(Personal reflections
inspired by Bob Dylan songs)
Song: “Heart of Mine”
Album: Shot of Love
Release Date: August
1981
In the months leading up to this year’s Master Blueprint series, I scrambled to tie
up a handful of loose ends so I could have at least some affinity with every
one of Bob Dylan’s 38 studio albums. Of
the roughly 8 discs whereby I was pretty much starting from scratch, the one
that was the most pleasantly surprising was Shot
of Love; the 3rd in the trilogy of Dylan’s Christian albums
which were released from 1979 to 1981 (each one by the way consisting of
entirely self-penned, faith-centric songs).
The album rocks. And, of the tunes
on that album that I had never heard before (ruling out “Every Grain of Sand”,
a glorious number which I will be tackling at a later date) it was “Heart of Mine” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5konBDe0CU ) that hit me hardest.
“Heart of Mine”
is a hidden-gem-of-a-song that has a jaunty feel to it, which, despite the profound
seriousness of the lyrics (which I will get to) makes sense from my point of
view, because several of the musicians who perform on the studio version,
Ronnie Wood and Ringo Starr, have reputations as two of the most upbeat, fun-loving
guys in Rock & Roll history. The
song also includes Booker T and the MG’s Donald “Duck” Dunn on bass, who
clearly propels “Heart of Mine” forward with a clever, funky beat. We also hear
two drummers, Jim Keltner and Chuck Plotkin (Ringo plays tom toms), along with
William “Smitty” Smith on organ. And of
course, there’s Bob Dylan himself on the jaunty piano and lead vocals, along
with Clydie King on backing vocals. I’ve seen most of these musicians perform one
or more times over the years (at the very least that list includes Dylan,
Starr, Wood, Dunn, and Keltner). This is
likely a key reason why I groove to the beat so readily.
Before I get
into the meaning to “Heart of Mine”, I must explain that both the song and the
album reminded me all week of what I was getting myself into with this Bob
Dylan-centric series. Dylan confronts
the listener with harsh realities, more often and better than any other
musician I know of. Friends and family who
read these blogs might be saying on occasion “what’s up with Pete?”, and perhaps
to some degree they are on to something.
But not really. As Dylan himself at
my age once told a reporter who was questioning him about his songs and how personally
heavy and confessional they sounded… aren’t we all there? Aren’t you there? The fact is Bob Dylan is an artist, and to
tap into the artistic side of yourself, you need to confront the truth. In many other professions, you can find ways
to skirt it. Not so in the art realm:
You must reveal the truth in your work to be truly relevant.
I knew from day
one that I had to build on that core truth with this Master Blueprint blog series, and that at times this process was
going to be brutal. It was one thing with the Rolling Stones Stepping Stones series, another with the
Neil Young Forever Young series and
yet another with The Who Under the Big
Top series. Each had its own
gravitational pull in terms of the revelatory effect the music had on me prior
to and while I was writing (and I am in no way shape or form prepared to compare/contrast
the reasons right now…. although it’s an intriguing thought which I will
consider fleshing out when all is said and done). But here is the key relative point: Bob Dylan
appeals to my basic music-loving senses, in very similar fashion to the Stones,
Neil Young, and The Who (and next up, the Beatles). He’s the Real
Deal. As with those other artists,
there is depth and there is breadth, allowing me to write about him for an
entire year. With this said, I must address what comes to mind when I tackle inspired
talking points on a week to week basis. It’s
that artist thing, ya know.
Ok, are we
ready to move on? I think I am, and to
be more precise, I’m ready to get into the meaning of this under-the-radar song,
“Heart of Mine”. First off, I want to
discuss further that prior-mentioned studio-musician crew that was pulled
together for this song, specifically Ringo Starr and Ronnie Wood. It’s a good way to ease in.
Often, when I
try to put myself in the mindset of the classic rock musicians I love listening
to, I find myself connecting with their 1970s world. It may have something to do with the 70’s
being my own formative period, but one thing for sure I’m drawn to is the variety
of paths that musicians such as Starr, Dylan, and Wood took to stay relevant in
their 2nd decade of public life, as well as Lennon, McCartney, Harrison,
Townshend, Moon, Richards, Jagger, Young and others. Unlike their fallen comrades, including Hendrix,
Joplin, Morrison, Brian Jones, Gram Parsons, and Danny Whitten, these musicians were survivors
(at least for the time being for several of them), and most of them found ways
to thrive moving forward out of the 60s.
All sorts of
adjustments and reevaluations came into play for these musicians in the 70s,
including immersing into domestic life (Dylan, Lennon), religion (Dylan,
Harrison, Townshend), epic artistic journeys (Quadrophenia, Blood on the Tracks, Exile on Main Street, Some Girls,
Imagine, On the Beach, All Things Must Pass, Tonight’s the Night, Rust Never
Sleeps, Who Are You) and musical experimentation into reggae, punk, country
and gospel (Dylan, Richards, Jagger). There
were also coping mechanisms that played out in the form of drugs, hard living,
etc., typical of what can happen to people after over a decade of life on the
road and in the studio. Ringo Starr and
Ronnie Wood kinda fell into that trap during the 70s (each would ultimately
find his way out). And yet both
musicians have always come across to me as good souls seeking true meaning in
life. Almost always, kind words come out
of their mouths, with nary a dig on anyone. Therefore, Ringo and Ronnie were
always invited to the party, seeing as everyone loved having them around,
including Bob Dylan. They were happy to
oblige, all the way to ‘last call’ and beyond, because that’s how it plays out
when you are a diehard who is also ‘in search of’… you don’t want to miss a
thing. I can relate to it.
Anyhow, I find
it pretty darn cool that these 2 characters showed up at the Shot of Love sessions. Everyone and his brother knew at the time that
Bob Dylan was completely honed into his Faith.
He was preaching the Gospel to anyone who would listen, and if you were
going to play music with him, be prepared to hear him sing about Jesus. With Starr and Wood being fun-loving fellas, good
time Charlies, you would think they would avoid such an atmosphere like they would
avoid the plague. After all, Ringo had
been through this type of thing before with the Maharshi in India. He was the first Beatle to get the hell out
of Dodge. And Ronnie remains in a band
that will never be known for spreading the Good Word (although there are
elements there for the Rolling Stones in their first decade, which I covered in
several of my Stepping Stones entries).
If Bob Dylan’s religious
stretch of albums came, say, 5 years earlier, I don’t believe we would have
seen such a studio visitation by Wood and Starr. But by the early 80s, diehards like these two
were starting to see other fellow party animals drop like flies, be it through
burnout, breakdown or death. Keith Moon
was one who was particularly close to both.
Others included John Bonham, Bon Scott, Harry Nilsson, and Pete Townshend
(Scott, Moon, and Bonham all went off to that great “Tower of Song” in the sky,
where Townshend and Nilsson succumbed to burnout and breakdown – thank goodness
Townshend bounced out of it). It was
reality check time, and Bob Dylan was offering spiritual wisdom to his friends
in the form of Slow Train Coming (‘79),
Saved (‘80) and now Shot of Love, as well as all the related
concerts he was performing at the time (give a listen to the mesmerizing Bootleg Series Vol. 13: Trouble No More
1979-1981 to hear what Dylan sounded like live during his Gospel years). It appears Ringo and Ronnie were
listening.
I find it
particularly poignant that Ronnie Wood and Ringo Starr performed on “Heart of
Mine”. If not surrounded by
proselytizing music on Shot of Love,
this song could be interpreted as secular.
There are no overt religious connotations, just universally accepted
dire warnings about the dangers of getting too enamored with yourself. By the late 70s, Rock and Roll was on top of
the world. Musicians who were successful
at it were masters of their universe; that “I am a Golden God!” sort of
thing. You had to be careful and not to let
it get to your head. “Heart of Mine” was
a good way for Wood and Starr to wade into Bob Dylan’s brave new world without
being bowled over.
Hmmm, so I spent
most of my take on the meaning of “Heart of Mine” by relating the song to Bob
Dylan’s friendly visitors in the studio.
I’d like to close by dissecting some of the lyrics. Let’s start with the opening salvo, which
kicks in while the musicians are still getting their feet under them:
“Heart of mine be still
You can
play with fire but you’ll get the bill”
When I am
singing along, I keep finding myself more often than not saying “pay the bill”
in error. This is a perfect (albeit
minor) example of how Bob Dylan is a notch above the rest of the crowd. I believe most other lyricists would have
stated it the way I mistakenly do if they had written this song. But in countless ways like this, Dylan always
gets it just right. In this example, he
is saying that you will definitely get the bill at some point for misbehavior. The choice is yours if you are willing to pay
for it and in turn right the ship, so Dylan does not make that
distinction. The line hit me like a ton
of bricks this past Monday on my way to work, singlehandedly pulling me from my
original intent for the week (which was all lined up to be an entry centered on
“Every Grain of Sand”).
