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Pastimes : Robert Zimmerman, Bob Dylan, Dylan -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?


To: mr.mark who wrote (536)3/9/2001 12:09:34 PM
From: SIer formerly known as Joe B.  Respond to of 2695
 
Rubin says so much with few words:

"But if you spend enough time in the darkness, you will begin to see things more
vividly than you ever have before. When you can't see outside, you can only look
inside and that's where peace and reconciliation begin."



To: mr.mark who wrote (536)3/12/2001 10:04:30 PM
From: SIer formerly known as Joe B.  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 2695
 
COLUMN: Let the locusts descend

Updated 12:00 PM ET March 12, 2001

By Bex Levine
The Daily Princetonian
Princeton U.

news.excite.com

(U-WIRE) PRINCETON, N.J. -- Here is what you should know about
me: I like Bob Dylan. I mean, I really, really like him, and not just
because he has the soul of a poet. I'd have his babies if I could -- that's
how much I like Bob Dylan. Sometimes, for fun, I listen consecutively
(and of course in chronological order) to every Dylan album made
between 1962 and 1971, plus the two albums from 1976, "Dylan and the
Dead," "Greatest Hits III," "Live in 1966" and finally "Time Out of
Mind." This includes a grand total of 21 compact discs and takes around
17 hours of listening time -- perfect for long car rides or while working
in the lab.

The average Dylan addict will tell you that the popularity of his albums
tends to wane after '67. "Nashville Skyline" is too country, they'll say --
all 26 minutes of it (though I happen to like it) -- and once you get past
'73, with the exception of '76's "Desire," it's mostly crap. But stuck in the
middle of the good years is the little-known 1970 album, "New
Morning," which is one of my personal favorites. Track two on this
album, "Day of the Locusts," is catchy and clear, even for Dylan. It is
also about Princeton -- Dylan wrote it in 1970 after receiving an honorary
degree from the University that same year. I like Dylan so much, I don't
even mind that it's not a very nice song about Princeton.

Here is another thing you should know about me: I think the quote
gallery in the main entrance of the Frist Campus Center is fairly cheesy.
Upon first sight of this combination white, gray, orange and black
bombardment of words set against a lovely "rust" background, I knew it
couldn't be A+ material. I took one look at a quote from the mythical
Princetonian, Toni Morrison, on the value of "a place" and have since
never bothered to read the others. I sometimes glance at the walls, but I
usually pass through the same set of doors and thus usually ignore the
same set of quotes.

Recently, however, I came through the quote gallery on its easternmost
side, and, because we must have some sort of spiritual connection, I
looked up to see Bob Dylan's name painted there on the wall in hideous
orange block-writing. In that single instant, the quote gallery became
infinitely cooler, more hip and in tune with the needs of the students --
namely, me. And in the very next instant, upon realizing that his quote
was from the "Day of the Locusts," my personal enjoyment of the
aforementioned gallery sank below that of hanging out in the
beer-drenched taproom of TI at three o'clock in the a.m. In a gallery of
quotes by famous Princetonians or about the wonders of Princeton by
plain-old-regular famous people, why on Earth would we boast a line
from a song so blatantly bashing the University -- even one written by
Bob Dylan himself? There is only one explanation: either the designers
thought we wouldn't understand the reference, or they simply didn't get it
themselves.

The 17-year locusts descended en masse upon the eastern United States
in 1970 and stuck around for Princeton graduation on June 9. The
intense heat of the 90-degree New Jersey late spring, combined with the
shrill cries of millions of insects, turned out to be a wonderful bit of
imagery not lost on the brilliant Dylan, who was being honored with a
degree from the University for his creativity as a musician and his
appeals to human compassion. The citation on his degree read:

"Paradoxically, though known to millions, he shuns publicity and
organizations, preferring the solidarity of his family and isolation from
the world. Although he is now approaching the perilous age of 30, his
music remains the authentic expression of the disturbed and concerned
conscience of young America."

