Thursday, November 2. 2006
"You took a part of me that I really miss
I keep asking myself how long it can go on like this
You told yourself a lie; that's all right mama, I told myself one too
I'm trying to get closer but I'm still a million miles from you
You took the silver, you took the gold
You left me standing out in the cold
People ask about you; I didn't tell them everything I knew
Well I'm trying to get closer, but I'm still a million miles from you
I'm drifting in and out of dreamless sleep
Throwing all my memories in a ditch so deep
Did so many things I never did intend to do
Well I'm trying to get closer, but I'm still a million miles from you
I need your love so bad, turn your lamp down low
I need every bit of it for the places that I go
Sometimes I wonder just what it's all coming to
Well I'm tryin' to get closer, but I'm still a million miles from you
Well I don't dare close my eyes and I don't dare wink
Maybe in the next life I'll be able to hear myself think
Feel like talking to somebody but I just don't know who
Well, I'm tryin' to get closer but I'm still a million miles from you.." "Million Miles," from 1997's Time Out Of Mind. A ragged but powerful version from 2003 can be downloaded here. Hopefully, one day, fans will be able to hear the lost recordings from this album - the original take of "Mississippi," and the rumored "Girl From The Red River Shore."
Thursday, October 26. 2006
Thursday, October 19. 2006
"After a while we took in the clothes,
Nobody said very much.
Just some old wild shirts and a couple pairs of pants
Which nobody really wanted to touch.
Mama come in and picked up a book
An' Papa asked her what it was.
Someone else asked, "What do you care?"
Papa said, "Well, just because."
Then they started to take back their clothes,
Hang 'em on the line.
It was January the thirtieth
And everybody was feelin' fine.
The next day everybody got up
Seein' if the clothes were dry.
The dogs were barking, a neighbor passed,
Mama, of course, she said, "Hi!"
"Have you heard the news?" he said, with a grin,
"The Vice-President's gone mad!"
"Where?" "Downtown." "When?" "Last night."
"Hmm, gee, that's too bad!"
"Well, there's nothin' we can do about it," said the neighbor,
"It's just somethin' we're gonna have to forget."
"Yes, I guess so," said Ma,
Then she asked me if the clothes was still wet.
I reached up, touched my shirt,
And the neighbor said, "Are those clothes yours?"
I said, "Some of 'em, not all of 'em."
He said, "Ya always help out around here with the chores?"
I said, "Sometime, not all the time."
Then my neighbor, he blew his nose
Just as papa yelled outside,
"Mama wants you t' come back in the house and bring them clothes."
Well, I just do what I'm told,
So, I did it, of course.
I went back in the house and Mama met me
And then I shut all the doors. The amusingly content-less "Clothesline Saga," off the Basement Tapes, recorded in 1967 but only officially released eight years later.
Thursday, October 12. 2006
"I've seen love go by my door
It's never been this close before
Never been so easy or so slow.
Been shooting in the dark too long
When somethin's not right it's wrong
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.
Dragon clouds so high above
I've only known careless love,
It's always hit me from below.
This time around it's more correct
Right on target, so direct,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.
Purple clover, Queen Anne lace,
Crimson hair across your face,
You could make me cry if you don't know.
Can't remember what I was thinkin' of
You might be spoilin' me too much, love,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.
Flowers on the hillside, bloomin' crazy,
Crickets talkin' back and forth in rhyme,
Blue river runnin' slow and lazy,
I could stay with you forever
And never realize the time.
Situations have ended sad,
Relationships have all been bad.
Mine've been like Verlaine's and Rimbaud.
But there's no way I can compare
All those scenes to this affair,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.
You're gonna make me wonder what I'm doin',
Stayin' far behind without you.
You're gonna make me wonder what I'm sayin',
You're gonna make me give myself a good talkin' to.
I'll look for you in old Honolulu,
San Francisco, Ashtabula,
You're gonna have to leave me now, I know.