The next line
that hits me hard is:
“Heart of mine go back home
You got no
reason to wander, no reason to roam”
This is the
parable of The Prodigal Son in Dylan speak.
It’s a simple but deep message delivered in just 2 lines of lyrics; to
try and connect with who we remember ourselves being when we were at our best.
When we really knew who we were.
And the last
verse:
“Heart of mine so malicious and so full of
guile
Give you an inch and you’ll take a mile
Don’t let yourself fall
Don’t let yourself stumble
If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime
Heart of mine”
Yow! Like a good priest, Bob Dylan never lets you
off the hook. His music is like truth
serum. There is no comfort zone here,
unless you are on the straight and narrow.
“Heart of Mine” brings out the soul searching in you and the discipline. Despite the weighty subject matter, I love
it, and again, that’s what I signed up for when I launched this series.
Every blessing.
- Pete
Sunday, July 29, 2018
Monday, July 23, 2018
Master Blueprints # 28: “The Man in Me Will Hide Sometimes to Keep from Bein’ Seen. But That’s Just Because He Doesn’t Want to Turn into Some Machine”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Bob Dylan songs)
Song: “The Man in Me”
Album: New Morning
Release Date: October 1970
Of the five chapters in Bob Dylan’s superb memoir, Chronicles: Volume One (which covers but three specifically selected periods of his life; 1961, 1970, and 1989), two of them are appropriately named after relatively less-familiar albums in his discography: New Morning (1970) and Oh Mercy (1989). I went back to the book three months ago when I wrote my first entry centered on a song off Oh Mercy (“Man in the Long Black Coat” …. see Master Blueprints # 14). And I went back again this week not long after slipping New Morning into the cd player for the first time in over a year.
The “New Morning” chapter in Bob Dylan’s book did not have the same drawing power as the “Oh Mercy” chapter, but still, there was something gnawing at me which was quite independent of what had me going back to Chronicles back in April. It had to do with the cult movie classic The Big Lebowski, particularly a singular lyric in the opening-credits song to that film, “The Man in Me” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s10ldVRHRSw ). That lyric is the title of this blog entry (above), but seeing as it is so central to this week’s talking points, I will repeat it here:
“The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein’ seen
But that’s just because he doesn’t want to turn into some machine”
That gnawing-something stuck with me all through the “New Morning” chapter, in which the underlying storyline hinged on the anguish Bob Dylan was in back in the late-60s, relating to his personal life being intruded upon due to his being declared by many as the so-called leader of that period’s counterculture generation; a crown he did not want to wear. In the chapter Dylan also writes about being invited to the western Massachusetts (my old stomping grounds) home of American poet/writer Archibald MacLeish, who wanted Dylan to write the score for a film he had in mind (a partnership which never panned out as is also discussed in the chapter). It was all very intriguing to reread, but I thought I’d exhausted this avenue of potential inspiration…that is until the very last page. That’s when I found myself being moved as I read a line where Dylan discusses the Machiavelli treatise The Prince in his closing remarks to the chapter:
“Most of what Machiavelli said made sense, but certain things stick out wrong – like when he offers the wisdom that it’s better to be feared than loved, it kind of makes you wonder if Machiavelli was thinking big. I know what he meant, but sometimes in life, someone who is loved can inspire more fear than Machiavelli ever dreamed of.”
Ok, now I felt I had the pieces to write something; those being 1) the Coen Brothers movie-classic The Big Lebowski, along with 2) that Bob Dylan lyric from “The Man in Me” and 3) that Chronicles: Volume One quote of his, which came across as a synopsis of the entire "New Morning" chapter. Where I was going as I closed the book and laid it down, I was not all that sure. I only knew it was somewhere interesting. Next step: A camping trip to the middle of Maine with my family. I don’t know why, but I was confident this was going to help me connect the dots.
Every family dynamic is unique. I’ve been involved in two: The dynamic in my family that includes my Mom, Dad, 3 brothers and 2 sisters, and the dynamic in my family that includes my wife, son and daughter. I could pull it all together, or even stretch it out some to include in-laws, nieces, nephews, maybe even grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, and call it one big happy family, but in terms of immediacy, I’ll leave it at those two.
There’s no comparing the dynamics in my two families really. My family dynamics with myself-as-son-and-brother has all sorts of loving, weird and wonderful things going on, which would be a nice book to write someday (it would be much more than a blog entry, I can tell you that). My family dynamics with myself-as-husband-and-father could also be written about in loquacious manner, but I’m going to try to condense it down to a few subplots from this past weekend here, while weaving in those three overarching concepts mentioned above.
It cannot be taken for granted pulling off a getaway weekend with a son who is one year into college and a daughter who is one year out. We’ve done this every year of their lives, but now of course there was summer work to contend with, along with other interests that our children have which are independent of family. There was also the not-so-minor detail of our daughter spending most of her life these days in Panama. With Charlotte home for only two weeks before heading back, we squeezed out the best we could in order to have us all connecting with our common camping past.
After cramming all the camping essentials into our Honda Accord, along with an amazingly durable cargo carrier, we set off for mid-state Maine. The family dynamics kicked in right off as I pulled my usual maneuver when heading up rte. 3 in Southern New Hampshire, avoiding a $1 toll by taking the airport road and then reconnecting with the highway system several miles later. New Hampshire crams all its tolls along the Massachusetts border to hit up the “Massholes” heading north. It is the principle of the matter that has me skirting that toll, but my son Peter used another term: Dignity. As in, I was maintaining my dignity by taking that detour.
I thought about this some as we drove on. One thing about this family of mine is that there is no shortage of strong will, except for maybe myself to a degree. I’ve found that I’ve had to play the roll over the years as the great compromiser to keep the wheels in motion. With the strong will of my son, daughter and wife comes strong opinions and defiant challenges. You will never find yourself off the hook in my family if you stray from your belief system, but the flip side of this is that you can be warmly recognized when you’ve done something right. Sometimes it puts me in a Catch 22. I find I need to break an impasse by compromising (and consequently hoping everyone can see the importance of doing this on occasion), but if I compromise too much, I’m called out. For Peter to use the term dignity to describe my action at the toll booths was related to all this. Peter has a boatload of dignity. I could tell it was going to be an intriguing few days.
Somewhere around our border crossing into Maine, my mind wandered as the inevitable headphones were pulled out by the kids and my wife Nancy slept. Why did the Coen Brothers, along with their musical archivist T-Bone Burnett, choose “The Man in Me” as essentially the theme song for The Big Lebowski? I mean, here is a movie about an extremely laid-back dude who abides to the will of others so he can avoid any type of confrontation. “The Dude” makes my family-related compromises look militaristic in comparison. The Dude is the quintessential bachelor, whose manhood is presumably buried deep inside; impossibly deep for a woman to hope to reach. In contrast, “The Man in Me” is primarily about how the best-in-a-man can be freed from his proverbial shackles by a good, caring, loving woman.
After a 5-hour drive (including several pitstops) we pulled into Mt Blue State Park Campground by early evening. Everyone put in the requisite effort as we set up camp. Three tents and a screen house were erected in no time, as sleeping bags, sleeping mats, cots, luggage, stoves, folding chairs, coolers, lantern and hammock were distributed into appropriate spots to make for an instantaneous temporary home (again, amazing the shoehorning of all this and the 4 of us into that car). A handful of Nancy’s homemade dishes were tapped into not soon after. My wife made this mini retreat happen. As with our Costa Rica trip last year, she tends to rally the troops better than I these days. Once I see that everyone is on board, I can dive right in. But the hard part has already been taken care of, thanks to Nancy.
I got the campfire blazing and as activity continued around me, I zorbed out while staring into the flames thinking about Bob Dylan’s Machiavelli comment. Chronicles: Volume One was published six years after The Big Lebowski was released in 1998. I’m thinking Dylan was a fan of the movie, although there is no mention of it or “The Man in Me” in the “New Morning” chapter, or anywhere else in the book for that matter (for some perspective, in the "Oh Mercy" chapter, Dylan discusses how every song on that album came together). I felt as if this quote was an indirect reference to both, however. That’s one-way Bob Dylan weaves his magic, be it in written word or song. He forces you to think.
