Medialoper

Chasing the Long Tail of New Media

Bob Dylan

Certain Songs #108: Bob Dylan – “High Water (For Charley Patton)”

by

image

Album: “Love and Theft”.

Year: 2001.

“Love and Theft” famously came out on September 11, 2001, making it the second most important thing to happen that day but forever intertwined from a pop culture standpoint. As a matter of fact, some of the commentary surrounding the album made it seem like Dylan kinda knew what the post 9-11 zeitgeist was going to be as he was making the record. Which was insane, but went to the doomy quality of a song like “High Water (For Charley Patton)”.

Filled with eerie backing vocals, drums that imply a beat more than play them, and eternally riding upon a doomy combo of banjo, mandolin and acoustic guitar, “High Water (For Charley Patton)” certainly sounds post-apocalyptic enough. 

So when Dylan sings:

Things are breakin’ up out there
High water everywhere

you definitely want to start heading for higher ground.

But like much of “Love and Theft,”  – which is easily Dylan’s funniest album since Highway 61 Revisited – the takeaway from “High Water (For Charley Patton)” is this:  apocalypse is coming, and man is it funny! Which accounts for great verses like this one:

Well, George Lewis told the Englishman, the Italian and the Jew
“You can’t open your mind, boys
To every conceivable point of view”
They got Charles Darwin trapped out there on Highway Five
Judge says to the High Sheriff,
“I want him dead or alive
Either one, I don’t care”
High water everywhere

Message: I used to not care, but things have changed. 

Fan-made video for “High Water (For Charley Patton)”

My Certain Songs Spotify Playlist:

Every “Certain Song” Ever

Certain Songs #106: Bob Dylan – “Not Dark Yet”

by

image

Album: Time Out of Mind.

Year: 1997.

By 1997, I think that the last thing even the most fanatical of Dylan fanatics expected was to get a whole album of great songs from the man. Not only had he not put out an album of original material since 1990’s ambivalent Under The Red Sky, most of the 90s proper were spent celebrating his past: The Bootleg Series, The 30th Anniversary Concert, Greatest Hits Volume 3, the acoustic covers albums, MTV Unplugged.  All of these things basically signaled that he was done writing new songs, that he was content to touring endlessly on the strength of what was already the greatest song catalog in popular music.

Thus the miracle of Time Out of Mind, the album that kicked off what has now been a nearly 20-year endgame. Working with Daniel Lanois, Time Out of Mind utilizes the same swampy mixed of atmospherics they utilized on the near-miss Oh Mercy, but this time, he’d written a bunch of great songs, all of which fit the dark and doomy sound Lanios imposed.

And the greatest of those songs was the utterly gorgeous centerpiece “Not Dark Yet.”  A companion piece of sorts to “Most of The Time,” easily the best thing from Oh Mercy, but channeling some of the same despair that fueled his last great album, Blood on the Tracks, “Not Dark Yet” sounds like a fucking suicide note.

I’ve been down on the bottom of a world full of lies
I ain’t looking for nothing in anyone’s eyes
Sometimes my burden seems more than I can bear
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there

 

Gorgeously played and sung, with an utterly beautiful melody, “Not Dark Yet” makes me worry about what’s going to happen when it actually gets dark.

Official video for “Not Dark Yet”

My Certain Songs Spotify Playlist:

Every “Certain Song” Ever

Certain Songs #104: Bob Dylan – “Delia”

by

image

Album: World Gone Wrong.

Year: 1993.

It’s weird, but despite the fact I became a Bob Dylan fan in the late 1970s, it wasn’t until World Gone Wrong that he put out an album of new recordings that I truly loved as much as I loved his classic 60s & 70s recordings. Sure, there was the unreleased stuff on Biograph and The Bootleg Series, but while I liked – and loved – songs from every album from Slow Train Coming through Under the Red Sky, none of those records did it start to finish for me.

