Blind Willie McTell (born William Samuel McTier; May 5, 1898 – August 19, 1959) was a Piedmont blues and ragtime singer and guitarist. He played with a fluid, syncopated fingerstyle guitar technique, common among many exponents of Piedmont blues. Unlike his contemporaries, he came to use twelve-string guitars exclusively. McTell was also an adept slide guitarist, unusual among ragtime bluesmen.(ref Wikipedia).
For me it is a personal liking of his music, particularly as I like 12 string guitar and I find his voice particularly striking.
Try this:
Broke Down Engine Blues
and a couple of years earlier -Travellin’ Blues
Recorded in Atlanta, Georgia, October 30, 1929.
Another of his early ragtime tracks:Warm It Up to Me
Statesboro Blues – some of the artists who have performed the song includes Allman Brothers Band ,Canned Heat Taj Mahal, David Bromberg, Dave Van Ronk, The Devil Makes Three and Ralph McTell,
Rough Alley Blues (1931) with Ruth Ellis
Blind Willie McTell and Ruth Willis – Rough Alley Blues
Close down your windows and let down all your blinds
Close down your windows and let down all your blinds
So the next-door neighbor, baby, won’t hear your best friend cryin’
Take it low down and easy, don’t let your bedspring moan
Take it low down and easy, don’t let your bedspring moan
So your next-door neighbor, baby, won’t hear you grieve and groan
Go wild, baby, I’m not scared to fear. (Aw, sing it, baby)
Go wild, baby, I’m not scared to fear
Then I’ll give it all to you, mama, like a Cadillac changing gear
I take it to my room and lay it ‘cross my big brass bed
I take it to my room and lay it ‘cross my big brass bed
I guess I’ll be my own singer, neighbours turn cherry red
(Play that thing boy. Aw,
Play that thing for me and miss Mary, ‘Cause it’s gettin’ good
It drove my partner out of town.
I wouldn’t have done it without that old Harris street corner)
It was a mean old miller that taught me how to grind
(Taught you how to twist too, I believe)
It was a mean old miller that taught me how to grind
And it was a married woman, mama,
Who learned me that old shun-shine
I’m going down this alley and get me two more drinks of booze
(They have police down there. They’ll sure arrest you)
I’m going down this alley, get me two more drinks of booze
Because I’m drunk now, mama, and I’ve got them old rough alley blues
(Stand by, people, if you wants to know it all)
Dark Night Blues
You might be wanting to know a little more about legendary Georgia blues-man Willie McTell -here is a documentary:
This video was created by David Fulmer for Georgia Public Television (1997) and is a part of the South Georgia Folklife Collection at Valdosta State University Archives and Special Collections.
Late on Christmas Day, December 25th, 1900 a fourteen year old girl named Delia Green was murdered in Savannah, Georgia by a fifteen year old boy named Moses Houston. Houston shot Delia after an argument. The newspapers reported that the two had been romantically involved for several months but Delia had recently ended the relationship with Houston and was seeing another man.
Moses Houston stood trial for Delia’s murder in the spring of 1901, was convicted by the jury and sentenced to life imprisonment by the presiding judge. Moses served twelve years and then was pardoned by the Georgia Governor, John M. Slaton in 1913. Delia Green is buried in Laurel Grove Cemetery South in Savannah in an unmarked grave. Houston disappeared into the pages of history.
Rev Gary Davies played an early version of this song as well as Stefan Grossman and Bob Dylan:
and another great ragtime from McTell:” Southern Can Is Mine ” (1931)
And a song with his wife Kate McTell
This song :Mama let me scoop for you – is listed as sung with Ruby Glaze, who some think maybe his wife Kate McTell.