But I'll see you in the sky above,
In the tall grass, in the ones I love,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go." "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go," from 1975's Blood On The Tracks. The song was played frequently during the 1976 but hasn't been brought out once since that time.
Thursday, October 5. 2006
"Well, I ride on a mailtrain, baby,
Can't buy a thrill.
Well, I've been up all night, baby,
Leanin' on the window sill.
Well, if I die
On top of the hill
And if I don't make it,
You know my baby will.
Don't the moon look good, mama,
Shinin' through the trees?
Don't the brakeman look good, mama,
Flagging down the "Double E"?
Don't the sun look good
Goin' down over the sea?
Don't my gal look fine
When she's comin' after me?
Now the wintertime is coming,
The windows are filled with frost.
I went to tell everybody,
But I could not get across.
Well, I wanna be your lover, baby,
I don't wanna be your boss.
Don't say I never warned you
When your train gets lost." "It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry," off 1965's Highway 61 Revisited. This bluesy song, originally titled "Phantom Engineer," became a staple of the early- and mid-90's phase of the Neverending Tour, but has been played much less frequently since that time. A version from 1995, with Jerry Garcia guesting on guitar less than two months before his death, can be downloaded here.
Sunday, October 1. 2006
 All 22 episodes to date of Bob Dylan's Theme Time Radio. Good fun.
Not only impeccable taste in tunes, but ones you aren't used to hearing. Plus you get to hear Bob talk. h/t, Marginal Rev. Some of the themes thus far: Coffee, Eyes, Bible, Cars, Dogs, Mothers, Jail, Baseball.
Thursday, September 28. 2006
"Oh, the gentlemen are talking and the midnight moon is on the riverside,
They're drinking up and walking and it is time for me to slide.
I live in another world where life and death are memorized,
Where the earth is strung with lovers' pearls and all I see are dark eyes.
A cock is crowing far away and another soldier's deep in prayer,
Some mother's child has gone astray, she can't find him anywhere.
But I can hear another drum beating for the dead that rise,
Whom nature's beast fears as they come and all I see are dark eyes.
They tell me to be discreet for all intended purposes,
They tell me revenge is sweet and from where they stand, I'm sure it is.
But I feel nothing for their game where beauty goes unrecognized,
All I feel is heat and flame and all I see are dark eyes.
Oh, the French girl, she's in paradise and a drunken man is at the wheel,
Hunger pays a heavy price to the falling gods of speed and steel.
Oh, time is short and the days are sweet and passion rules the arrow that flies,
A million faces at my feet but all I see are dark eyes." "Dark Eyes," off 1985's Empire Burlesque. Dylan hauled out and dusted off this song at the request of Patti Smith during their joint December 1995 tour, after Dylan told her she could pick any song of his she wanted for their duet performances. Dylan hasn't played it since, but we still have the recordings, one of which you can download here. Dylan and Patti Smith perform "Dark Eyes" during the New York show, Dec. 11, 1995. Too bad it was a school night for the 14-year-old Dylanologist, or he would have been there for sure...
Thursday, September 21. 2006
"I pulled out for San Anton',
I never felt so good.
My woman said she'd meet me there
And of course, I knew she would.
The coachman, he hit me for my hook
And he asked me my name.
I give it to him right away,
Then I hung my head in shame.
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
I come into Pittsburgh
At six-thirty flat.
I found myself a vacant seat
An' I put down my hat.
"What's the matter, Molly, dear,
What's the matter with your mound?"
"What's it to ya, Moby Dick?
This is chicken town!"
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
I bought my girl
A herd of moose,
One she could call her own.
Well, she came out the very next day
To see where they had flown.
I'm goin' down to Tennessee,
Get me a truck 'r somethin'.
Gonna save my money and rip it up!
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
Now, I come in on a ferris wheel
An' boys, I sure was slick.
I come in like a ton of bricks,
Laid a few tricks on 'em.
Goin' back to Pittsburgh,
Count up to thirty,
Round that horn and ride that herd,
Gonna thread up!
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!"