All the friends I ever had are gone

So I really didn’t have high hopes for World Gone Wrong.  After all, it was his second all-acoustic covers album in a row, coming relatively soon after the tepid Good As I Been To You. Acoustic Dylan is my least favorite Dylan. Cover songs are not why I revere the man. If anything should have signaled the final and utter artistic decline of Bob Dylan in my eyes, it was this eye-rolling record.

All the friends I ever had are gone

Still, I bought it because it was Bob Dylan, duh – probably walked down the street and got a used copy at Ragin’ Records – but I wasn’t really expecting much. And about halfway through, this song happened:

Delia was a gambling girl, gambled all around,
Delia was a gambling girl, she laid her money down.
All the friends I ever had are gone.

Just like that, the sadness of “Delia” just leapt out, grabbed me, and dragged me into the rest of World Gone Wrong.  It wasn’t even the story of Delia’s death that I responded to, but rather the tag of every single verse:  "all the friends I ever had are gone.“  In 1993, with my career as a drummer at a standstill; the Wild Blue slowly giving up on live music; the Video Zone declining; and the Tower District scene inevitably changing as everybody grew up and became, you know, adults, how Bob Dylan sang that phrase resonated with me.

All the friends I ever had are gone

As always, with hindsight, that seems silly. I mean, by the time I was 30, I’d been through enough that I should have remembered that whatever was happening in my life was temporary, just so long as I remembered that I had agency to change things up. And in fact, things were in motion that would change my life for the better forever: I was also getting on the internet for the first time, and making a whole bunch of new friends – some of them other Dylan fans – from all over the country, and Rox and I had started seeing each other.

All the friends I ever had are gone

And yet, all these years later,  "Delia” still affects me. I guess it’s because the inevitability of losing people you love – even temporarily – comes through so deep and so hard in his playing and singing, it doesn’t even matter what my current circumstances are.  Which I guess is what I also instinctively responded to in 1993: not only was Bob Dylan’s artistic decline not happening, he was going back to his artistic source as fuel for a rebirth.

Official video for “Delia”

My Certain Songs Spotify Playlist:

Every “Certain Song” Ever

Certain Songs #103: Bob Dylan – “Brownsville Girl”

by

image

Album: Knocked Out Loaded

Year: 1986.

Welcome to the 1980s. Welcome to bottomless wells of reverb, walls of backing vocals, fake-sounding drums, faker-sounding horns and a complete and utter sonic disregard for, well, anything. And yet, like good cholesterol kicking ass over bad cholesterol,  the sheer fun and complete over-the-topness (over-the-topitude?) of “Brownsville Girl” transcends its terrible sound. 

Co-written with Sam Shepard (presumably after Shepard wrote his unproduced play “Boy Oh Boy, I Can’t Believe I’m Sleeping With Jessica Lange”), “Brownsville Girl” is half weird travelogue – he’s back in the American Southwest, which didn’t treat him so well back in “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues,” and half meditation on the awesomeness of Gregory Peck.

So one hand, in his best preaching cadence, we get Dylan intoning the following fable:

Well, you saw my picture in the Corpus Christi Tribune. 
Underneath it, it said, “A man with no alibi”
You went out on a limb to testify for me, you said I was with you
Then when I saw you break down in front of the judge and cry real tears
It was the best acting I saw anybody do

On the other hand, we get this confession:

Well, I’m standin’ in line in the rain to see a movie starring Gregory Peck
Yeah, but you know it’s not the one that I had in mind
He’s got a new one out now, I don’t even know what it’s about
But I’ll see him in anything, so I’ll stand in line

It shouldn’t work at all, especially since it goes back over and over again to the “Brownsville girl, with your Brownsville curl” chorus, which is honestly the weakest part of the song, as its completely overladen with backing vocals and those fucking godforsaken synth-horns or whatever in the fuck they are, and yet, it’s also too damn catchy to completely dismiss.

And let’s not forget this line, which I’ve stolen over and over and will steal again for the rest of my life:

The only thing we knew for sure about Henry Porter is that his name wasn’t Henry Porter

Just as the only thing we know for sure about Bob Dylan is that is name isn’t Bob Dylan.

