Joan Baez, A Hard Rain's a Gonna Fall. I've been listening to this version of the Dylan classic for 50 years and I still love it. Brings tears to my eyes every time.
The Seeds, Pushin' Too Hard. A cheesy tune by a '60s garage band. Video intro by the late Casey Kasem. His reference to the Southland is to the So. Cal. area.
Johnny Winter, Life is Hard. "Life is hard, and then you die." "The devil wears a blue dress and she is bound to get you in the end."
Being hung up on the '60s, there is and will be only one clown for me, Bozo the Clown. After Bozo I had no truck with clowns. I'm a serious man. But I can relate to this segment from the Seinfeld episode, "The Fire." It is one of the funniest in the whole series. But I suppose you had to be there. In the '60s I mean. With Bozo. The Clown. Now some songs featuring clowns.
Roy Orbison, In Dreams. "A candy-colored clown they call the sandman . . . ."
James Darren, Goodbye Cruel World. "I'm off to join the circus, gonna be a broken-hearted clown."
Burl Ives, A Little Bitty Tear. A little bitty tear let me down, spoiled my act as a clown/ I had it made up not make a frown, but a little bitty tear let me down.
Jack Kerouac (1922-1969) died 47 years ago yesterday, at the age of 47, his years dead now equaling his years alive. Here are some songs that refer to him and his work.
Jack Kerouac, Tristessa (written 1955-56, first published in 1960), p. 59:
Since beginningless time and into the never-ending future, men have loved women without telling them, and the Lord has loved them without telling, and the void is not the void because there's nothing to be empty of.
April Stevens' and Nino Tempo's version of Deep Purple became a number one hit in 1963. I liked it when it first came out, and I've enjoyed it ever since. A while back I happened to hear it via Sirius satellite radio and was drawn into it like never before. But its lyrics, penned by Mitchell Parish, are pure sweet kitsch:
When the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls And the stars begin to twinkle in the night Through the mist of a memory you wander back to me Breathing my name with a sigh.
In the still of the night once again I hold you tight Though you're gone, your love lives on when moonlight beams And as long as my heart will beat, sweet lover we'll always meet Here in my deep purple dreams.
Kitsch is bad art, but what is the essence of kitsch, and why is it bad? Presumably it is sentimentality that makes kitsch kitsch, and it is this sentimentality that makes kitsch aesthetically and perhaps even morally dubious. One self-indulgently 'wallows' in a song like this, giving into its 'cheap' emotions. The emotions are 'false' and 'faked.' The melody and lyrics are formulaic and predictable, 'catchy.' The listener allows himself to be manipulated by the songwriter who is out to 'push the listener's buttons.' The aesthetic experience is not authentic but vicarious. And so on. Adorno would not approve.
There is great art and there is kitsch. I partake of both, enjoy both, and know the difference. What is wrong with a little kitsch in moderation? No, I don't collect Hummel figurines and my stoa is not carpeted with astroturf. What is sentimentality and what is wrong with it? There is a literature on this, but I've read almost none of it. Who has time?
This brings me to Bob Dylan who was recently awarded the 2016 Nobel Prize in Literature. Now I've been a Dylan fan from the early '60s. In the '60s I was more than a fan; I was a fanatic who would brook no criticism of his hero. And I still maintain that in the annals of American popular music no one surpasses him as a songwriter.
But the Nobel Prize for Literature? That's a bit much, and an ominous foreshadowing of the death of the book and of quiet reading in this hyperkinetic age of tweets and soundbites. A large theme. Get to it conservative bloggers. Why do I have to do all the work?
Brewer and Shipley, One Toke Over the Line. What you'll be when the shit comes in. Matters feculent bring Brian Leiter to mind. Speculation is running high according to a New York Timespiece that he mailed feces to four philosophers.
Gordon Lightfoot, Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Powerful song, great lyrics. "Does anyone know where the love of God goes/When the waves turn the minutes to hours?"
October 1st is International Coffee Day. Herewith, some tunes in celebration. Not that I'm drinking coffee now: it's a morning and afternoon drink. I am presently partaking of a potent libation consisting of equal parts of Tequila and Campari with a Fat Tire Fat Funk Ale as chaser.
Commander Cody, Truck Drivin' Man. This one goes out to Sally and Jean and Mary in memory of our California road trip two years ago. "Pour me another cup of coffee/For it is the best in the land/I'll put a nickel in the jukebox/And play that 'Truck Drivin' Man.'"
What is wrong with people who don't drink or enjoy coffee? They must not value consciousness and intensity of experience. Poor devils! Perhaps they're zombies (in the philosophers' sense).
Patrick Kurp recommends Rick Danko and Paul Butterfield, Java Blues, one hard-driving, adrenalin-enabling number which, in synergy with a serious cup of java will soon have you banging hard on all synaptic 'cylinders.'
Chicory is a cheat. It cuts it but doesn't cut it.
"The taste of java is like a volcanic rush/No one is going to stop me from drinking too much . . . ."
George Harrison and friends, Absolutely Sweet Marie. By the way, this self-certified Dylanologist can attest that in the first line it is 'railroad GAUGE,' not 'railroad gate.' 'Gauge' is a measure of the width of the track; that's what our boy can't jump. This one goes out to Marie Benson, from the summer of '65. Where are you tonight, sweet Marie?
Remember Fred Neil? One of the luminaries of the '60s folk scene, he didn't do much musically thereafter. Neil is probably best remembered for having penned 'Everybody's Talkin' which was made famous by Harry Nilsson as the theme of Midnight Cowboy. Here is Neil's version. Nilsson's rendition.
Another of my Fred Neil favorites is "Other Side of This Life." Here is Peter, Paul, and Mary's version.
