acquired taste (as discussed above), he also requires focus. Accordingly, my guests would have had to deal with my being constantly distracted or immerse themselves in my distraction.
And so, like the boy who hears the jingle bell in The Polar Express or, closer to home like my Dad when listening to Mozart, I’ve kinda had to accept this semi-private world as is. How do you explain the jingle bell? You don’t, unless you are in communion with others who hear it. I long ago concluded that it is up to the individual to make inroads into Bob Dylan’s music. No one’s going to compel you….at least audibly. The written word might be another matter though, seeing as over the past year I think I’ve been able to relay my Dylan fascination to those who read this blog series on a regular basis. Regardless, we all know there are many ways for people to tap into the deeper meaning of things. This just happens to be a significant one for me, which has allowed me to expound.
Listening to Bob Dylan’s music this past year has taught me a few things about myself. For example, I’ve always known that I have an odd tendency to refrain from taking in or tackling the entirety a good thing, be it a band’s discography, a television series, a programming language, a coin collection, a book series, etc. In the past I’ve explained this away as my taking comfort in the fact that there would always be some undiscovered treasure out there. I mean, what fun is it to know you’ve found it all? To a degree I still believe this to be true.
But now I know there’s much more to it. Bob Dylan has committed himself fully to his craft, which is a very difficult thing to do. This includes the musical historian in him, and the artist, and the poet, the writer, the stage act, the DJ, and of course, the musician. Enveloping it all is his spirituality; his quest for salvation. I now see my resistance to taking in the entirety of something through this prism. I’ve tried to put my all into this blog series however (as well as the ones that preceded it), and I hope to build on that effort with other works in my future, be they related to writing, faith, or any other endeavor.
As with my other blog series on the Rolling Stones, Neil Young and the Who, there were a handful of Bob Dylan songs that blew me away for the first time this past year, including “Desolation Row” (more on this one below), “Heart of Mine”, “I Feel a Change Comin’ On”, and “Roll on John”. Other songs cut deeper than they ever had before, including “Foot of Pride”, “Brownsville Girl”, and “Chimes of Freedom”. Alternatively, I knew I was not going to soar much higher than I already had with anything off Bringing It All Back Home, John Wesley Harding, The Basement Tapes, Blood on the Tracks, Slow Train Coming, Infidels, Oh Mercy or Time Out of Mind. In those circumstances, it was up to me to recall my highest of highs from the past. Capturing a past high can be a lot harder to do than taking a fresh perspective on something of quality, where you have never reached the mountaintop before. Those new peaks for me were achieved with the overall essence that is Blonde on Blonde, Street Legal, Shot of Love, and Modern Times.
Back in 2008 and 2009, before I started these blog series, I wrote 100 email letters to family and friends, which I dubbed Gem Music Video of the Week (these can be found on this blog site, if you scroll to the very beginning). My very first entry began:
‘Hey everyone, here’s my new home email address. I'm launching this address with a weekly series: Gem Music Video of the Week. It's pretty amazing having all this video music at your disposal on YouTube, so for those who are search-challenged I am tracking some chestnuts.’
The idea started small – posting music videos and concert tracks of many of my favorite musicians and their songs with some commentary - but grew over those 2 years, leading to what I’m doing today. The very last of those 100 email letters was centered on Bob Dylan’s song “When I Paint My Masterpiece”. In a rare case of double dipping, I would like to use it again here.
In that writeup, I wrote about the concept of quality, having just finished the Robert Pirsig novel Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which has this concept at the core to the storyline (so much so, that the word is capitalized throughout). The book had been recommended to me earlier that year by one of the recipients of those emails, one of my great Canadian friends, Pat Shea. I went on to write about some of Pat’s unique qualities and then followed up writing about the unique qualities of several other recipients. To sum up, I then went on to say:
Yet the concept of Quality can be related to other things as well: Music, writing, friendship, parenthood, anything you put your mind to. I hope by opening myself here over these past 2 years, a bit of Quality came out in this writing. As for the selected set of Gem Videos, well, there's no question.’