Official video for “Brownsville Girl”

My Certain Songs Spotify Playlist:

Every “Certain Song” Ever

Certain Songs #101: Bob Dylan – “Jokerman”

by

image

Album: Infidels.
Year: 1983.

As the first new album that Bob Dylan released that I could actually play for other people as a DJ on the radio, Infidels holds a special place in my heart, even though it’s not as great as it could have been. When it – and to a lesser extent, Empire Burlesque – came out, I felt like I was part of a great continuum of college students going back for two decades who were totally thrilled to pour over the latest offering from Dylan.

Which I did, and really only one song totally stood out as worthy that scrutiny. But that one song – “Jokerman” – is as as worthy of scrutiny as any song the man has ever written. 

After years of lists and cants, it was great to be reminded that the man could still pour out a surreal torrent of non-linear images in his lyrics. And after so many years of saying what he meant, it was even more fun to figure out if they were personal: 

Shedding off one more layer of skin
Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within

Or religious (but with a joke!):

You’re a man of the mountains, you can walk on the clouds
Manipulator of crowds, you’re a dream twister
You’re going to Sodom and Gomorrah
But what do you care? Ain’t nobody there would want to marry your sister

Or maybe political:

Well, the rifleman’s stalking the sick and the lame
Preacherman seeks the same, who’ll get there first is uncertain
Nightsticks and water cannons, tear gas, padlocks
Molotov cocktails and rocks behind every curtain
False-hearted judges dying in the webs that they spin
Only a matter of time ’til night comes steppin’ in

But, of course, in another way, it didn’t matter, because of the music of “Jokerman.”. With Sly and Robbie playing a reggae-inspired groove that never falls into the trap of being straight reggae, and Mark Knopfler doing that guitar thing that he does, Dylan returns again and again to what might be his most beautiful chorus:

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune
Bird fly high by the light of the moon
Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman

By the time he gets to the last iteration of that chorus, just before the last harmonica solo, there is so much joy in his voice, like singing this song has lifted the weight of the past – well, decade – right from his shoulders.  

Definitely a Top 5 Dylan song for me. And the video only solidified it for me.

Oh man. That video. I first encountered it on Night Flight, the all-night music show on USA that Kirk and/or Rob and I used to watch in the wee hours of the weekend mornings. You know, when the evenings had played out but it didn’t feel quite time to crash either because you were suddenly old enough to stay up late and young enough not to have any reason not to.

So Night Flight was a pretty big deal around our apartment, cos you never knew what kinda crazy shit they were going to show.. Sometimes, it might be a new Miles Davis video, other times they’d show Ladies & Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains in its entirety.  

Probably a year after Infidels came out, maybe longer, there it was, this amazing video. “Bob Dylan’s ‘Jokerman’ explodes with mixed imagery” said the Night Flight lady on the version one of us taped on Kirk’s ever-handy beta machine that sat on the floor under the TV. Clearly, they must have given advance warning, or maybe one of us (that would probably be me) fucking DOVE for the “record” button when it came up.

The insanely great video for “Jokerman”

BONUS “Jokerman” video.

This is an absolutely terrible, tossed-off version of “Jokerman” Dylan performed on Late Night With David Letterman with a band he seemingly recruited from the audience waiting in line to see the show.  Worth it for the the moment at 3:03 when Dylan tosses off his guitar, grabs a harmonica, and starts to play, only to realize it’s in the wrong key. Or something. What happens next won’t particularly surprise you.

Certain Songs #99: Bob Dylan – “Shelter From The Storm (Fort Collins, 1976)”

by

Album: Hard Rain
Year: 1976.

I’m not really that big fan of either of the live albums that came from The Rolling Thunder Revue, as the arrangements and sound suffered from … well, just too much of everything.  It was interesting for Dylan to go in a completely different direction from the by-then precision of The Band, but he went so far in the other direction that most of Rolling Thunder recordings I’ve heard feel completely unfocused.