It was common to change your name -particularly if you were recording with different record labels.McTell traveled and performed widely, recording for several labels under different names: Blind Willie McTell (for Victor and Decca), Blind Sammie (for Columbia), Georgia Bill (for Okeh), Hot Shot Willie (for Victor), Blind Willie (for Vocalion and Bluebird), Barrelhouse Sammie (for Atlantic), and Pig & Whistle Red (for Regal)
We have had Ruth Ellis, Kate McTell and now another female collaborator -the great Memphis Minnie
Love Changing Blues
Another collaborator was Curly Weaver
Was Born to Die
Enjoy the guitar in the following song – Bell Street Blues
My Baby is Gone
I particularly like the rhythm of this song and the ragtime guitar
Kill it Kid
Wabash Cannonball – a traditional song possibly based on the idea that hobos imagined a mythical train called the “Wabash Cannonball” which was a “death coach” that appeared at the death of a hobo to carry his soul to its reward. The song was then created with the lyrics and music telling the story of the train.
Wabash Cannonball
Out from the wide Pacific ocean to the broad Atlantic shore
She climbs flowery mountain, o’r hills and by the shore
Although she’s tall and handsome, and she’s known quite well by all
She’s a regular combination of the Wabash Cannonball.
Verse:
Oh, the Eastern states are dandy, so the Western people say
Chicago, Rock Island, St. Louis by the way
To the lakes of Minnesota where the rippling waters fall
No chances to be taken on the Wabash Cannonball.
Chorus:
Oh, listen to the jingle, the rumor and the roar
As she glides along the woodland, o’r hills and by the shore
She climbs the flowery mountain, hear the merry hobos squall
She glides along the woodland, the Wabash Cannonball.
Verse:
Oh, here’s old daddy Cleaton, let his name forever be
And long be remembered in the courts of Tennessee
For he is a good old rounder ’til the curtain ’round him fall
He’ll be carried back to victory on the Wabash Cannonball.
Verse:
I have rode the I.C. Limited, also the Royal Blue
Across the Eastern countries on Elkhorn Number Two
I have rode those highball trains from coast to coast that’s all
But I have found no equal on the Wabash Cannonball.
Chorus:
Oh, listen to the jingle, the rumor and the roar
As she glides along the woodland, o’r hills and by the shore
She climbs the flowery mountain, hear the merry hobos squall
She glides along the woodland, the Wabash Cannonball.
I like this version of the traditional song ‘Motherless Children”
It is believed that he heard this from Blind Willie Johnson. The phrasing and the playoff with his guitar is particularly striking -great energy.
” Come On Around To My House Mama ” (October 1929)-hear him talk to his guitar!
Two vids of Blind Willie McTell talking to Alan Lomax and playing
In 1940 John A. Lomax and his wife, Ruby Terrill Lomax, a professor of classics at the University of Texas at Austin, interviewed and recorded McTell for the Archive of American Folk Song of the Library of Congress in a two-hour session held in their hotel room in Atlanta.[7] These recordings document McTell’s distinctive musical style, which bridges the gap between the raw country blues of the early part of the 20th century and the more conventionally melodious, ragtime-influenced East Coast Piedmont blues sound. The Lomaxes also elicited from the singer traditional songs (such as “The Boll Weevil” and “John Henry”) and spirituals (such as “Amazing Grace”),[8] which were not part of his usual commercial repertoire. In the interview, John A. Lomax is heard asking if McTell knows any “complaining” songs (an earlier term for protest songs), to which the singer replies somewhat uncomfortably and evasively that he does not.
I do like the Dying Crapshooter’s Blues -with some talk from Blind Willie
Another from his last sessions in 1949
A Married Man’s a Fool. For his last years although married he was living separately from his wife Kate as she was working in Fort Gordon, near Augusta, and he was working around Atlanta.
Blind Willie McTell only received $10 for his recording session with Alan Lomax -it was a real shame he could not benefit from the boom in ‘re-discovering’ blues musicians who recorded in the 1920s/30s.
BW McTell died of a stroke in 1959 (aided and abetted by diabetes and alcoholism) -just 4 years before Mississippi John Hurt was ‘discovered’ in Avalon in 1963. Musicians such as Son House,Sleepy John Estes, Bukka White and Skip James were also lucky enough to get real recognition and a little cash, in their later years, but not enough recognition for Blind Willie.
Being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2916, reminds us that although we maybe more acquainted with him as a singer/musician, it is through his lyrics and quotations that he would prefer to be remembered.