My family settled in around me and we commenced to campfire chatter. Charlotte took over, pouring out in incredible detail over a 2-hour stretch her recent three-week trip to Nicaragua, and having us all spellbound. Nicaragua is a country that is currently in turmoil, due to it’s being run by a compassionless, self-centered dictatorial imp (sound familiar?). Charlotte arrived just as protests were ramping up. This was a true adventure, although it had us on pins and needles here at home as it was playing out, particularly near the end of the trip. I recalled my younger, wanderlust self, my daughter having inherited this trait and now clearly taking it a few steps further than I ever did.
As I lied down in my sleeping bag and stared out at the star-filled night sky, I continued to try and pull it all together; the book, the movie, the song, and now the camping trip. Yes, the Dude abided oh so readily, but he was also endearing. This is why the movie is so popular. People can relate to this character. Abiding is one way of avoiding being “turned into some machine”, is it not? At first glance, this may sound contradictory, but with more thought it can also be seen as a survival technique. Survival of one’s soul that is. Yes, The Dude abides to the self-centered whims (often superficial) of those around him. He lets them have their way. This allows him to keep his core beliefs intact. He maintains his integrity; his dignity. And in turn, he is loved - or despised - by those around him. Those who love him are true to their own core beliefs, despite how radical they may be (i.e. Walter). Those who despise him are motived more by self centeredness and/or superficiality.
Saturday was a picture-perfect day. There was not a cloud in the sky as we paddled our four kayaks across the deceptively large Webb Lake, getting a clear gander at the surrounding mountain range, which included the bald-faced, picturesque peaks that are Tumbledown and Little Jackson, along with Mt Blue itself. I’d like to think I felt I knew Maine pretty well, having touched on many of its corners over the years (see Master Blueprint # 20). But the magnificent Mt. Blue region had remained elusive until only 5 years ago when I took Charlotte on a Maine/New Brunswick tour to look at college campuses, including nearby UMaine Farmington. Anyhow, as we looked up at the peaks around us out on that lake, we all agreed we needed to conquer Tumbledown then and there, so after returning the rental kayaks we headed back to the campsite to get geared up.
It was a helluva vertical climb, which had Nancy turning back around the two-thirds mark. With the kids way ahead of us (or so we thought at the time), it was decided I should forge ahead. It was also decided that instead of backtracking, Charlotte, Peter and I would complete a loop, Nancy driving the car a mile or so down the mountain road to meet us at the other trailhead. This would allow us to take in some additional breathtaking scenery, including an alpine pond tucked in-between Tumbledown and Little Jackson.
Not long after parting ways with Nancy I hit a clearing which was both spectacular and daunting. The daunting part had to do with my sudden realization that I had a long, vertical ways to go. How could this be? The map said it was 1 ½ miles to the top, but it felt as if I had already climbed that distance. I suppose that’s what hiking a virtual 90-degree ladder will do to the mind. Oh well. I yelled out for Charlotte and Peter. Nothing. I was a bit surprised they would not have waited by this point. I forged ahead, calling out every 50 yards or so as I continued to reflect.
Again, that Machiavelli comment: How can being loved induce fear and loathing in others? I like to look at it from another angle: How can someone else being loved to be like a mirror on ourselves when we see this tremendous gift in that person? We all go through stretches where we are the lost sheep. Some are in so deep, however, that they see no way out. And so, they lash out at those who have the love and the peace of mind, trying to bring them down to their level rather than they focus on putting in the extra effort to climb up and out. You need a good support network to make that happen. I have that support network. It’s a blessing I can never take for granted.
Ah, after nearly an hour, finally, a response. It was Charlotte, but her voice was coming from way below me! What the? I sat and waited, refusing to drink from my water jug until they arrived (Charlotte and Peter had no water on them and so I felt I should do this in solidarity). When we finally reunited, Peter explained they had veered off the trail, and onto a false peak. They then had to backtrack. After reconnecting with the trail, they soon ran into their Mom on her way down. Nancy brought them up to speed on our plan.
After a few gulps of ice water each, we carried on. At one point we were hiking through a cave, using metal rungs to shimmy through “Fat Man’s Misery”, all in all a mini-East coast Yosemite Half Dome experience. This was a capital-H Hike. Not long after the cave, we hit the summit and strolled along the striking bald-faced ridge to the larger-than-expected alpine pond (which looked like a miniature-bonsai Lake Tahoe) and then down the connecting trail. Not halfway down we ran into Nancy, who was making her way up the trail to greet us. The four of us then descended down to the car as the sun set over the horizon, another night and day of camping ahead of us.
Bob Dylan sounds so wonderfully upbeat on the studio version of “The Man in Me”. It’s a rare treat to hear him throwing out “La, La, La’s” or anything like it, as he does at the beginning of the song, sounding more like Van Morrison than himself. T-Bone Burnett, a musician with strong ties to Dylan (including as a band member on the Rolling Thunder Review Tour) certainly picked up on this, ultimately relaying his connection with the song to the Coen Brothers. But the real heart of “The Man in Me” is in that aforementioned closing lyric, the title of this entry…. at least in terms of how the song fits with the “New Morning” chapter in Chronicles, as well as the core ideals expressed in The Big Lebowski. It can be a rough and tumble(down) world out there. Sometimes you can find shelter by simply tucking it all away. But it’s best to confront it. It’s not easy to do, but with a little help from a loving support network, the man in me, and in all of us, can show his/her face more often than not.
Attached are several photos from our family weekend getaway.
- Pete
Song: “The Man in Me”
Album: New Morning
Release Date: October 1970
Of the five chapters in Bob Dylan’s superb memoir, Chronicles: Volume One (which covers but three specifically selected periods of his life; 1961, 1970, and 1989), two of them are appropriately named after relatively less-familiar albums in his discography: New Morning (1970) and Oh Mercy (1989). I went back to the book three months ago when I wrote my first entry centered on a song off Oh Mercy (“Man in the Long Black Coat” …. see Master Blueprints # 14). And I went back again this week not long after slipping New Morning into the cd player for the first time in over a year.
The “New Morning” chapter in Bob Dylan’s book did not have the same drawing power as the “Oh Mercy” chapter, but still, there was something gnawing at me which was quite independent of what had me going back to Chronicles back in April. It had to do with the cult movie classic The Big Lebowski, particularly a singular lyric in the opening-credits song to that film, “The Man in Me” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s10ldVRHRSw ). That lyric is the title of this blog entry (above), but seeing as it is so central to this week’s talking points, I will repeat it here:
“The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein’ seen
But that’s just because he doesn’t want to turn into some machine”
That gnawing-something stuck with me all through the “New Morning” chapter, in which the underlying storyline hinged on the anguish Bob Dylan was in back in the late-60s, relating to his personal life being intruded upon due to his being declared by many as the so-called leader of that period’s counterculture generation; a crown he did not want to wear. In the chapter Dylan also writes about being invited to the western Massachusetts (my old stomping grounds) home of American poet/writer Archibald MacLeish, who wanted Dylan to write the score for a film he had in mind (a partnership which never panned out as is also discussed in the chapter). It was all very intriguing to reread, but I thought I’d exhausted this avenue of potential inspiration…that is until the very last page. That’s when I found myself being moved as I read a line where Dylan discusses the Machiavelli treatise The Prince in his closing remarks to the chapter:
“Most of what Machiavelli said made sense, but certain things stick out wrong – like when he offers the wisdom that it’s better to be feared than loved, it kind of makes you wonder if Machiavelli was thinking big. I know what he meant, but sometimes in life, someone who is loved can inspire more fear than Machiavelli ever dreamed of.”
Ok, now I felt I had the pieces to write something; those being 1) the Coen Brothers movie-classic The Big Lebowski, along with 2) that Bob Dylan lyric from “The Man in Me” and 3) that Chronicles: Volume One quote of his, which came across as a synopsis of the entire "New Morning" chapter. Where I was going as I closed the book and laid it down, I was not all that sure. I only knew it was somewhere interesting. Next step: A camping trip to the middle of Maine with my family. I don’t know why, but I was confident this was going to help me connect the dots.
-----
Every family dynamic is unique. I’ve been involved in two: The dynamic in my family that includes my Mom, Dad, 3 brothers and 2 sisters, and the dynamic in my family that includes my wife, son and daughter. I could pull it all together, or even stretch it out some to include in-laws, nieces, nephews, maybe even grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, and call it one big happy family, but in terms of immediacy, I’ll leave it at those two.
There’s no comparing the dynamics in my two families really. My family dynamics with myself-as-son-and-brother has all sorts of loving, weird and wonderful things going on, which would be a nice book to write someday (it would be much more than a blog entry, I can tell you that). My family dynamics with myself-as-husband-and-father could also be written about in loquacious manner, but I’m going to try to condense it down to a few subplots from this past weekend here, while weaving in those three overarching concepts mentioned above.