They knew from the start that he didn't like them. They essentially wrote
it in his degree. The plague of locusts must have seemed to Dylan a
beautiful twist of irony as one of the foremost elite institutions bowed to
honor the voice of the people -- the Pharaoh honoring Moses. Dylan
must have felt like a prophet among the WASPs and locusts of Princeton;
hell, who wouldn't have written a song about it?

And so "Day of the Locusts" was penned. Dylan painted a picture of a
Judgement Day complete with the Biblical eighth plague on Egypt. He
was the representative of the slaves, the common folk, on trial simply for
existing. His only supporters were the infernal insects -- those already
condemned and damned.

"I glanced into the chamber where the judges were talking, / Darkness
was everywhere, it smelled like a tomb. / I was ready to leave, I was
already walkin' / But the next time I looked there was light in the room. /
And the locusts sang, yeah, it gave me a chill, / Oh, the locusts sang such
a sweet melody. / Oh, the locusts sang their high whining trill, / Yeah, the
locusts sang and they were singing for me."

He watched a man's head explode in the heat of the cursed place, and
after another chorus of the locusts' song, he was finally released from the
fiery hell as he received his diploma (or rather, stay of execution). From
there, he headed straight back to the cool, black hills of the Midwest:
"Sure was glad to get out of there alive."

This is not a complimentary song. I do not feel proud to go to Princeton
if the rest of the world views us as Dylan's lyrics paint us. Of course, a
lot has changed since 1970, but old stereotypes die hard. I do not like to
be reminded of these stereotypes because the very fact that I go here
means that I have stood up to be counted with the elite and privileged,
both of which Dylan detests. Each time I walk through the quote gallery
in Frist, I am reminded either that we really are the selfish elite or that
people just think we are. So what do I think we should do about it? Well,
nothing now. If given the choice, I wouldn't have had the quote up at all,
but now that it's there, it might as well stay. Seeing it serves as a good
reminder of where we once were and what we don't want to revert back
to.

Nevertheless, just because someone as cool as Bob Dylan said something
about Princeton doesn't change the fact that what he actually said is an
enormous insult to the Princeton community and therefore something we
shouldn't brag about. But I guess it's not necessary to make much of a
stink; it's not as if anyone pays attention to those quotes anyway.



To: mr.mark who wrote (536)3/13/2001 11:02:56 PM
From: SIer formerly known as Joe B.  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 2695
 
Discussing Dylan's recent concert
japantimes.co.jp

Just after Bob Dylan's March 3 concert at Tokyo
International Forum, music maven and broadcast
personality Peter Barakan met with entertainment
writer Philip Brasor at a Tokyo coffee shop to reflect.

Barakan: "I was surprised at how many of his greatest
hits he actually did. I wasn't expecting so many."

Brasor: "A woman I met last week told me she saw
him a few years ago in New Zealand. She was
disappointed because he didn't do anything famous.
I'm not sure what she meant -- that he just did stuff
from the '80s?"

Barakan: "And I couldn't understand why he would
employ somebody of the caliber of Charlie Sexton and
give him only one [guitar] solo."

Brasor: "Well, it's because he himself played all the
solos."

Barakan: "That's exactly what I mean. He's not
exactly a virtuoso."

Brasor: "I've always had the impression that whenever
Dylan is in a public situation -- be it a concert, an
interview, anything involving interaction with people
outside the recording studio -- he's basically putting
you on. By the way, where were you sitting?"

Barakan: "About halfway back, to the right."

Brasor: "I was in the last row with the housewives. I
couldn't make out what he was wearing."

Barakan: "It was some kind of suit, slightly
countryish. There was a string tie. I think he always
wears that kind of thing."

Brasor: "At some point, I think he actually wanted to
be Elvis, and while I believe every rock star has to
wrestle with the Elvis issue, I don't think Dylan ever
had a problem with it."