“I consider myself a poet first and a musician second. I live like a poet and I’ll die like a poet.”
Below are some quotes from Bob Dylan himself as well as extracts from his songs:
“All I can do is be me, whoever that is.“
“Don’t criticize what you can’t understand.“
“Chaos is a friend of mine.“
“To live outside the law, you must be honest.“
“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.“
“No one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky.“
“There is nothing so stable as change.”
“A hero is someone who understands the responsibility that comes with his freedom.“
“All I can do is be me, whoever that is.“
“People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent.“
“Yesterday’s just a memory, tomorrow is never what it’s supposed to be.“
“Democracy don’t rule the world, You’d better get that in your head; This world is ruled by violence, But I guess that’s better left unsaid.”
Probably many of the lines that people recognise are from his songs and one of my favourites is :
“Money doesn’t talk, it swears.“
and the full lyrics:
It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)
Written by: Bob Dylan
Darkness at the break of noon Shadows even the silver spoon The handmade blade, the child’s balloon Eclipses both the sun and moon To understand you know too soon There is no sense in trying
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn Suicide remarks are torn From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn Plays wasted words, proves to warn That he not busy being born is busy dying
Temptation’s page flies out the door You follow, find yourself at war Watch waterfalls of pity roar You feel to moan but unlike before You discover that you’d just be one more Person crying
So don’t fear if you hear A foreign sound to your ear It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing
As some warn victory, some downfall Private reasons great or small Can be seen in the eyes of those that call To make all that should be killed to crawl While others say don’t hate nothing at all Except hatred
Disillusioned words like bullets bark As human gods aim for their mark Make everything from toy guns that spark To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark It’s easy to see without looking too far That not much is really sacred
While preachers preach of evil fates Teachers teach that knowledge waits Can lead to hundred-dollar plates Goodness hides behind its gates But even the president of the United States Sometimes must have to stand naked
An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it
Advertising signs they con You into thinking you’re the one That can do what’s never been done That can win what’s never been won Meantime life outside goes on All around you
You lose yourself, you reappear You suddenly find you got nothing to fear Alone you stand with nobody near When a trembling distant voice, unclear Startles your sleeping ears to hear That somebody thinks they really found you
A question in your nerves is lit Yet you know there is no answer fit To satisfy, insure you not to quit To keep it in your mind and not forget That it is not he or she or them or it That you belong to
Although the masters make the rules For the wise men and the fools I got nothing, Ma, to live up to
For them that must obey authority That they do not respect in any degree Who despise their jobs, their destinies Speak jealously of them that are free Cultivate their flowers to be Nothing more than something they invest in
While some on principles baptized To strict party platform ties Social clubs in drag disguise Outsiders they can freely criticize Tell nothing except who to idolize And then say God bless him
While one who sings with his tongue on fire Gargles in the rat race choir Bent out of shape from society’s pliers Cares not to come up any higher But rather get you down in the hole That he’s in
But I mean no harm nor put fault On anyone that lives in a vault But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him
Old lady judges watch people in pairs Limited in sex, they dare To push fake morals, insult and stare While money doesn’t talk, it swears Obscenity, who really cares Propaganda, all is phony
While them that defend what they cannot see With a killer’s pride, security It blows the minds most bitterly For them that think death’s honesty Won’t fall upon them naturally Life sometimes must get lonely
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed Graveyards, false gods, I scuff At pettiness which plays so rough Walk upside-down inside handcuffs Kick my legs to crash it off Say okay, I have had enough what else can you show me?