It cannot be taken for granted pulling off a getaway weekend with a son who is one year into college and a daughter who is one year out. We’ve done this every year of their lives, but now of course there was summer work to contend with, along with other interests that our children have which are independent of family. There was also the not-so-minor detail of our daughter spending most of her life these days in Panama. With Charlotte home for only two weeks before heading back, we squeezed out the best we could in order to have us all connecting with our common camping past.
After cramming all the camping essentials into our Honda Accord, along with an amazingly durable cargo carrier, we set off for mid-state Maine. The family dynamics kicked in right off as I pulled my usual maneuver when heading up rte. 3 in Southern New Hampshire, avoiding a $1 toll by taking the airport road and then reconnecting with the highway system several miles later. New Hampshire crams all its tolls along the Massachusetts border to hit up the “Massholes” heading north. It is the principle of the matter that has me skirting that toll, but my son Peter used another term: Dignity. As in, I was maintaining my dignity by taking that detour.
I thought about this some as we drove on. One thing about this family of mine is that there is no shortage of strong will, except for maybe myself to a degree. I’ve found that I’ve had to play the roll over the years as the great compromiser to keep the wheels in motion. With the strong will of my son, daughter and wife comes strong opinions and defiant challenges. You will never find yourself off the hook in my family if you stray from your belief system, but the flip side of this is that you can be warmly recognized when you’ve done something right. Sometimes it puts me in a Catch 22. I find I need to break an impasse by compromising (and consequently hoping everyone can see the importance of doing this on occasion), but if I compromise too much, I’m called out. For Peter to use the term dignity to describe my action at the toll booths was related to all this. Peter has a boatload of dignity. I could tell it was going to be an intriguing few days.
Somewhere around our border crossing into Maine, my mind wandered as the inevitable headphones were pulled out by the kids and my wife Nancy slept. Why did the Coen Brothers, along with their musical archivist T-Bone Burnett, choose “The Man in Me” as essentially the theme song for The Big Lebowski? I mean, here is a movie about an extremely laid-back dude who abides to the will of others so he can avoid any type of confrontation. “The Dude” makes my family-related compromises look militaristic in comparison. The Dude is the quintessential bachelor, whose manhood is presumably buried deep inside; impossibly deep for a woman to hope to reach. In contrast, “The Man in Me” is primarily about how the best-in-a-man can be freed from his proverbial shackles by a good, caring, loving woman.
After a 5-hour drive (including several pitstops) we pulled into Mt Blue State Park Campground by early evening. Everyone put in the requisite effort as we set up camp. Three tents and a screen house were erected in no time, as sleeping bags, sleeping mats, cots, luggage, stoves, folding chairs, coolers, lantern and hammock were distributed into appropriate spots to make for an instantaneous temporary home (again, amazing the shoehorning of all this and the 4 of us into that car). A handful of Nancy’s homemade dishes were tapped into not soon after. My wife made this mini retreat happen. As with our Costa Rica trip last year, she tends to rally the troops better than I these days. Once I see that everyone is on board, I can dive right in. But the hard part has already been taken care of, thanks to Nancy.
I got the campfire blazing and as activity continued around me, I zorbed out while staring into the flames thinking about Bob Dylan’s Machiavelli comment. Chronicles: Volume One was published six years after The Big Lebowski was released in 1998. I’m thinking Dylan was a fan of the movie, although there is no mention of it or “The Man in Me” in the “New Morning” chapter, or anywhere else in the book for that matter (for some perspective, in the "Oh Mercy" chapter, Dylan discusses how every song on that album came together). I felt as if this quote was an indirect reference to both, however. That’s one-way Bob Dylan weaves his magic, be it in written word or song. He forces you to think.
My family settled in around me and we commenced to campfire chatter. Charlotte took over, pouring out in incredible detail over a 2-hour stretch her recent three-week trip to Nicaragua, and having us all spellbound. Nicaragua is a country that is currently in turmoil, due to it’s being run by a compassionless, self-centered dictatorial imp (sound familiar?). Charlotte arrived just as protests were ramping up. This was a true adventure, although it had us on pins and needles here at home as it was playing out, particularly near the end of the trip. I recalled my younger, wanderlust self, my daughter having inherited this trait and now clearly taking it a few steps further than I ever did.
As I lied down in my sleeping bag and stared out at the star-filled night sky, I continued to try and pull it all together; the book, the movie, the song, and now the camping trip. Yes, the Dude abided oh so readily, but he was also endearing. This is why the movie is so popular. People can relate to this character. Abiding is one way of avoiding being “turned into some machine”, is it not? At first glance, this may sound contradictory, but with more thought it can also be seen as a survival technique. Survival of one’s soul that is. Yes, The Dude abides to the self-centered whims (often superficial) of those around him. He lets them have their way. This allows him to keep his core beliefs intact. He maintains his integrity; his dignity. And in turn, he is loved - or despised - by those around him. Those who love him are true to their own core beliefs, despite how radical they may be (i.e. Walter). Those who despise him are motived more by self centeredness and/or superficiality.
Saturday was a picture-perfect day. There was not a cloud in the sky as we paddled our four kayaks across the deceptively large Webb Lake, getting a clear gander at the surrounding mountain range, which included the bald-faced, picturesque peaks that are Tumbledown and Little Jackson, along with Mt Blue itself. I’d like to think I felt I knew Maine pretty well, having touched on many of its corners over the years (see Master Blueprint # 20). But the magnificent Mt. Blue region had remained elusive until only 5 years ago when I took Charlotte on a Maine/New Brunswick tour to look at college campuses, including nearby UMaine Farmington. Anyhow, as we looked up at the peaks around us out on that lake, we all agreed we needed to conquer Tumbledown then and there, so after returning the rental kayaks we headed back to the campsite to get geared up.
It was a helluva vertical climb, which had Nancy turning back around the two-thirds mark. With the kids way ahead of us (or so we thought at the time), it was decided I should forge ahead. It was also decided that instead of backtracking, Charlotte, Peter and I would complete a loop, Nancy driving the car a mile or so down the mountain road to meet us at the other trailhead. This would allow us to take in some additional breathtaking scenery, including an alpine pond tucked in-between Tumbledown and Little Jackson.
Not long after parting ways with Nancy I hit a clearing which was both spectacular and daunting. The daunting part had to do with my sudden realization that I had a long, vertical ways to go. How could this be? The map said it was 1 ½ miles to the top, but it felt as if I had already climbed that distance. I suppose that’s what hiking a virtual 90-degree ladder will do to the mind. Oh well. I yelled out for Charlotte and Peter. Nothing. I was a bit surprised they would not have waited by this point. I forged ahead, calling out every 50 yards or so as I continued to reflect.
Again, that Machiavelli comment: How can being loved induce fear and loathing in others? I like to look at it from another angle: How can someone else being loved to be like a mirror on ourselves when we see this tremendous gift in that person? We all go through stretches where we are the lost sheep. Some are in so deep, however, that they see no way out. And so, they lash out at those who have the love and the peace of mind, trying to bring them down to their level rather than they focus on putting in the extra effort to climb up and out. You need a good support network to make that happen. I have that support network. It’s a blessing I can never take for granted.
Ah, after nearly an hour, finally, a response. It was Charlotte, but her voice was coming from way below me! What the? I sat and waited, refusing to drink from my water jug until they arrived (Charlotte and Peter had no water on them and so I felt I should do this in solidarity). When we finally reunited, Peter explained they had veered off the trail, and onto a false peak. They then had to backtrack. After reconnecting with the trail, they soon ran into their Mom on her way down. Nancy brought them up to speed on our plan.
After a few gulps of ice water each, we carried on. At one point we were hiking through a cave, using metal rungs to shimmy through “Fat Man’s Misery”, all in all a mini-East coast Yosemite Half Dome experience. This was a capital-H Hike. Not long after the cave, we hit the summit and strolled along the striking bald-faced ridge to the larger-than-expected alpine pond (which looked like a miniature-bonsai Lake Tahoe) and then down the connecting trail. Not halfway down we ran into Nancy, who was making her way up the trail to greet us. The four of us then descended down to the car as the sun set over the horizon, another night and day of camping ahead of us.