Barakan: [uncomfortable laughter]

Brasor: "Look at the back of 'Street Legal.' He's
wearing the Elvis suit. I mean, how seriously does he
take himself as an entertainer? I'm sure by now he
expects that we expect him to be ironic."

* * *

Barakan: " 'Masters of War' was really good. It was
the first time in a long time that I'd heard it."

Brasor: "And it was fairly straightforward. Dylan is
famous for changing his songs in concert, sometimes
quite drastically."

Barakan: "I sometimes think he fiddles with the
melody too much, though I was impressed by how well
the Japanese audience seemed to know the songs
immediately. Sometimes you could tell which song it
was by the chord sequence, even before he started
singing."

Brasor: "But that can be confusing, too. When he did
'All Along the Watchtower,' I first thought it was
'Hurricane.' If you take away the violin from
'Hurricane,' it's difficult to tell them apart."

Barakan: "Well, it is when you do the Jimi Hendrix
arrangement [of 'Watchtower']."

Brasor: "Actually, he did the Billy Joel arrangement of
'To Make You Feel My Love.' It's not the version
from 'Time Out of Mind.' "

Barakan: "I wasn't expecting him to sing that."

Brasor: "I certainly wasn't expecting him to be Billy
Joel, though I suppose that's one idea of what an
entertainer is."

Barakan: "What impressed me was that songs like
'Masters of War,' 'The Times They Are a-Changin','
and 'Desolation Row' still sound relevant now. I started
thinking about things I'd read in the newspapers the
past couple of weeks."

Brasor: "Regardless of when you hear it, the ending of
'Masters of War' is pretty heavy-duty: 'I hope that you
die and your death will come soon . . . ' 'I'll stand over
your grave 'til I'm sure you're dead.' It's not exactly
Eminem, but it definitely makes an impression, even
now. It's hardly the peace-and-love image everyone
has of the '60s."

Barakan: " 'Love Sick' was good, too."

Brasor: "Speaking of which, what do you think of
'Time Out of Mind?' "

Barakan: "I think it's fantastic."

Brasor: "I don't play it that much any more. There's
something perversely cranky about it."

Barakan: "I tend to appreciate it more in musical
terms. Part of it is [producer] Daniel Lanois and part of
it is that it refers to my favorite Dylan albums of the
past, like 'Highway 61 Revisited' and 'Blonde on
Blonde.' It seems to belong to that era."

Brasor: "I think it belongs to right now."

Barakan: "But the feel of it is of a piece with some of
those earlier works. I lost interest in Dylan a lot . . . I
mean, I never got into 'John Wesley Harding.' It's one
of those records that everyone raves about."

Brasor: "I have a friend who just assumes he died in
that famous motorcycle accident. That way he doesn't
have to think about anything released after 1966."

Barakan: "Apparently it wasn't that serious, but it did
give him a chance to get out of the public eye for a
while."

Brasor: "To tell you the truth, my favorite Dylan
album is 'The Basement Tapes.' The first time I heard
it I thought it was stupid, just a bunch of guys goofing
off."

Barakan: "Some of it is."

Brasor: "No, all of it is. Everybody has forgotten how
funny people used to find Dylan. The only 'Basement
Tapes' song he did at the concert was 'Down in the
Flood.' It's such a crazy song: 'Sugar for sugar, salt for
salt, if you go down in the flood, it's your own fault.'
The only trouble is that it doesn't sound as funny sung
by a 59-year-old in front of a worshipful mob than it
does when it's sung by a stoned 26-year-old who's
trying to get a rise out of his friends. Then again, I
always thought Dylan sounded like an old man on his
first album. The same thing occurred to me when I
saw Dan Hicks a few weeks ago."

Barakan: "They're exactly the same age."

Brasor: "I thought, '[Dan Hicks] hasn't changed that
much,' and then, 'Well, he already sounded
middle-aged in 1972,' because of the kind of music he
was playing then. It conveyed the sensibility of a man
who'd been around and seen it all. It's the same thing
with Dylan when he started. He wanted to sound like
this tired, old blues singer. And now he actually is that
old."