And if my thought-dreams could be seen They’d probably put my head in a guillotine But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only
A few more examples of some of his poetry turned song:
A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son? Oh, where have you been, my darling young one? I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what did you see, my darling young one? I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’ I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’ I saw a white ladder all covered with water I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son? And what did you hear, my darling young one? I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin’ Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’ Heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’ Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’ Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? Who did you meet, my darling young one? I met a young child beside a dead pony I met a white man who walked a black dog I met a young woman whose body was burning I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow I met one man who was wounded in love I met another man who was wounded with hatred And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall
Oh, what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what’ll you do now, my darling young one? I’m a-goin’ back out ’fore the rain starts a-fallin’ I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest Where the people are many and their hands are all empty Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison Where the executioner’s face is always well hidden Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten Where black is the color, where none is the number And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’ But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’ And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall
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
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 you might hear laughin’, spinnin’, swingin’ madly across the sun It’s not aimed at anyone, it’s just escapin’ on the run And but for the sky there are no fences facin’ And if you hear vague traces of skippin’ reels of rhyme To your tambourine in time, it’s just a ragged clown behind I wouldn’t pay it any mind It’s just a shadow you’re seein’ that he’s chasing
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
Then take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves Let me forget about today until tomorrow
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
and one more favourite from the freewheeling album
Masters of War
Come you masters of war You that build all the guns You that build the death planes You that build the big bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin’ But build to destroy You play with my world Like it’s your little toy You put a gun in my hand And you hide from my eyes And you turn and run farther When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old You lie and deceive A world war can be won You want me to believe But I see through your eyes And I see through your brain Like I see through the water That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers For the others to fire Then you set back and watch When the death count gets higher You hide in your mansion As young people’s blood Flows out of their bodies And is buried in the mud
You’ve thrown the worst fear That can ever be hurled Fear to bring children Into the world For threatening my baby Unborn and unnamed You ain’t worth the blood That runs in your veins
How much do I know To talk out of turn You might say that I’m young You might say I’m unlearned But there’s one thing I know Though I’m younger than you Even Jesus would never Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question Is your money that good Will it buy you forgiveness Do you think that it could I think you will find When your death takes its toll All the money you made Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die And your death’ll come soon I will follow your casket In the pale afternoon And I’ll watch while you’re lowered Down to your deathbed And I’ll stand o’er your grave ’Til I’m sure that you’re dead
Once upon a time you dressed so fine You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn’t you? People’d call, say, “Beware doll, you’re bound to fall” You thought they were all kiddin’ you You used to laugh about Everybody that was hangin’ out Now you don’t talk so loud Now you don’t seem so proud About having to be scrounging for your next meal
How does it feel How does it feel To be without a home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone?
You’ve gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely But you know you only used to get juiced in it And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street And now you find out you’re gonna have to get used to it You said you’d never compromise With the mystery tramp, but now you realize He’s not selling any alibis As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes And ask him do you want to make a deal?
How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone?
You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns When they all come down and did tricks for you You never understood that it ain’t no good You shouldn’t let other people get your kicks for you You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat Ain’t it hard when you discover that He really wasn’t where it’s at After he took from you everything he could steal
How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone?
Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people They’re drinkin’, thinkin’ that they got it made Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things But you’d better lift your diamond ring, you’d better pawn it babe You used to be so amused At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used Go to him now, he calls you, you can’t refuse When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose You’re invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal
How does it feel How does it feel To be on your own With no direction home Like a complete unknown Like a rolling stone?
from the time he moved into his electric revolution:
Chimes of Freedom
Far between sundown’s finish an’ midnight’s broken toll We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight An’ for each an’ ev’ry underdog soldier in the night An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
In the city’s melted furnace, unexpectedly we watched With faces hidden while the walls were tightening As the echo of the wedding bells before the blowin’ rain Dissolved into the bells of the lightning Tolling for the rebel, tolling for the rake Tolling for the luckless, the abandoned an’ forsaked Tolling for the outcast, burnin’ constantly at stake An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind An’ the unpawned painter behind beyond his rightful time An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Through the wild cathedral evening the rain unraveled tales For the disrobed faceless forms of no position Tolling for the tongues with no place to bring their thoughts All down in taken-for-granted situations Tolling for the deaf an’ blind, tolling for the mute Tolling for the mistreated, mateless mother, the mistitled prostitute For the misdemeanor outlaw, chased an’ cheated by pursuit An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Even though a cloud’s white curtain in a far-off corner flashed An’ the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale An’ for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Starry-eyed an’ laughing as I recall when we were caught Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended As we listened one last time an’ we watched with one last look Spellbound an’ swallowed ’til the tolling ended Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an’ worse An’ for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
I pity the poor immigrant Who wishes he would’ve stayed home Who uses all his power to do evil But in the end is always left so alone That man whom with his fingers cheats And who lies with ev’ry breath Who passionately hates his life And likewise fears his death.