Bob Dylan sounds so wonderfully upbeat on the studio version of “The Man in Me”. It’s a rare treat to hear him throwing out “La, La, La’s” or anything like it, as he does at the beginning of the song, sounding more like Van Morrison than himself. T-Bone Burnett, a musician with strong ties to Dylan (including as a band member on the Rolling Thunder Review Tour) certainly picked up on this, ultimately relaying his connection with the song to the Coen Brothers. But the real heart of “The Man in Me” is in that aforementioned closing lyric, the title of this entry…. at least in terms of how the song fits with the “New Morning” chapter in Chronicles, as well as the core ideals expressed in The Big Lebowski. It can be a rough and tumble(down) world out there. Sometimes you can find shelter by simply tucking it all away. But it’s best to confront it. It’s not easy to do, but with a little help from a loving support network, the man in me, and in all of us, can show his/her face more often than not.
Attached are several photos from our family weekend getaway.
- Pete
Monday, July 16, 2018
Master Blueprints # 27: “I Was Born Here and I’ll Die Here Against My Will, I Know It Looks Like I’m Movin’, but I’m Standing Still”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Bob Dylan songs)
Song: “Not Dark Yet”
Album: Time Out of Mind
Release Date: September 1997
Let’s see now, how can I follow up on last week’s rosy, domestic-bliss-centric entry. Ah, I know. I’ll discuss death.
All in all, this is my 277th blog write up (each and every one of them available here on Music and Memory) and to date I’ve not shied away from a topic when it’s subconsciously speaking persistently to me. So why start now? After all, “Not Dark Yet”- a song that addresses the subject of death - has been whispering in my ear since I started this Master Blueprints series ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZgBhyU4IvQ ). It’s a difficult song to take in for anyone who turns to music as a pick-me-up or for solace, because this is a heavy, forlorn tune, which at its core is a check on one’s own mortality. Yet despite the fading of the light expressed in the refrain and elsewhere in the lyrics, “Not Dark Yet” does include, if not upbeat, then certainly rallying lyrics of being willing to tough things out (for example, see the title of this blog entry above). All in all, it’s a beauty of a song: Honesty and talent blended together tend to generate an aura of grace regardless of subject matter.
Bob Dylan was 55, going on 56 when he produced and released Time Out of Mind, on which “Not Dark Yet” is track # 7. Coincidentally, that is the age I find myself at as I write this Dylan-centric blog series. The entire Time Out of Mind album is brutally honest (see Master Blueprint # 11 for more commentary), - arguably the most painfully revealing album In Bob Dylan’s vast catalog - and among other deep subject matter, it tackles dying, death and the afterlife, particularly in a handful of songs (aside from “Not Dark Yet” the others that come to mind include “Highlands” and “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven”). Dylan once commented that pulling this album together was akin to fighting in a boxing match, pinned in the corner and ‘reeling from the blows’ (that quoted piece, stealing from a line in Time Out of Mind’s “Can’t Wait”). Basically, he was describing how difficult it was to get his creative juices flowing again.
Oh, how tough it can be at midlife and beyond to create something of quality. I can absolutely relate to it. Case in point: I started this on-line series with 50 entries on The Rolling Stones music back when I turned fifty years old (my “Stepping Stone” series). At the time, I could crank through any given blog entry in one sitting. Now, it’s often quite a bit longer to pull it all together. I thought I had anticipated this when I decided on the order of musicians I would focus on from year to year, believing (correctly) that the Stones needed to be tackled first, because they were the band who primarily identified to my youthful abandon, and in turn, the band I needed to absorb as soon as possible…. before those adolescent sensibilities faded from memory. Built on top of that premise was my deducing that the other musicians who I wanted to write about (Neil Young, The Who, Bob Dylan, and the Beatles) would fall into place easy enough as I passed that 50-year-old threshold and connected with more ‘sophisticated’ memories and topics.
But now I realize its more complicated than that. Insight and creative thinking can come at you from many directions for sure, but these gifts can also come at you in varying rates of frequency. They can flow, they can dribble, they can seep, they can drip, or, they can abandon you altogether. I now recognize that a significant aspect of the creative process has something to do with age. This part I did not anticipate when I was writing during my Stepping Stones series six years ago. And so, now I am even more impressed than in yesteryear with musicians the likes of Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Leonard Cohen, who have done some of their best works in midlife and beyond. You need to rally yourself in your later years to do what comes naturally in your younger years. Be there no doubt, you can do it, maybe even better than ever. However, it is going to take …. some…. additional…. effort.
One thing I am pretty darn sure of is that Bob Dylan is going to continue to try to make the most of his God-given abilities all the way to the bitter, glorious end. He sees this as a responsibility of sorts; a deal with The Big Guy himself. It’s what we should all aspire to. But perseverance and commitment over the long haul is bound to uncover new ways of looking at life, and sometimes these new views are not all that savory. In other words, if you commit yourself to creativity in your later years you are likely going find yourself having to take on subject matter that is not nearly as in-your-face at a younger age. Like dying and death.
I recently started reading Behind the Shades Revisited by Clinton Heylin, about the life of Bob Dylan. Early in the book, Heylin alludes to the fact that, already at a young age, Dylan had “a fascination with those who died young, preferably at the height of their powers” (pg. 10). Those of great interest to him at the time included Hank Williams, Buddy Holly and James Dean. I can understand this. It’s a ‘geez, what could have been if only he/she lived longer’ kinda wonderment. For me the list is long, and includes John Lennon, Brian Jones, Curtis Mayfield, Janis Joplin, Keith Moon, Warren Zevon, Marvin Gaye and Townes Van Zandt. Heck when I was younger I even had a fascination with comic book characters who were knocked off at the height of their powers (i.e Jean Grey of the X-Men). There’s another angle to this fascination. It’s got something to do with a ‘why am I alive and they are dead’ sort of thing. If you are a person of faith, it goes more like ‘why was I chosen to live this life through maturity while others were chosen to get snuffed out prematurely?’ This is where I find the man in me intersecting most intensely with what motivates Bob Dylan.
Dylan is not the only popular musician to take on the topic of death in his music. Another well-known songwriter who was engrossed by the subject was George Harrison (this is a bond between them that I overlooked when discussing their friendship in Master Blueprint # 24). The title track of Harrison’s album, All Things Must Pass is enough to testify to this. Probably as much as anyone, George Harrison was mentally ready for the Great Beyond when his time came at the too-young age of 58 (in fact, I’m thinking that more than anything, Harrison’s strength in the face of death was likely the primary suspect in what moved Paul McCartney to a torrent of tears when he visited Beatle George not long before his passing).
One thing I found interesting about Bob Dylan’s “Death and Taxes” episode on Theme Time Radio Hour (see Master Blueprint entries # 22 and 23 for more on this topic) was that, although a George Harrison song was appropriately played by DJ Bob, it was in the ‘taxes’ category (any casual Beatle fan should be able to figure out what that song was) and not in the ‘death’ category, for which he is better remembered by anyone who really knew him (including Dylan). That Theme Time episode was one of my favorites (again, as mentioned in that earlier blog entry # 22). A big reason was the closing stretch of the show which pulled together three mesmerizingly amazing songs about death. The first was “Freddy’s Dead”, which is Curtis Mayfield’s ode to a street corner junkie (or more to the point it’s a warning as well as a declaration that no one should be forgotten) off the album/soundtrack street-hood story “Super Fly”. The second was David Bowie’s “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” off The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars album (here is another man by the way who was ready for his own demise. Just watch the video “Blackstar” on YouTube, which Bowie released not long before he died of cancer. It is incredible). The third was even more heartfelt, “Withered and Died” by Richard Thompson (sung by his then wife Linda Thompson). It is haunting and staggering in its beauty. There were also two intense poems (that I actually understood thru and thru) in the “Death and Taxes” episode, both read in their entirety by Bob Dylan; E.E. Cummings “Dying is Fine” and Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”. Look them up. These poems, as well as the three songs mentioned, are worthy of your effort.
(Side note: Other than “All Things Must Pass” the only other song I believe that Bob Dylan seriously overlooked/omitted in that episode was the Jim Carroll Band’s “People Who Died”. Oh, and of course his own song “Not Dark Yet”, but I’ve already gone over why that was not happening – again see entry # 22).
Back to that proverbial boxed-in corner. Bob Dylan fought his way out of it by facing his pain head on, the source of which was primarily hinged on lost love. You can hear it over again on Time Out of Mind, including in “Not Dark Yet” (“she wrote a letter and she wrote it so fine….”) There’s a Catch 22 here that needs to be explored. Facing your struggles and woes can age you, which is precisely the point of “Not Dark Yet” (the title is a refrain line in the song which is consistently followed up by “but it’s getting there”). The weakness in our humanity can have us resisting this. But here are the other options: Either we succumb to mediocrity or we shut down our emotions entirely. These are the BIG reasons why we inevitably lose our creativity when we get older. We know how it feels to be burned and we don’t want to risk feeling that way again. He/She is the rare bird who hurdles this.