"Lo and Behold," off The Basement Tapes, a collection of songs released in 1975 but recorded in the summer of 1967 (with the exception of some of the tracks by The Band, which, it later became known, were actually their own studio outtakes).
Thursday, September 14. 2006
 "Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears
While we all sup sorrow with the poor.
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay.
There are frail forms fainting at the door.
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
There's pale drooping maiden who toils her life away
With a worn out heart, whose better days are o'er.
Though her voice it would be merry, 'tis sighing all the day,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more."
Stephen Foster's "Hard Times," recorded on 1992's Good As I Been To You, the first of two albums of acoustic covers that Dylan would release in the early 90s. The live version available at the link here is from the performance at Willie Nelson's 60th birthday bash in Austin in April of 1993.
Thursday, September 7. 2006
Crickets are chirpin', the water is high,
There's a soft cotton dress on the line hangin' dry,
Windows wide open, African trees
Bent over backwards from a hurricane breeze.
Not a word of goodbye, note even a note,
She gone with the man
In the long black coat.
Somebody seen him hanging around
At the old dance hall on the outskirts of town,
He looked into her eyes when she stopped to ask
If he wanted to dance, he had a face like a mask.
Somebody said from the Bible he'd quote
There was dust on the man
In the long black coat.
Preacher was a talkin' there's a sermon he gave,
He said every man's conscience is vile and depraved,
You cannot depend on it to be your guide
When it's you who must keep it satisfied.
It ain't easy to swallow, it sticks in the throat,
She gave her heart to the man
In the long black coat.
There are no mistakes in life some people say
It is true sometimes you can see it that way.
People don't live or die, people just float.
She went with the man
In the long black coat.
There's smoke on the water, it's been there since June,
Tree trunks uprooted, 'neath the high crescent moon
Feel the pulse and vibration and the rumbling force
Somebody is out there beating on a dead horse.
She never said nothing there was nothing she wrote,
She gone with the man
In the long black coat.
"Man In The Long Black Coat," from 1989's Oh Mercy, hailed as a comeback album at the time. If you listen closely to the live version available here, you can make out that Dylan sings "now the beach is deserted" in place of "there's smoke on the water" in the final verse - the new words coming directly from "Sara," a plea to his wife from the 1976 album Desire and a song which he hadn't sung in concert since that year.
Saturday, September 2. 2006
"I ain't nobody's houseboy.
I ain't nobody's well-trained maid." From this month's Rolling Stone piece on Dylan: "I don't really have a herd of astrologers telling me what's going to happen. I just make one move after the other, this leads to that." Is the voice familiar? I'm sitting in a Santa Monica seaside hotel suite, ignoring a tray of sliced pineapple and sugar-dusty cookies, while Bob Dylan sits across from my tape recorder, giving his best to my questions. The man before me is fitful in his chair, not impatient, but keenly alive to the moment, and ready on a dime to make me laugh and to laugh himself. The expressions on Dylan's face, in person, seem to compress and encompass versions of his persona across time, a sixty-five-year-old with a nineteen-year-old cavorting somewhere inside. Above all, though, it is the tones of his speaking voice that seem to kaleidoscope through time: here the yelp of the folk pup or the sarcastic rimshot timing of the hounded hipster-idol, there the beguilement of the Seventies sex symbol, then again -- and always -- the gravel of the elder statesman, that antediluvian bluesman's voice the young aspirant so legendarily invoked at the very outset of his work and then ever so gradually aged into.
It is daunting to interview a legend. Read the whole thing.
Thursday, August 31. 2006
"You think I'm over the hill?
Think I'm past my prime?
Let me see what you got,
We could have a whompin' good time." From the AP
From CNN/Entertainment Weekly
From Rolling Stone
From Prefix Mag.