I pity the poor immigrant Whose strength is spent in vain Whose heaven is like Ironsides Whose tears are like rain Who eats but is not satisfied Who hears but does not see Who falls in love with wealth itself And turns his back on me.
I pity the poor immigrant Who tramples through the mud Who fills his mouth with laughing And who builds his town with blood Whose visions in the final end Must shatter like the glass I pity the poor immigrant When his gladness comes to pass.
I once held her in my arms She said she would always stay But I was cruel I treated her like a fool I threw it all away.
Once I had mountains in the palm of my hand And rivers that ran through ev’ry day I must have been mad I never knew what I had Until I threw it all away.
Love is all there is, it makes the world go around Love and only love it can’t be denied No matter what you think about it You just won’t be able to do without it Take a tip from one who’s tried.
So if you find someone that gives you all of her love Take it to your heart, don’t let it stray For one thing that’s certain You will surely be a-hurtin’ If you throw it all away.
Can’t you hear that rooster crowing ? Rabbit running down across the road Underneath the bridge where the water flows through So happy just to see you smile Underneath the sky of blue On this new morning, new morning On this new morning with you.
Can’t you hear that motor turning Automobile coming into style Coming down the road for a country mile or two ? So happy just to see you smile Underneath the sky of blue On this new morning, new morning On this new morning with you.
The night passed away so quickly It always does when you’re with me.
Can’t you feel that sun a-shinning ? Ground hog running by the country stream This must be the day when all of my dreams come true So happy just to be alive Underneath the sky of blue On this new morning, new morning On this new morning with you.
So happy just to be alive Underneath the sky of blue On this new morning, new morning On this new morning with you New morning …
May God bless and keep you always May your wishes all come true May you always do for others And let others do for you May you build a ladder to the stars And climb on every rung May you stay forever young Forever young, forever young May you stay forever young.
May you grow up to be righteous May you grow up to be true May you always know the truth And see the light surrounding you May you always be courageous Stand upright and be strong May you stay forever young Forever young, forever young May you stay forever young.
May your hands always be busy May your feet always be swift May you have a strong foundation When the winds of changes shift May your heart always be joyful And may your song always be sung May you stay forever young Forever young, forever young May you stay forever young.
‘Twas in another lifetime one of toil and blood When blackness was a virtue, the road was full of mud I came in from the wilderness a creature void of form “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
And if I pass this way again you can rest assured I’ll always do my best for her on that I give my word In a world of steel-eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
Not a word was spoke between us there was little risk involved Everything up to that point had been left unresolved Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
I was burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
Now there’s a wall between us something there’s been lost I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
Well the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount But nothing really matters much it’s doom alone that counts And the one-eyed undertaker he blows a futile horn “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
I’ve heard newborn babies wailing like a mourning dove And old men with broken teeth stranded without love Do I understand your question man, is it hopeless and forlorn? “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
In a little hilltop village they gambled for my clothes I bargained for salvation and she gave me a lethal dose I offered up my innocence, I got repaid with scorn “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
Well I’m living in a foreign country but I’m bound to cross the line Beauty walks a razor’s edge someday I’ll make it mine If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born “Come in,” she said “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”
Your breath is sweet Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky Your back is straight your hair is smooth On the pillow where you lie But I don’t sense affection No gratitude or love Your loyalty is not to me But to the stars above
One more cup of coffee for the road One more cup of coffee ‘fore I go. To the valley below.
Your daddy he’s an outlaw And a wanderer by trade He’ll teach you how to pick and choose And how to throw the blade He oversees his kingdom So no stranger does intrude His voice it trembles as he calls out For another plate of food.
One more cup of coffee for the road One more cup of coffee ‘fore I go. To the valley below.