“Not Dark Yet” begins with the line “Shadows are falling, and I’ve been here all day” …. the word ‘day’ dragged out in hopeless weariness, in a way that only someone in the moment could pull off (Dylan does the same thing in “Highlands” with “The parties over and there’s less and less to say. I got new eyes, everything looks far away”). The best lines in “Not Dark Yet” are near the end. Bob Dylan almost always saves his most amazing lyrics for last in any given song. In this case we are served “sometimes my burden is more than I can bear” (an especially profound statement from the man who has been at the center of it all) and “Don’t even hear the murmur of a prayer”, which in a nutshell captures Dylan’s Herculean effort to get out of that proverbial boxing corner and fight for salvation.
As with anyone who has lived a blessed long life, Bob Dylan has seen his share of death regarding his collegial friendships. Off the top of my head, that obituary list includes 3 members of The Band (Richard Manuel, Rick Danko, and Levon Helm) and 3 members of the Travelling Wilburys (Roy Orbison, George Harrison, and Tom Petty), along with Johnny Cash, Brian Jones, Mick Ronson, David Bowie, Howard Wyeth, and I am sure countless others. Hey, some of us are simply in it for the long haul, and those who are must find a way to deal with the trials and tribulations of death in a way that connects us. I believe that somewhere around the making of Time Out of Mind, Bob Dylan found a way to turn that corner.
We should all hope we have the strength to do the same.
- Pete
Song: “Not Dark Yet”
Album: Time Out of Mind
Release Date: September 1997
Let’s see now, how can I follow up on last week’s rosy, domestic-bliss-centric entry. Ah, I know. I’ll discuss death.
All in all, this is my 277th blog write up (each and every one of them available here on Music and Memory) and to date I’ve not shied away from a topic when it’s subconsciously speaking persistently to me. So why start now? After all, “Not Dark Yet”- a song that addresses the subject of death - has been whispering in my ear since I started this Master Blueprints series ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZgBhyU4IvQ ). It’s a difficult song to take in for anyone who turns to music as a pick-me-up or for solace, because this is a heavy, forlorn tune, which at its core is a check on one’s own mortality. Yet despite the fading of the light expressed in the refrain and elsewhere in the lyrics, “Not Dark Yet” does include, if not upbeat, then certainly rallying lyrics of being willing to tough things out (for example, see the title of this blog entry above). All in all, it’s a beauty of a song: Honesty and talent blended together tend to generate an aura of grace regardless of subject matter.
Bob Dylan was 55, going on 56 when he produced and released Time Out of Mind, on which “Not Dark Yet” is track # 7. Coincidentally, that is the age I find myself at as I write this Dylan-centric blog series. The entire Time Out of Mind album is brutally honest (see Master Blueprint # 11 for more commentary), - arguably the most painfully revealing album In Bob Dylan’s vast catalog - and among other deep subject matter, it tackles dying, death and the afterlife, particularly in a handful of songs (aside from “Not Dark Yet” the others that come to mind include “Highlands” and “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven”). Dylan once commented that pulling this album together was akin to fighting in a boxing match, pinned in the corner and ‘reeling from the blows’ (that quoted piece, stealing from a line in Time Out of Mind’s “Can’t Wait”). Basically, he was describing how difficult it was to get his creative juices flowing again.
Oh, how tough it can be at midlife and beyond to create something of quality. I can absolutely relate to it. Case in point: I started this on-line series with 50 entries on The Rolling Stones music back when I turned fifty years old (my “Stepping Stone” series). At the time, I could crank through any given blog entry in one sitting. Now, it’s often quite a bit longer to pull it all together. I thought I had anticipated this when I decided on the order of musicians I would focus on from year to year, believing (correctly) that the Stones needed to be tackled first, because they were the band who primarily identified to my youthful abandon, and in turn, the band I needed to absorb as soon as possible…. before those adolescent sensibilities faded from memory. Built on top of that premise was my deducing that the other musicians who I wanted to write about (Neil Young, The Who, Bob Dylan, and the Beatles) would fall into place easy enough as I passed that 50-year-old threshold and connected with more ‘sophisticated’ memories and topics.
But now I realize its more complicated than that. Insight and creative thinking can come at you from many directions for sure, but these gifts can also come at you in varying rates of frequency. They can flow, they can dribble, they can seep, they can drip, or, they can abandon you altogether. I now recognize that a significant aspect of the creative process has something to do with age. This part I did not anticipate when I was writing during my Stepping Stones series six years ago. And so, now I am even more impressed than in yesteryear with musicians the likes of Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Leonard Cohen, who have done some of their best works in midlife and beyond. You need to rally yourself in your later years to do what comes naturally in your younger years. Be there no doubt, you can do it, maybe even better than ever. However, it is going to take …. some…. additional…. effort.
One thing I am pretty darn sure of is that Bob Dylan is going to continue to try to make the most of his God-given abilities all the way to the bitter, glorious end. He sees this as a responsibility of sorts; a deal with The Big Guy himself. It’s what we should all aspire to. But perseverance and commitment over the long haul is bound to uncover new ways of looking at life, and sometimes these new views are not all that savory. In other words, if you commit yourself to creativity in your later years you are likely going find yourself having to take on subject matter that is not nearly as in-your-face at a younger age. Like dying and death.
I recently started reading Behind the Shades Revisited by Clinton Heylin, about the life of Bob Dylan. Early in the book, Heylin alludes to the fact that, already at a young age, Dylan had “a fascination with those who died young, preferably at the height of their powers” (pg. 10). Those of great interest to him at the time included Hank Williams, Buddy Holly and James Dean. I can understand this. It’s a ‘geez, what could have been if only he/she lived longer’ kinda wonderment. For me the list is long, and includes John Lennon, Brian Jones, Curtis Mayfield, Janis Joplin, Keith Moon, Warren Zevon, Marvin Gaye and Townes Van Zandt. Heck when I was younger I even had a fascination with comic book characters who were knocked off at the height of their powers (i.e Jean Grey of the X-Men). There’s another angle to this fascination. It’s got something to do with a ‘why am I alive and they are dead’ sort of thing. If you are a person of faith, it goes more like ‘why was I chosen to live this life through maturity while others were chosen to get snuffed out prematurely?’ This is where I find the man in me intersecting most intensely with what motivates Bob Dylan.
Dylan is not the only popular musician to take on the topic of death in his music. Another well-known songwriter who was engrossed by the subject was George Harrison (this is a bond between them that I overlooked when discussing their friendship in Master Blueprint # 24). The title track of Harrison’s album, All Things Must Pass is enough to testify to this. Probably as much as anyone, George Harrison was mentally ready for the Great Beyond when his time came at the too-young age of 58 (in fact, I’m thinking that more than anything, Harrison’s strength in the face of death was likely the primary suspect in what moved Paul McCartney to a torrent of tears when he visited Beatle George not long before his passing).
One thing I found interesting about Bob Dylan’s “Death and Taxes” episode on Theme Time Radio Hour (see Master Blueprint entries # 22 and 23 for more on this topic) was that, although a George Harrison song was appropriately played by DJ Bob, it was in the ‘taxes’ category (any casual Beatle fan should be able to figure out what that song was) and not in the ‘death’ category, for which he is better remembered by anyone who really knew him (including Dylan). That Theme Time episode was one of my favorites (again, as mentioned in that earlier blog entry # 22). A big reason was the closing stretch of the show which pulled together three mesmerizingly amazing songs about death. The first was “Freddy’s Dead”, which is Curtis Mayfield’s ode to a street corner junkie (or more to the point it’s a warning as well as a declaration that no one should be forgotten) off the album/soundtrack street-hood story “Super Fly”. The second was David Bowie’s “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” off The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars album (here is another man by the way who was ready for his own demise. Just watch the video “Blackstar” on YouTube, which Bowie released not long before he died of cancer. It is incredible). The third was even more heartfelt, “Withered and Died” by Richard Thompson (sung by his then wife Linda Thompson). It is haunting and staggering in its beauty. There were also two intense poems (that I actually understood thru and thru) in the “Death and Taxes” episode, both read in their entirety by Bob Dylan; E.E. Cummings “Dying is Fine” and Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”. Look them up. These poems, as well as the three songs mentioned, are worthy of your effort.
(Side note: Other than “All Things Must Pass” the only other song I believe that Bob Dylan seriously overlooked/omitted in that episode was the Jim Carroll Band’s “People Who Died”. Oh, and of course his own song “Not Dark Yet”, but I’ve already gone over why that was not happening – again see entry # 22).