From Reuters And, of course, Expecting Rain links every review to date. The Rolling Stone piece is interesting in explaining the provenance of some of the songs (Dylan is at least as much of a thief as any other songster or artist, and he steals plenty from himself too), but most of the reviews I looked at miss the point. Bob has nothing "to say," in the socio-political sense, and hasn't wanted to have anything "to say" since he wrote My Back Pages (and some of his preachy re-born songs in the 70s). His songs are more like dreams. Some people still want him to tell them about life. Heck, all of our lives are more normal than his is: we could teach him about normal life. He's been wealthy, and covered with girls, fame, and adulation since his early 20s. No, it's about the song. If a song - or any music - is effective, and has any staying power, it carries us, or invites us, into its own world, which is the world of the imagination, and, if it contains truth, the world of the heart and the soul. For me, that is what gives a song, or a piece of music or art, its quality of inevitability - not predictability - but the feeling that it was more discovered than constructed. "We live, and we die, we know not why, but I'll be with ya when the deal goes down." Thunder on the Mountain, and Spirit on the Water, have that. I am not saying that they are immortal art, but they sure are up there with Muddy Waters and Stephen Foster. Dylan's road band can play anything, and I like him on piano. But a critique of the American economy?!?!?! Gimme a break. Or a commentary on Katrina? Idiotic. Some reviewers seem to expect Bob to be a musical blogger. This is a guy who has been writing about floods and weather almost since the time of Noah, like all the old blues guys do and did, and this is a guy who liked Barry Goldwater, who loves Teddy Roosevelt; a guy who wrote "I become my own enemy in the instant that I preach," and who very much enjoys making money doing what he does.) It is a delight and a fascination to hear the latest Bob has offered us, for a pittance. But to hear him live, amongst the yuppies, college students, and the grey-haired pony-tails with their pot smoke, and the kids, and the regular folk, is to really see how much he wants to give for as long as he can. Me? I am partial to his mean and nasty blues. He is a troubadour.
 "I was in your presence for an hour or so
Or was it a day? I truly don't know.
Where the sun never set, where the trees hung low
By that soft and shining sea.
Did you respect me for what I did
Or for what I didn't do, or for keeping it hid?
Did I lose my mind when I tried to get rid
Of everything you see?
In the summertime, ah in the summertime,
In the summertime when you were with me.
I got the heart and you got the blood,
We cut through iron and we cut through mud.
Then came the warnin' that was before the flood
That set everybody free.
Fools they made a mock of sin,
Our loyalty they tried to win
But you were closer to me than my next of kin
When they didn't want to know or see.
In the summertime, ah in the summertime,
In the summertime when you were with me.
Strangers, they meddled in our affairs,
Poverty and shame was theirs.
But all that sufferin' was not to be compared
With the glory that is to be.
And I'm still carrying the gift you gave,
It's a part of me now, it's been cherished and saved,
It'll be with me unto the grave
And then unto eternity.
In the summertime, ah in the summertime,
In the summertime when you were with me." "In The Summertime," from 1981's Shot of Love. Once some of the songs off Modern Times start getting played on tour, we'll begin posting lyrics and live performances here.
Wednesday, August 30. 2006
More Bob stuff, including the video of When the Deal Goes Down. I have heard the new record but I am not going to write a comment other than to say that it has an old-timey feel.
On the week of the release of Dylan's new record, a review of his career, and a book on Bob's (largely uninformative) interviews, by Menand in the New Yorker. A quote: Dylan’s words—he has said as much—are often placeholders, devices to fit the melody and fill out the line, which is why dutiful efforts to extract a message or a meaning are largely beside the point. If you want a message, buy a newspaper. “Songs are songs,” Dylan says in one of his early interviews. “I don’t believe in expecting too much out of any one thing.” Sloppy or not, Dylan is astonishingly prolific; he has written more than five hundred songs. Most of them are lovely (or angry or joyous or wickedly sly or all of those things together). Many of them are unforgettable. (A new album, Dylan’s forty-fourth, called “Modern Times,” is being released this month. The songs are simple riffs, with laid-back arrangements, and all feature prominently Dylan’s gorgeous late-period croak. It sounds a little the way “Buena Vista Social Club” might have sounded if Cuba had been the birthplace of the blues.) The only comparable pop songbook from the era is Lennon-McCartney—and there were two of them. Dylan is also, despite the silly things people said about his voice when he started out, one of pop music’s greatest vocalists. His chief weakness is a tendency to shout, particularly in performance (and he is, let us say, an inconsistent performer); but, when he is in control of the instrument, no one’s voice, with that kind of music, is more textured or more beautiful. Ninety per cent of musicianship is phrasing, and the easiest way to appreciate Dylan’s genius for phrasing is to listen to him, on bootlegs or on the late albums of traditional songs, perform songs that he didn’t write—“Folsom Prison Blues,” or “People Get Ready,” or “Froggie Went A-Courtin’.” He gets it all. When my children were little, we used to have a cassette around the house of songs for kids by pop stars, on which Dylan did “This Old Man” (“With a knick-knack paddywhack, give the dog a bone”). That performance had the weight of the whole world in it. I listened to it a hundred times and never got tired of it. You can refute Hegel, Yeats said, but not the Song of Sixpence.