I mean, take this live version of “Shelter From The Storm” from Hard Rain: it’s filled with these terrible mid-70s phased-out guitar sounds, the electric violin fighting for space, and it’s anchored by a completely unnecessary central guitar riff which always followed by a weird tap! tap! on the snare drum.

And yet, outside of “The Royal Albert Hall” performances, this is my favorite live Dylan song. It comes down to his singing. We he sings this on Blood on the Tracks, he definitely needs the shelter, but on Hard Rain, he’s the one who sounds like the storm.

And my favorite singing of his entire career is this verse:

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an’ they gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”

It comes down to “a lethal dose.” A lethal dose of salvation. It doesn’t make any linear sense, but when sings it, it feels like everything he’s done since – including the singing of that song right thing – has been affected by the lethal dose of salvation. He’ll never be the same, and neither will we. 

Check out the video below, which doesn’t have the greatest sonic quality (as it’s from an old VHS tape) and see of you spot a much-younger T-Bone Burnett in between what is otherwise mostly close-ups of Dylan singing.

“Shelter From The Storm (Fort Collins, 1976)”

The Certain Songs Database
A filterable, searchable & sortable somewhat up to date database with links to every “Certain Song” post I’ve ever written.

Check it out!

Certain Songs Spotify playlist
(It’s recommended that you listen to this on Spotify as their embed only has 200 songs.)

Support “Certain Songs” with a donation on Patreon
Go to my Patreon page

Certain Songs #98: Bob Dylan – “Isis”

by

Album: Desire.

Year: 1976.

Written and recorded in the middle of the Rolling Thunder Revue, Desire has always struck me as one of Bob Dylan’s most singular albums. Mostly co-written with Jacques Levy, it’s filled mostly with protest songs, travelogues and love songs, and musically, it’s dominated by Scarlet Riveria’s violin. I’m indifferent to about half of it, but “Isis” – half travelogue and half love song – is fucking awesome.

Played in sped-up ¾ time, and sparse musically: mostly just Dylan on a repetitive piano, bass, drums, and that violin.  Which is perfect, because “Isis” is all about the witty parable he’s spinning:

I married Isis on the fifth day of May
But I could not hold on to her very long
So I cut off my hair and I rode straight away
For the wild unknown country where I could not go wrong.

While he’s off seeking his fortune with a dude he runs into in a laundromat, Isis is always on his mind, and in the middle of it is one of my all-time favorite Dylan one-liners:

When he died I was hoping that it wasn’t contagious

Unlike so many of the stories he was telling on Blood on the Tracks, “Isis” is fundamentally an optimistic song about love, marriage and reconciliation. 

Official video for “Isis”

My Certain Songs Spotify Playlist:

Every “Certain Song” Ever

Certain Songs #97: Bob Dylan – “Up To Me”

by

Biograph

Album: Biograph
Year: 1974

In the tumultuous summer of 1986, two different homemade cassettes kept me afloat. The first one was a tape I made of Hüsker Dü’s Candy Apple Grey to which I had appended the epic b-side “All Work And No Play.”  And the second was a tape I made of Blood on the Tracks, which I ended with “Up to Me,” which had shown up on Biograph the year before and almost instantly became a Top 5 Dylan song for me.

Let’s put it this way: if “Up to Me” actually ended Blood on the Tracks, then it would be my favorite Bob Dylan album, hands down.  Instead of just probably my favorite Bob Dylan album, since, as far as I’m concerned, “Up to Me” does end Blood on the Tracks.

In every possible way it is the perfect album-ender, even more so than the utterly awesome “Buckets of Rain.” Because it – both musically and lyrically – pretty much sums up the entire record, and in a weird way, adds a note of hope and optimism to it.