Back to that proverbial boxed-in corner. Bob Dylan fought his way out of it by facing his pain head on, the source of which was primarily hinged on lost love. You can hear it over again on Time Out of Mind, including in “Not Dark Yet” (“she wrote a letter and she wrote it so fine….”) There’s a Catch 22 here that needs to be explored. Facing your struggles and woes can age you, which is precisely the point of “Not Dark Yet” (the title is a refrain line in the song which is consistently followed up by “but it’s getting there”). The weakness in our humanity can have us resisting this. But here are the other options: Either we succumb to mediocrity or we shut down our emotions entirely. These are the BIG reasons why we inevitably lose our creativity when we get older. We know how it feels to be burned and we don’t want to risk feeling that way again. He/She is the rare bird who hurdles this.
“Not Dark Yet” begins with the line “Shadows are falling, and I’ve been here all day” …. the word ‘day’ dragged out in hopeless weariness, in a way that only someone in the moment could pull off (Dylan does the same thing in “Highlands” with “The parties over and there’s less and less to say. I got new eyes, everything looks far away”). The best lines in “Not Dark Yet” are near the end. Bob Dylan almost always saves his most amazing lyrics for last in any given song. In this case we are served “sometimes my burden is more than I can bear” (an especially profound statement from the man who has been at the center of it all) and “Don’t even hear the murmur of a prayer”, which in a nutshell captures Dylan’s Herculean effort to get out of that proverbial boxing corner and fight for salvation.
As with anyone who has lived a blessed long life, Bob Dylan has seen his share of death regarding his collegial friendships. Off the top of my head, that obituary list includes 3 members of The Band (Richard Manuel, Rick Danko, and Levon Helm) and 3 members of the Travelling Wilburys (Roy Orbison, George Harrison, and Tom Petty), along with Johnny Cash, Brian Jones, Mick Ronson, David Bowie, Howard Wyeth, and I am sure countless others. Hey, some of us are simply in it for the long haul, and those who are must find a way to deal with the trials and tribulations of death in a way that connects us. I believe that somewhere around the making of Time Out of Mind, Bob Dylan found a way to turn that corner.
We should all hope we have the strength to do the same.
- Pete
Saturday, July 7, 2018
Master Blueprints # 26: “Why Wait Any Longer for the World to Begin, You Can Have Your Cake and Eat It Too”
(Personal reflections
inspired by Bob Dylan songs)
Song: “Lay Lady Lay”
Album: Nashville Skyline
Release Date: February 1969
That beaming smile spoke directly to me when I pulled the Bob Dylan record out of a large wooden bin at a New Hampshire open-air flea market on a hot spring day in 1995. Dylan's expression, captured forever in time there on that album cover, was portraying one very happy man. There was no doubt in mind. This was not a fabricated mugging for the camera that I was observing. This was joy personified. And that cover grin would prove to be an apt bellwether for the music contained within. Dylan fans would know right off which album I am referring to, because it’s the only one of his studio albums where we get to see such euphoria. Of course, I’m referring to 1969’s Nashville Skyline.
What was my visceral connection to that Chillin’ Dylan cover on that day? I couldn’t have described it at the time, because I did not know the full context. But over time as I got more familiar with Dylan’s past and gained hindsight on mine I would get to know better the common vibe. How shall I explain? Well, let me put it this way: As I crouched down to thumb through that bin of albums at the flea market, my wife by my side, I had a backpack on. This was not the typical backpack that first comes to mind when conjuring up an image, however, nor was it carrying standard fare such as accessories, purchases or necessities. This was a baby backpack and it was carrying a very young girl, my daughter and first born, Charlotte.
Bob Dylan was a young Dad too when he released Nashville Skyline. As with every period in his life reflected in song, Dylan would take this role seriously, in this case very much so, removing himself from the public spotlight by going into virtual seclusion in Woodstock, New York for over 5 years while his children were young and his family was growing (he predated John Lennon’s more famous “house husband” period by a good 8 years in this regard). And so, that expression on Bob Dylan’s face on the cover of this album has more specificity to it than just being happy. That look, that smile, is one of domestic bliss.
** Side Note: In the “For What It’s Worth” department, of the 36 Bob Dylan studio albums recognized in Wiki and most other references, 21 have cover art that depict photographs of Dylan (a handful of them with others), 3 are paintings of him (one of these, Planet Waves, includes caricatures of 2 others; presumably members of The Band?) and the remaining 11 reside in the ‘other’ category. Of those whittled-down 21, the one cover other than Nashville Skyline where Bob Dylan could possibly be flashing anything that would be construed as much more than a smirk is the album John Wesley Harding. I’m thinking this is no coincidence, seeing as JWH is the immediate precursor to Nashville Skyline and Bob Dylan was by then already a year or so into his splendid domestic isolation.
Anyhow, back to my story. So, I asked the guy at the flea-market table if he knew much about this Bob Dylan album. At the time, I was not all that familiar with it, seeing as in those days, I was not yet particularly intent on filling in the cavernous gaps of my personal Dylan discography. He told me he most certainly did, going as far to call Nashville Skyline “the last Dylan DYLAN album”. I got what he meant. One reason I did was because this guy looked to be about 20 years older than me, a contemporary of Bob Dylan, and having engaged with many people over the years about music, I concluded he was likely to be the type to disregard anything that came along post one’s own formative years. I could have objected, having by that time already immersed myself in Blood on the Tracks, Slow Train Coming, Oh Mercy and the live album Hard Rain, each of which came out well after 1969. Instead, more intrigued by his comment than agitated, I nodded in approval and made the purchase.
At the time, I still had a turntable readily available at my beck and call in the living room of my home (now stored away in the attic, partly due to my having purchased a new cartridge for it at a specialty store – since closed - and then foolishly misplacing it). I played the record early and often. This was a Bob Dylan album like no other. Indeed, Nashville Skyline was relaxing in a serene, meditative sort of way. These were more upbeat songs than what had been served by Dylan to the public to that date (and since), the core concept; a celebration of the joys of loving and of being loved (thinking of it in this way, one could argue Nashville Skyline is the antithesis of Blood on the Tracks). Bob Dylan’s vocals were reflected in this mood too. Gone for the time being was that relatively gruff exterior exemplified in the vocals of each and every one of his other albums. This was replaced here by vocals that connoted whimsical charm.
Bob Dylan has been criticized for not connecting with the protestations of the late 60s, which were related to war, politics, civil rights and assassinations. My kneejerk reaction has always been to agree when I read a fresh angle on this. But here’s the thing. This was Dylan’s one and only chance to conquer the real world’s problems by immersing himself in family life. It just so happened that he was engaged in young-Dad domesticity at a very turbulent time. From this perspective one could counter argue that in doing so, Bob Dylan would subtly reveal the true values of life to his fans; the real McCoy kinda stuff. And perhaps in doing so, he was allowing the younger folks who were engulfed in those turbulent times to see an exit strategy; to have some measure of sanity they could envision to counterbalance the insanity that was surrounding them. Yeah, once again Dylan was seizing the moment in ways that were not readily obvious. Once again, he was running with his muse.
A few reflections on the songs themselves. First a general all-encompassing thought that came to mind this week: One of the things unique about Nashville Skyline is that it is very simple lyrically in comparison to other Bob Dylan releases. In the book Bob Dylan Lyrics 1962-1985, none of these songs take up much more than half a page. Quite a contrast from say, Blonde on Blonde, where many song lyrics take up several pages. Bliss and simplicity appear to go hand in hand. Makes sense to me. Life is not complicated when you’re on cloud nine.
Domesticity is consistently reflected in the music and vocals on Nashville Skyline, but the lyrics are a bit more quintessential Dylan in a handful of cases. Several songs however, are of the no-holes-barred-bliss variety. These would include “To Be Alone with You” “Country Pie” and “Peggy Day”. No ambiguity in the lyrics of these ditties. A fourth, “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here with You” is close enough, yet with a little more than a hint of pre-marriage days gone by. These are the core offerings that keep the album light and airy.