Your sister sees the future Like your mama and yourself You’ve never learned to read or write There’s no books upon your shelf And your pleasure knows no limits Your voice is like a meadowlark But your heart is like an ocean Mysterious and dark.
One more cup of coffee for the road One more cup of coffee ‘fore I go. To the valley below.
I’m walking through streets that are dead Walking, walking with you in my head My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired And the clouds are weeping
Did I hear someone tell a lie? Did I hear someone’s distant cry? You thrilled me to my heart, then you ripped it all apart You went through my pockets when I was sleeping
I’m sick of love…but I’m in the thick of it This kind of love…I’m so sick of it
I see lovers in the meadow I see silhouettes in the window I watch them ’til they’re gone and they leave me hanging on To a shadow
I’m sick of love…I hear the clock tick This kind of love…I’m love sick
Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder Sometimes I feel like I’m being plowed under Could you ever be true? I think of you And I wonder
I’m sick of love…I wish I’d never met you I’m sick of love…I’m trying to forget you
Just don’t know what to do I’d give anything to be with you
There’s an evening’s haze settling over the town Starlight by the edge of the creek The buying power of the proletariat’s gone down Money’s getting shallow and weak The place I love best is a sweet memory It’s a new path that we trod They say low wages are a reality If we want to compete abroad
My cruel weapons been laid back on the shelf Come and sit down on my knee You are dearer to me than myself As you yourself can see I’m listening to the steel rails hum Got both eyes tight shut I’m just trying to keep the hunger from Creepin’ its way into my gut
Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind Bring me my boots and shoes You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues
I’m sailing on back getting ready for the long haul Leaving everything behind If I stay here I’ll lose it all The bandits will rob me blind I’m trying to feed my soul with thought Gonna sleep off the rest of the day Sometimes nobody wants what you got Sometimes you can’t give it away
I woke up this morning and sprang to my feet Went into town on a whim I saw my father there in the street At least I think it was him In the dark I hear the night birds call The hills are rugged and steep I sleep in the kitchen with my feet in the hall If I told you my whole story you’d weep
Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind Bring me my boots and shoes You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues
They burned my barn and they stole my horse I can’t save a dime It’s a long way down and I don’t want to be forced Into a life of continual crime I can see for myself that the sun is sinking O’er the banks of the deep blue sea Tell me, am I wrong in thinking That you have forgotten me
Now they worry and they hurry and they fuss and they fret They waste your nights and days Them, I will forget You, I’ll remember always It’s a cold black night and it’s midsummer’s eve And the stars are spinning around I still find it so hard to believe That someone would kick me when I’m down
Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind Bring me my boots and shoes You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues
I’ll be back home in a month or two When the frost is on the vine I’ll punch my spear right straight through Half-ways down your spine I’ll lift up my arms to the starry skies And pray the fugitive’s prayer I’m guessing tomorrow the sun will rise I hope the final judgment’s fair
The battle is over up in the hills And the mist is closing in Look at me, with all of my spoils What did I ever win? Gotta brand new suit and a brand new wife I can live on rice and beans Some people never worked a day in their life They don’t know what work even means
Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind Bring me my boots and shoes You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues
‘Twas a dark day in Dallas – November ‘63 The day that will live on in infamy President Kennedy was riding high A good day to be living and a good day to die Being led to the slaughter like a sacrificial lamb Say wait a minute boys, do you know who I am? Of course we do, we know who you are Then they blew off his head when he was still in the car Shot down like a dog in broad daylight ‘Twas a matter of timing and the timing was right You got unpaid debts and we’ve come to collect We’re gon’ kill you with hatred and without any respect We’ll mock you and shock you, we’ll grin in your face We’ve already got someone here to take your place The day that they blew out the brains of the king Thousands were watching, no one saw a thing It happened so quickly – so quick by surprise Right there in front of everyone’s eyes