One one hand, it’s a bit of a shaggy dog story, like “Tangled Up in Blue” or “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts:”

Oh, the only decent thing I did when I worked as a postal clerk
Was to haul your picture down off the wall near the cage where I used to work
Was I a fool or not to try to protect your identity?
You looked a little burned out, my friend, I thought it might be up to me

But then, in the very next verse, it’s as simple and direct as “You’re a Big Girl Now” or “If You See Her, Say Hello:”

Well, I met somebody face to face and I had to remove my hat
She’s everything I need and love but I can’t be swayed by that
It frightens me, the awful truth of how sweet life can be
But she ain’t a-gonna make me move, I guess it must be up to me

Oh, and like nearly all of Blood on the Tracks, the melody is sadly beautiful, winding its way through each verse with such ragged precision you don’t even realize that you’ve internalized it until you realize you know exactly when he’s going to sing “up to me.”


My Certain Songs Spotify Playlist:

Every “Certain Song” Ever

Certain Songs #93: Bob Dylan – “Drifter’s Escape”

by

image

Album: John Wesley Harding.

Year: 1968.

It’s always been hard for me to exactly explain why I love “Drifter’s Escape” so much. Maybe because it describes an incident with amazing specificity: the Drifter has been found guilty, much to disgust of the Judge, and as the crowd cries for justice God intervenes by destroying the courthouse, and the Drifter escapes.

“Oh, help me in my weakness”
I heard the drifter say
As they carried him from the courtroom
And were taking him away
“My trip hasn’t been a pleasant one
And my time it isn’t long
And I still do not know
What it was that I’ve done wrong”

Maybe it’s because of the simple music: Dylan strumming his acoustic and blowing his harmonica between the verses; Kenny Buttrey being amazing as always on the drums, and Charlie McCoy providing sly bass hooks. And it’s all over in 2:46. Of course, that was most of John Wesley Harding.

Well, the judge, he cast his robe aside
A tear came to his eye
“You fail to understand,” he said
“Why must you even try?”
Outside, the crowd was stirring
You could hear it from the door
Inside, the judge was stepping down
While the jury cried for more

Maybe because despite the specificity of the incident and simplicity of the music, “Drifter’s Escape” is completely mysterious. Of course, the long-held suspicion is that it’s a parable about Bob Dylan and his relationship to the white-hot stardom he was desperately dialing down with John Wesley Harding, so maybe that’s why I love it so much.

“Oh, stop that cursed jury”
Cried the attendant and the nurse
“The trial was bad enough
But this is ten times worse”
Just then a bolt of lightning
Struck the courthouse out of shape
And while ev’rybody knelt to pray
The drifter did escape

Or maybe it’s just that last verse with the deus ex machina helps the drifter triumph over mob rule, because the mob worships the deus in the first place. The combination of that kind of dramatic irony with the  weird rhyme scheme of “out of shape” and “did escape” has fascinated me since I first heard it.  

Official Video for “Drifter’s Escape”

My Certain Songs Spotify Playlist:

Every “Certain Song” Ever

Certain Songs #92: Bob Dylan & The Band – “Goin’ To Acapulco”

by

image

Album: The Basement Tapes.

Year: 1967.

One of the standard tropes in popular music is to take upbeat music and wed it to depressing words. Bands like The Smiths pretty much made a living exploring the contradiction of Morrissey’s depressing words with the bouncy guitar hooks that Johnny Marr specialized in. But hell, even Hank Williams did it.

But “Goin’ to Acapulco” does the exact opposite. It takes words about  having a good time and sets them to a mournful, organ-filled deathmarch.

Goin’ to Acapulco–goin’ on the run
Goin’ down to see fat gut–goin’ to have some fun
Yeah–goin’ to have some fun

It’s so doomy and resigned-sounding that by the time the song is ending you want to yell at Dylan “FOR GOD’S SAKE, MAN, DON’T GO THERE! GO ANYWHERE BUT THERE” even as you realize that it’s too late, that he’s doomed to have some some fun whether he likes it or not.

Official video for “Goin’ To Acapulco”

My Certain Songs Spotify Playlist:

Every “Certain Song” Ever