Van Morrison, Brown Eyed Girl. This one goes out to Kathy H.
Ramblin' Jack Elliot, Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain. Thinking of you, Anne-Marie C. and the fabulous and far-off fall of '73.
In the twilight glow I see her Blue eyes crying in the rain When we kissed goodbye and parted I knew we'd never meet again.
Love is like a dying ember Only memories remain Through the ages I'll remember Blue eyes crying in the rain.
Now my hair has turned to silver All my life I've loved in vain But I can see her star in heaven Blue eyes crying in the rain.
Someday when we meet up yonder We'll stroll hand in hand again In a land that knows no parting Blue eyes crying in the rain.
Jackson Browne, Doctor My Eyes. Dedicated to Darci M. and our summer of '78.
Doctor, my eyes have seen the years And the slow parade of fears without crying Now I want to understand
I have done all that I could To see the evil and the good without hiding You must help me if you can
Doctor, my eyes Tell me what is wrong Was I unwise to leave them open for so long
'Cause I have wandered through this world And as each moment has unfurled I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams People go just where they will I never noticed them until I got this feeling That it's later than it seems
Doctor, my eyes Tell me what you see I hear their cries Just say if it's too late for me
Doctor, my eyes Cannot see the sky Is this the PRICE for having learned how not to cry?
I just discovered this group via YouTube. Funny, I see only one cutie. Here are three unusual, haunting versions of three great old tunes. "Without music, life would be a mistake." (Nietzsche)
Neil Diamond, Solitary Man. Johnny Cash does it better. Nothing better than the sound of an acoustic guitar, well-made, well-played, steel-stringed, with fresh strings. This one goes out to Dave Bagwill.
While we have the Big O cued up, here is Oh, Pretty Woman, a contender for greatest R & R song, what with its unique blend of the Dionysian and the tender. Legendary sideman James Burton and Bruce Springsteen trade licks on their Telecasters. Burton was the man behind the guitar fills and leads in the early Ricky Nelson hits such as Hello Mary Lou. This one goes out to my wife Mary Lou on this our 33rd wedding anniversary. "I knew Mary Lou we'd never part/So hello Mary Lou, goodbye heart."
Some of us are old enough to remember when he fought and bragged under the name, 'Cassius Clay.' Later known as Muhammad Ali, the great boxer died yesterday in Scottsdale at age 74. I won't comment on the man except to wonder how much of Donald Trump's braggadoccio and argumentative tactics were inspired by him.
Simon and Garfunkel, The Boxer. "A man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest."
Addendum (6/5). The following from Wikipedia. Does it remind you of someone?
"Talking trash"
Ali regularly taunted and baited his opponents—including Liston, Frazier, and Foreman—before the fight and often during the bout itself. Ali's pre-fight theatrics were almost always highly entertaining, and his words were sometimes cutting, and were largely designed to promote the fight. His antics often targeted a particular psychological trigger or vulnerability in his opponent that would provoke a reaction and cause the opponent to lose focus. He said Frazier was "too dumb to be champion", that he would whip Liston "like his Daddy did", that Terrell was an "Uncle Tom" and that Patterson was a "rabbit." In speaking of how Ali stoked Liston's anger and overconfidence before their first fight, one writer commented that "the most brilliant fight strategy in boxing history was devised by a teenager who had graduated 376 in a class of 391."[125]
Ali typically portrayed himself as the "people's champion" and his opponent as a tool of the (white) establishment (despite the fact that his entourage often had more white faces than his opponents'). During the early part of Ali's career, he built a reputation for predicting rounds in which he would finish opponents, often vowing to crawl across the ring or to leave the country if he lost the bout.[16] Ali admitted he adopted the latter practice from "Gorgeous"George Wagner, a popular professional wrestling champion in the Greater Los Angeles Area who drew thousands of fans to his matches as "the man you love to hate."[16]
ESPN columnist Ralph Wiley called Ali "The King of Trash Talk."[129] In 2013, The Guardian said Ali exemplified boxing's "golden age of trash talking."[130]The Bleacher Report called Clay's description of Sonny Liston smelling like a bear and his vow to donate him to a zoo after he beat him the greatest trash talk line in sports history.[131]
Dylan can, and has, written the sorts of conventional, schmaltzy songs that Mercer, Berlin, and the other contributors to the Great American Songbook wrote. But could they have written songs like the above? And they are only a small sample.
This is partial justification of last week's claim that Dylan is America's greatest writer of popular songs. Bar none. Might there be some generational chauvinism at work here?
25 things you might want to know know about Dylan. Excellent, except for the introductory claim that he is "rock's greatest songwriter." A better description is "America's greatest writer of popular songs." Bar none. We can discuss the criteria later, and consider counterexamples. Maybe this Saturday night. His earliest four or five albums are not in the rock genre. I'll permit quibbling about #5, Bringing It All Back Home (1965), but Bob Dylan (1962), The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan (1963) , The Time's They Are A'Changin' (1964), and Another Side of Bob Dylan (1964) are better classified as folk, not that they sit all that comfortably in this niche.
These early albums are studded with lasting contributions to Americana. This is music with meaning that speaks to the mind and the heart. No Rat Pack crooner Las Vegas lounge lizard stuff here.Two lesser-known compositions both from The Times They Are a'Changin':
North Country Blues. Written from the point of view of a woman and so appropriately sung by the angel-throated Joan Baez.
D. A. Pennebaker on the making of Don't Look Back. I saw it in '67 when it first came out. I just had to see it, just as I had to have all of Dylan's albums, all of his sheet music, and every article and book about him. I was a Dylan fanatic. No longer a fanatic, I remain a fan.
May he die with his boots on. It ain't dark yet, but it's gettin' there.