Tuesday, August 29. 2006
Modern Times, Dylan's first new album since 2001's masterpiece Love and Theft, hits stores today. (Dylan has released a number of other works during the intervening years, however, including Cross the Green Mountain, Waitin' For You, Tell Ol' Bill, as well as a number of cover versions of his and other artists' songs on the Masked and Anonymous soundtrack.)
Thursday, August 24. 2006
 From the mouth of Mr. Sunshine, via Reuters:
Bob Dylan says the quality of modern recordings is "atrocious," and even the songs on his new album sounded much better in the studio than on disc. "I don't know anybody who's made a record that sounds decent in the past 20 years, really," the 65-year-old rocker said in an interview with Rolling Stone magazine. Dylan, who released eight studio albums in the past two decades, returns with his first recording in five years, "Modern Times," next Tuesday. Noting the music industry's complaints that illegal downloading means people are getting their music for free, he said, "Well, why not? It ain't worth nothing anyway." "You listen to these modern records, they're atrocious, they have sound all over them," he added. "There's no definition of nothing, no vocal, no nothing, just like ... static." Dylan said he does his best to fight technology, but it's a losing battle. "Even these songs probably sounded ten times better in the studio when we recorded 'em. CDs are small. There's no stature to it."
Thursday, August 17. 2006
"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."
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.
"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."Drifter's Escape," from 1967's John Wesley Harding. A hard-rocking version from 1995 can be found here.
Tuesday, August 8. 2006
 Coming August 29: Dylan's first new record in five years. Given the quality of the last two, this could be something very special.
Many fans prefer his earlier stuff but, except for B on B and Highway 61, I think Love and Theft and Time out of Mind are as good as he can be.
Thursday, August 3. 2006
Standing on the waters casting your bread
While the eyes of the idol with the iron head are glowing.
Distant ships sailing into the mist,
You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing.
Freedom just around the corner for you
But with the truth so far off, what good will it do?
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.
So swiftly the sun sets in the sky,
You rise up and say goodbye to no one.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,
Both of their futures, so full of dread, you don't show one.
Shedding off one more layer of skin,
Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within. (Rest of lyrics below: for a Youtube video of the song, here. For the original recorded version, which is remarkable, here)
Continue reading "Thursday Free Advt. for Bob: Jokerman"
Thursday, July 20. 2006
With the Dylanologist on vacation, covering the fruited plains of the USA from NY to DC to Nashville to LA, I will fill in with my selection for the Thursday Dylan lyrics, Idiot Wind, from the masterpiece Blood on the Tracks: Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press
Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it out but when they will I can only guess.
They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy,
She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me.
I can't help it if I'm lucky.
People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act
Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts.
Even you, yesterday you had to ask me where it was at,
I couldn't believe after all these years, you didn't know me better than that
Sweet lady.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth,
Blowing down the backroads headin' south.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.
I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike
I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like.
There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door,
You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars
After losin' every battle.
I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are
Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars.
You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies.
One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes,
Blood on your saddle.
Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb,
Blowing through the curtains in your room.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.
It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart
You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my heart.
Now everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped,
What's good is bad, what's bad is good, you'll find out when you reach the top
You're on the bottom.
I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind
I can't remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed, your eyes
don't look into mine.
The priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building
burned.
I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime
turned Slowly into autumn.
Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull,
From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.
I can't feel you anymore, I can't even touch the books you've read
Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishin' I was somebody else instead.
Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy,
I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory
And all your ragin' glory.
I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I'm finally free,
I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me.
You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above,
And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love,
And it makes me feel so sorry.
Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats,
Blowing through the letters that we wrote.
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves,
We're idiots, babe.
It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves.
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Thursday, July 13. 2006
Something new on Broadway.
Thursday, July 6. 2006
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it. "Mr Tambourine Man," from 1965's Bringing It All Back Home. A lovely performance from the 1995 Manchester, England show can be downloaded from the link here.
Thursday, June 29. 2006
Reposted from May 31, 2005 T he Dylanologist may be accused of having a greater passion for the music of Bobby D. than most doctors would recommend, but this will not stop him from helping others augment their knowledge and appreciation of his (immense) body of work. So, for all Dylanophiles, aspiring Dylanologists, and even casual fans, here are a few links that might be of interest: Expecting Rain: As close as anything comes to a Dylan blog, this terrific site provides tons of Bob-centered and Bob-related material every day, many of which would be of interest to the general music fan. Lots of good links to explore also. Dylan Tree: The site to go to for those looking to deal in Dylan bootlegs (the proper term is "audience recordings"), a must for anyone who wants to hear Dylan at his best. Though most of the site is dedicated to trading of CD's via mail, there is also a new bittorrent feature which allows tech-savvy users to directly download entire concerts to their hard drives. Dylan Pool: A huge Dylan community which allows you to guess which songs Bob will be performing each tour and which scores and ranks you based on your performance. Create a profile, list the concerts you've attended and even browse a fan forum at this site. Dylan MP3's: One of a number of sites which offer select live performances for direct download. The version of Highlands in particular is mesmerizing. Bob Dates: Can't remember whether Bob played Like A Rolling Stone at that show you saw five years ago? No matter, this site catalogues every single Dylan performance from the mid-90s forward in an easy-to-navigate format, with reviews penned by audience members for almost every show. There are a lot more good ones out there, of course - not to mention Dylan's official site at bobdylan.com, which also has live tunes available under to performances section - but these few sites can serve to get you started. Happy browsing!
"That big eight-wheeler rollin' down the track 
Means your true-lovin' daddy ain't comin' back
'Cause I'm movin' on, I'll soon be gone
You were flyin' too high, for my little old sky
So I'm movin' on
That big loud whistle as it blew and blew
Said hello to the southland, we're comin' to you
When we're movin' on, oh hear my song
You had the laugh on me, so I've set you free
And I'm movin' on
Mister fireman won't you please listen to me
'Cause I got a pretty mama in Tennessee
Keep movin' me on, keep rollin' on
So shovel the coal, let this rattler roll
And keep movin' me on
I've told you baby, from time to time
But you just wouldn't listen or pay me no mind
Now I'm movin' on, I'm rollin' on
You've broken your vow, and it's all over now
So I'm movin' on
But someday baby when you've had your play
You're gonna want your daddy but your daddy will say
Keep movin' on, you stayed away too long
I'm through with you, too bad you're blue
Keep movin' on." "I'm Movin' On," written by Hank Snow and covered by numerous artists including Emmylou Harris and the Rolling Stones. Dylan performed this song a handful of times in early 1993, shortly after he finalized his divorce with his second wife, Carolyn Dennis. Download one of these live performances, given in the Netherlands in February of 1993, at the link here. Or, try a very similar acoustic cover that opened Dylan's late 1992 shows, Muddy Waters' "I Can't Be Satisfied," a song which has essentially the same theme and message. A cheerless, world-weary Dylan performs in mid-1992 at right.
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