The most powerful songs on Nashville Skyline though are the reality checks, the longing, and the regret because even in blissful isolation, the real world, be it physical, emotional, or spiritual, can come knocking at your door at any time. The heaviest is “I Threw It All Away”, which is a fantastic song that has survived and will continue to survive the test of time. The version here is convincing enough, but if you really want to hear an in-the-moment rendition then the live version on 1976’s Hard Rain is where to look, where we painfully hear Bob Dylan in the throes of matrimonial chaos. Either way, the bridge lyrics say it all:
“Love is all there is, it makes the world go ‘round
Love and only love. It can’t be denied
No matter what you think about it
You just won’t be able to do without it
Take a tip from one who’s tried”
Song: “Lay Lady Lay”
Album: Nashville Skyline
Release Date: February 1969
That beaming smile spoke directly to me when I pulled the Bob Dylan record out of a large wooden bin at a New Hampshire open-air flea market on a hot spring day in 1995. Dylan's expression, captured forever in time there on that album cover, was portraying one very happy man. There was no doubt in mind. This was not a fabricated mugging for the camera that I was observing. This was joy personified. And that cover grin would prove to be an apt bellwether for the music contained within. Dylan fans would know right off which album I am referring to, because it’s the only one of his studio albums where we get to see such euphoria. Of course, I’m referring to 1969’s Nashville Skyline.
What was my visceral connection to that Chillin’ Dylan cover on that day? I couldn’t have described it at the time, because I did not know the full context. But over time as I got more familiar with Dylan’s past and gained hindsight on mine I would get to know better the common vibe. How shall I explain? Well, let me put it this way: As I crouched down to thumb through that bin of albums at the flea market, my wife by my side, I had a backpack on. This was not the typical backpack that first comes to mind when conjuring up an image, however, nor was it carrying standard fare such as accessories, purchases or necessities. This was a baby backpack and it was carrying a very young girl, my daughter and first born, Charlotte.
Bob Dylan was a young Dad too when he released Nashville Skyline. As with every period in his life reflected in song, Dylan would take this role seriously, in this case very much so, removing himself from the public spotlight by going into virtual seclusion in Woodstock, New York for over 5 years while his children were young and his family was growing (he predated John Lennon’s more famous “house husband” period by a good 8 years in this regard). And so, that expression on Bob Dylan’s face on the cover of this album has more specificity to it than just being happy. That look, that smile, is one of domestic bliss.
** Side Note: In the “For What It’s Worth” department, of the 36 Bob Dylan studio albums recognized in Wiki and most other references, 21 have cover art that depict photographs of Dylan (a handful of them with others), 3 are paintings of him (one of these, Planet Waves, includes caricatures of 2 others; presumably members of The Band?) and the remaining 11 reside in the ‘other’ category. Of those whittled-down 21, the one cover other than Nashville Skyline where Bob Dylan could possibly be flashing anything that would be construed as much more than a smirk is the album John Wesley Harding. I’m thinking this is no coincidence, seeing as JWH is the immediate precursor to Nashville Skyline and Bob Dylan was by then already a year or so into his splendid domestic isolation.
Anyhow, back to my story. So, I asked the guy at the flea-market table if he knew much about this Bob Dylan album. At the time, I was not all that familiar with it, seeing as in those days, I was not yet particularly intent on filling in the cavernous gaps of my personal Dylan discography. He told me he most certainly did, going as far to call Nashville Skyline “the last Dylan DYLAN album”. I got what he meant. One reason I did was because this guy looked to be about 20 years older than me, a contemporary of Bob Dylan, and having engaged with many people over the years about music, I concluded he was likely to be the type to disregard anything that came along post one’s own formative years. I could have objected, having by that time already immersed myself in Blood on the Tracks, Slow Train Coming, Oh Mercy and the live album Hard Rain, each of which came out well after 1969. Instead, more intrigued by his comment than agitated, I nodded in approval and made the purchase.
At the time, I still had a turntable readily available at my beck and call in the living room of my home (now stored away in the attic, partly due to my having purchased a new cartridge for it at a specialty store – since closed - and then foolishly misplacing it). I played the record early and often. This was a Bob Dylan album like no other. Indeed, Nashville Skyline was relaxing in a serene, meditative sort of way. These were more upbeat songs than what had been served by Dylan to the public to that date (and since), the core concept; a celebration of the joys of loving and of being loved (thinking of it in this way, one could argue Nashville Skyline is the antithesis of Blood on the Tracks). Bob Dylan’s vocals were reflected in this mood too. Gone for the time being was that relatively gruff exterior exemplified in the vocals of each and every one of his other albums. This was replaced here by vocals that connoted whimsical charm.
Bob Dylan has been criticized for not connecting with the protestations of the late 60s, which were related to war, politics, civil rights and assassinations. My kneejerk reaction has always been to agree when I read a fresh angle on this. But here’s the thing. This was Dylan’s one and only chance to conquer the real world’s problems by immersing himself in family life. It just so happened that he was engaged in young-Dad domesticity at a very turbulent time. From this perspective one could counter argue that in doing so, Bob Dylan would subtly reveal the true values of life to his fans; the real McCoy kinda stuff. And perhaps in doing so, he was allowing the younger folks who were engulfed in those turbulent times to see an exit strategy; to have some measure of sanity they could envision to counterbalance the insanity that was surrounding them. Yeah, once again Dylan was seizing the moment in ways that were not readily obvious. Once again, he was running with his muse.
A few reflections on the songs themselves. First a general all-encompassing thought that came to mind this week: One of the things unique about Nashville Skyline is that it is very simple lyrically in comparison to other Bob Dylan releases. In the book Bob Dylan Lyrics 1962-1985, none of these songs take up much more than half a page. Quite a contrast from say, Blonde on Blonde, where many song lyrics take up several pages. Bliss and simplicity appear to go hand in hand. Makes sense to me. Life is not complicated when you’re on cloud nine.
Domesticity is consistently reflected in the music and vocals on Nashville Skyline, but the lyrics are a bit more quintessential Dylan in a handful of cases. Several songs however, are of the no-holes-barred-bliss variety. These would include “To Be Alone with You” “Country Pie” and “Peggy Day”. No ambiguity in the lyrics of these ditties. A fourth, “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here with You” is close enough, yet with a little more than a hint of pre-marriage days gone by. These are the core offerings that keep the album light and airy.
The most powerful songs on Nashville Skyline though are the reality checks, the longing, and the regret because even in blissful isolation, the real world, be it physical, emotional, or spiritual, can come knocking at your door at any time. The heaviest is “I Threw It All Away”, which is a fantastic song that has survived and will continue to survive the test of time. The version here is convincing enough, but if you really want to hear an in-the-moment rendition then the live version on 1976’s Hard Rain is where to look, where we painfully hear Bob Dylan in the throes of matrimonial chaos. Either way, the bridge lyrics say it all:
“Love is all there is, it makes the world go ‘round
Love and only love. It can’t be denied
No matter what you think about it
You just won’t be able to do without it
Take a tip from one who’s tried”
The signature track, “Lay, Lady Lay” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWz88VY-FkA ) though
lovely in every way, also has some subtle sadness to it. But this one has both feet in the domestic
bliss box, because these are common emotions for a spouse with newfound
parental demands. There’s the give and
take. There’s the questioning of your
own worthiness in being so blessed.
There’s the pursuit to try and show the best of yourself to your
significant other and the hope it is recognized. There’s the “me no longer
first” to deal with. It’s all good,
because it’s all true and it’s all human.
You hear it frequently: Life can fly by. And I must concur. However, there are snapshots in time that do seem like ages ago. Our daughter is 23 years old now. I remember loading her into the back of the car at the hospital right after she was born and thinking ‘is this maternity-ward staff really entrusting us to go it alone from here?’. Sometimes, it even seems like another lifetime. So too does that backpack moment at the flea market. Three years later, not long after our son Peter was born, I recall looking over at my wife Nancy as she held him in her arms, the look of domestic bliss unmistakable in her face. It was priceless and remains unforgettable. But it also stirred a bit of memory that I could never quite get to the bottom of beyond the fleeting stage. Now I know. All I needed to do was connect the dots by writing this blog entry and leafing through my old album collection…. to catch a glimpse of that Nashville Skyline album cover all over again.
- Pete
You hear it frequently: Life can fly by. And I must concur. However, there are snapshots in time that do seem like ages ago. Our daughter is 23 years old now. I remember loading her into the back of the car at the hospital right after she was born and thinking ‘is this maternity-ward staff really entrusting us to go it alone from here?’. Sometimes, it even seems like another lifetime. So too does that backpack moment at the flea market. Three years later, not long after our son Peter was born, I recall looking over at my wife Nancy as she held him in her arms, the look of domestic bliss unmistakable in her face. It was priceless and remains unforgettable. But it also stirred a bit of memory that I could never quite get to the bottom of beyond the fleeting stage. Now I know. All I needed to do was connect the dots by writing this blog entry and leafing through my old album collection…. to catch a glimpse of that Nashville Skyline album cover all over again.
- Pete
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