Barakan: "On the other hand, the kind of idealism that
you often found in his early songs was something that
you only find in young people."

Brasor: "And that's why 'Time Out of Mind' sounds
like a cranky old man. All the songs sound
constipated."

Barakan: "The new song, 'Things Have Changed,' has
the same kind of outlook."

Brasor: "But it's snappier. It has a very definite
rhythmic pull. It sounds like a single."

Barakan: "Well, it was, at least in Japan."

* * *

Brasor: "Did that qualify as an encore?" [note: Dylan
played less than an hour, left the stage, and returned
almost immediately with nine more songs.]

Barakan: "I think it was a ploy to get the audience on
their feet. And it worked. He's not going to get off on
the gig unless the audience are getting off. So I'd say in
that regard he was in an entertainment mode."

Brasor: "To get the audience excited . . . "

Barakan: "In the end, it's to get himself excited. He
has to raise the energy level so that he can give more
of himself. That's the way I interpreted it. If you've
ever been to a gospel gig, there's a way that they build.
They start off really boring, and then about five songs
into the set the energy level starts to climb. As soon as
the audience gets off a bit, the performers give it back
and then some. Then the whole concert just spirals. To
a certain extent, all musicians instinctively think like
that, Dylan included."

Brasor: "Well, the guy tours all the time. I mean,
unofficially it's called the Neverending Tour. He's been
doing like a hundred concerts a year for the past
decade."

Barakan: "But it's not like he can't afford not to."

Brasor: "Let's talk about the band. At times I thought
they did sound like the Band, while other times they
came closer to ZZ Top, especially on 'Highway 61,'
which was like a boogie."

Barakan: "Yeah, I don't care for that style, and to that
extent I didn't get off on the band sound."

Brasor: "That's probably why you thought the show
was weird. To me, it had a classic rock-show sound."

Barakan: "It did, and I can't say I appreciated it that
much. I would have liked a little more detail. What was
the other guitarist's name? Something Campbell? He
also played lap steel, but it was on a stand. He had a
variety of guitars and could have worked in something
more."

Brasor: "How about that taped introduction: 'Ladies
and gentlemen, Columbia recording artist, Bob Dylan.'
It makes him sound like this up-and-coming folk singer
from Minnesota."

Barakan: "But what about the tape that was on the PA
before he came on? I can't help but think it was his
idea."

Brasor: "Are those tapes usually chosen by the
artists?"

Barakan: "It depends. But it was really cheesy cocktail
jazz, and Udo, as a promoter, would never choose that
to play before a Bob Dylan concert. It was so
incongruous, and I couldn't help but wonder if he
chose it and what he meant by it."

Brasor: "Now that you mention it, some of his singing
was quite conventionally dramatic."

Barakan: " 'To Make You Feel My Love' struck me
that way."

Brasor: "Yes, that one in particular. It reminded me of
Tony Bennett . . . "

Barakan: (gasp)

Brasor: ". . . and, of course, Billy Joel, both of whom
are also Columbia recording artists. Think about it.
Actually, I've always thought Dylan was underrated as
a vocalist. Critics tend to focus on what he writes or
what he represents."

Barakan: "It's not a technical thing. It's more
instinctual."

Brasor: "No one ever mentions how he deliberately
changed his vocal quality -- not his style of singing, but
the actual quality of his voice -- over the course of his
career. He went from this old bluesman's croak to a
rocker's sneer to a gentle, relaxed tone all before 1970.
By the late '80s he sounded totally bizarre, like Donald
Duck on helium."

Barakan: "It was very reedy. I didn't care for it at all.
Do you think it was on purpose?"

Brasor: "I can't imagine him not doing anything on
purpose. Anyway, I say this because I thought his
singing the other night was very good. I think he's
purposely trying to sing well. He very well may like
that cheesy cocktail jazz."

The Japan Times: Mar. 11, 2001