We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
It's about himself: I Contain Multitudes, from Whitman's Song of Myself. Lyrics here
Tune/rhythm is similar to It's Not Dark Yet. He seems to be at the point at which he reviews his life, and shares it. Far from from Mr. Tambourine Man. God bless him for sharing his life with as much truth and inspiration as he could. He will not give up on life, and on his reporting.
I was never a huge fan of Dylan's music, like some of his poetry though. My feeling has always been, he was at the right place & time to ride the 60's wave of fame as an artistic presence.
These most recent efforts are a little too trite and stream-of-consciousness for my taste. I don't feel there's any real message, just an appeal for people to react to familiar words and phrases and get them to try to connect them together. Seems....promotional.
Not trying to detract from others who find his music an inspiration, I'll accept that I just don't get it.
Give it up, Bob. I grew up with your music back in the sixties and loved it (still do), but it's been downhill ever since. I understand where you're coming from, but the last thing American needs right now is a depressing song about getting old and forgotten. I understand completely about living a full life doing important things, only to be dismissed and ignored. Sadly, that's part of life, it seems.
I managed about two minutes of MMF and then blurrrgh....
"Goodbye, Charlie Goodbye, Uncle Sam Frankly, my Scarlet, I don’t give a damn….
They mutilated his body, and they took out his brain What more could they do? They piled on the pain But his soul’s not there where it was supposed to be at For the last fifty years they’ve been searchin’ for that….
That magic bullet of yours has gone to my head I’m just a patsy like Patsy Cline…. Play “Mystery Train” for Mr. Mystery The man who fell down dead like a rootless tree Play it for the Reverend Play it for the Pastor Play it for the dog that got no master"
a frazzled grade school pupil riddled with ADD could do as well
warbling j laskitude
I liked MMF. End of life American Pie. It’s not really about the assassination; it’s more of a response to it. As he thinks about it over time all these images come back. They come to him as music because that’s who he is.