When I was back to Ottawa this past fall for work (and an opportunity to see Pat), a guy sat next to me at a bar as I watched my hometown Boston Red Sox in the World Series against the L.A. Dodgers. He was an amiable fellow and I soon concluded that my undivided attention to the game was not going to happen. That was ok. This guy was interesting. At one point, he mentioned Robert Pirsig, and asked if I’d read his books. I told him, yes, I’d read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. He then responded, ‘how about the sequel, Lila’. I told him no, I had not. He finally suggested I check it out.
I just this week finished Lila, and although not as good as Zen, it has its moments. Where the central concept of Zen is quality, with Lila, its morals. While reading, I was probing for a tie-in to this closing writeup. I’d pretty much concluded that thoughts related to Lila were not going to fit in with this series. That is, until I got to the last sentences of chapter 26, near the end of the book, which references the 18th century short poem “The Tyger” (also referred to as The Tiger: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43687/the-tyger ), by 19th century artist/poet English William Blake. At the time, I’d thought, ‘ok, I’d never heard of this poem until 3 months ago (when I referenced it in Master Blueprint # 39), and here I am hearing about it again’. That first occurrence was initiated by a Bob Dylan twist of the poem in the closing lyrics of his last original song on a studio album to date; “Roll on John” off 2012’s Tempest. It was just another serendipitous moment in a year loaded with them.
There’s all sorts of intriguing stuff going on here, but I need to hit the homestretch, else I could be in danger of starting my own sequel (and besides, much in relation to “Roll on John” and “The Tyger” was already covered in that earlier #39 entry). The connection I want to focus on has to do with a lyric in this week’s closing Master Blueprint, “When I Paint My Masterpiece” (https://vimeo.com/75113136 ). It’s what gave me a nice final headshaking moment to this amazing year. The lyric goes:
“Oh, those mighty kings of the jungle, I could hardly stand to see em’ “
“When I Paint My Masterpiece” is a song that Bob Dylan appears to have had a lot of fun with. He’s messed with the lyrics over the years, and blended ancient history with modern times. It’s like a painter trying to figure out color and layout. What I’d not observed until this week is that he also appears to have lyrics out of place. For example, “young girls pullin’ muscles” doesn’t seem to fit where it is with “clergymen in uniforms”, but it most certainly would fit with “had to be held down by big police” (connoting a Beatles-like fan riot). Same with the notion that “a long, hard climb” would fit much better with “when I ran on the hilltop following a pack of wild geese”.
I believe what Bob Dylan is saying here is that you can have all your pieces to a masterpiece there right in front of you, but if you don’t see how to arrange them you may as well be sitting in front of a blank canvas. It gets an artist to do inconsequential things like messing with the color or the layout. These thoughts are what “mighty kings of the jungle” jarred out of me. The line before, Bob Dylan sings of lions in the Coliseum. The thing about lions is, they live in savannah’s not jungles. But their close relative, the tiger is a jungle dweller. Perhaps Bob Dylan never had this nuance in mind, but I do think he had a lot of riddle-like fun with this song. Regardless, I’d have never gone down that thought process without reading the aforementioned last sentences in chapter of Lila.
It’s been so much fun making these kinds of observations of Bob Dylan’s songs this past year. I’ve made a good number of them, although I’m sure there are many more left on the cutting room floor. A favorite of mine was when I tackled “Desolation Row” (Master Blueprint # 36). One thing for sure, if you are going to paint a masterpiece it’s going to have to be from that proverbial place, Desolation Row. It’s a mental space, and anyone who explores the arts, be it music, literature, painting, is going to have to pay a price to find it. I may or may not have painted my masterpiece with this blog series (there likely being one too many pieces out of place?), but I do believe I at least found that mental place to write it. I’ll take it. It puts me in good company.
- Pete
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