Greatest magic trick ever under the sun Perfectly executed, skillfully done Wolfman, oh wolfman, oh wolfman, howl Rub a dub dub – it’s murder most foul
Hush lil children, you’ll soon understand The Beatles are coming they’re gonna hold your hand Slide down the banister, go get your coat Ferry ‘cross the Mersey and go for the throat There’s three bums comin’ all dressed in rags Pick up the pieces and lower the flags I’m going to Woodstock, it’s the Aquarian Age Then I’ll go over to Altamont and sit near the stage Put your head out the window, let the good times roll There’s a party going on behind the grassy knoll Stack up the bricks and pour the cement Don’t say Dallas don’t love you, Mr. President Put your foot in the tank and step on the gas Try to make it to the triple underpass Black face singer – white face clown Better not show your faces after the sun goes down
I’m in the red-light district like a cop on the beat Living in a nightmare on Elm Street When you’re down on Deep Ellum put your money in your shoe Don’t ask what your country can do for you Cash on the barrel head, money to burn Dealey Plaza, make a left hand turn Go down to the crossroads, try to flag a ride That’s the place where Faith, Hope and Charity died Shoot ‘em while he runs, boy, shoot ‘em while you can See if you can shoot the Invisible Man Goodbye, Charlie, goodbye Uncle Sam Frankly, Miss Scarlet, I don’t give a damn What is the truth and where did it go Ask Oswald and Ruby – they oughta know Shut your mouth, says the wise old owl Business is business and it’s murder most foul
Tommy can you hear me, I’m the Acid Queen I’m ridin’ in a long black Lincoln limousine Ridin’ in the back seat, next to my wife Heading straight on into the afterlife I’m leaning to the left, got my head in her lap Oh Lord, I’ve been led into some kind of a trap We ask no quarter, no quarter do we give We’re right down the street from the street where you live They mutilated his body and took out his brain What more could they do, they piled on the pain But his soul was not there where it was supposed to be at For the last fifty years they’ve been searching for that Freedom, oh freedom, freedom over me Hate to tell you, Mister, but only dead men are free Send me some loving – tell me no lie Throw the gun in the gutter and walk on by Wake up, Little Suzie, let’s go for a drive Cross the Trinity River, let’s keep hope alive Turn the radio on, don’t touch the dials Parkland Hospital’s only six more miles You got me dizzy Miss Lizzy, you filled me with lead That magic bullet of yours has gone to my head I’m just a patsy like Patsy Cline I never shot anyone from in front or behind Got blood in my eyes, got blood in my ear I’m never gonna make it to the New Frontier
Zapruder’s film, I’ve seen that before Seen it thirty three times, maybe more It’s vile and deceitful – it’s cruel and it’s mean Ugliest thing that you ever have seen They killed him once, they killed him twice Killed him like a human sacrifice The day that they killed him, someone said to me, “Son, The age of the anti-Christ has just only begun.” Air Force One coming in through the gate Johnson sworn in at two thirty-eight Let me know when you decide to throw in the towel It is what it is and it’s murder most foul
What’s New Pussycat – wha’d I say I said the soul of a nation been torn away It’s beginning to go down into a slow decay And that it’s thirty-six hours past judgment day Wolfman Jack, he’s speaking in tongues He’s going on and on at the top of his lungs Play me a song, Mr. Wolfman Jack Play it for me in my long Cadillac Play that Only The Good Die Young Take me to the place where Tom Dooley was hung Play St. James Infirmary in the court of King James If you want to remember, better write down the names Play Etta James too, play I’d Rather Go Blind Play it for the man with the telepathic mind Play John Lee Hooker play Scratch My Back Play it for that strip club owner named Jack Guitar Slim – Goin’ Down Slow Play it for me and for Marilyn Monroe And please, Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood Play it for the First Lady, she ain’t feeling that good Play Don Henley – play Glenn Frey Take it to the Limit and let it go by And play it for Carl Wilson, too Lookin’ far, far away down Gower Avenue Play Tragedy, play Twilight Time Take Me Back to Tulsa to the scene of the crime Play another one and Another One Bites the Dust Play the Old Rugged Cross and in G-d We Trust Ride the Pink Horse down that Long, Lonesome Road Stand there and wait for his head to explode 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’s got no master Play Oscar Peterson and play Stan Getz Play Blue Sky, play Dickie Betts Play Art Pepper, play Thelonious Monk Charlie Parker and all that junk All that junk and All That Jazz Play something for The Birdman of Alcatraz Play Buster Keaton play Harold Lloyd Play Bugsy Siegel play Pretty Boy Floyd Play all the numbers, play all the odds Play Cry Me A River for the Lord of the Gods Play number nine, play number six Play it for Lindsey and Stevie Nicks Play Nat King Cole, play Nature Boy Play Down in the Boondocks for Terry Malloy Play It Happened One Night and One Night of Sin There’s twelve million souls that are listening in Play the Merchant of Venice, play the merchants of death Play Stella by Starlight for Lady Macbeth Don’t worry Mr. President, help’s on the way Your brothers are comin’, there’ll be hell to pay Brothers? What brothers? What’s this about hell? Tell ‘em we’re waitin’- keep coming – we’ll get ‘em as well Love Field is where his plane touched down But it never did get back up off of the ground Was a hard act to follow, second to none They killed him on the Altar of the Rising Sun Play Misty for me and that Old Devil Moon Play Anything Goes and Memphis in June Play Lonely at the Top and Lonely Are the Brave Play it for Houdini spinning around in his grave Play Jelly Roll Morton, play Lucille Play Deep in a Dream and play Drivin’ Wheel Play Moonlight Sonata in F sharp And Key to the Highway by the king of the harp Play Marchin’ Through Georgia and Dumbarton’s Drums Play Darkness and death will come when it comes Play Love Me or Leave Me by the great Bud Powell Play the Blood Stained Banner – play Murder Most Foul
From Chronicles: “I was never any more than what I was – a folk musician who gazed into the grey mist with tear-blinded eyes and made up songs that floated in a luminous haze.”
Fifty years ago, Bob Dylan was at the centre of a storm, about whether his decision to play electric sets meant he had sold out his folk roots.
The controversy began at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival in the US, where he was booed when he played electric,for three numbers following his acoustic set.
Hear the booing on the next track ,Like a Rolling Stone (second of three on the night).
it came to a head, unexpectedly, towards the end of his 1966 world tour at a concert in Manchester,UK on 17 May.
That was the first half of the concert -the second half was the new electric Bob:
Frustrated by what he was hearing, one man decided to vent his fury as the sound ebbed before Dylan’s final song of the set with a heckle that has become one of the most famous in musical history.
He shouted a single word – “Judas”.
Dylan was taken aback but responded with his own individual response-he stepped away from the microphone, swore as he told the band to “play it loud” and they “lurched into Like A Rolling Stone, which was this giant juggernaut”. (Mark Makin)
Why did he make this unexpected change?
“Picasso at 79 years old had just married his 35-year-old model. Wow. Picasso wasn’t just loafing about on crowded sidewalks. Life hadn’t flowed past him yet. Picasso had fractured the art world and cracked it wide open. He was revolutionary. I wanted to be like that.” from Chronicles,
So this long intro was just to remind us that Dylan has always had his own mind and will do whatever he wants, at least musically.
As he said in 1963: “You can call me anything you want, but I got a thing to do and I do it,”
600 songs and 58 years later,Bob can feel proud of his legacy.
It was in 1965 that Dylan lost many traditional fans and gained others as he moved from purely acoustic to a mix of acoustic and electric.
In England it was in 1966 at the Manchester Free Trade Hall.
Photos below capture other sides of Bob Dylan, many not seen before and thanks to the photographers and the Guardian for publishing them in a series of posts (as well as the photographers’ publishers)
Playing chess with Victor Maymudes at Bernard’s Cafe Espresso, a favorite hangout spot in Woodstock, 1964.
Photograph: Daniel Kramer/Courtesy of Taschen
‘He suggested I photograph him on the swing. His mood changed when he stood up and he pumped the swing higher and higher.’
Photograph: Daniel Kramer/Courtesy of Taschen
At a pool hall in Kingston, New York, December 1964.
Photograph: Daniel Kramer/Courtesy of Taschen
‘It was obvious from the very beginning of the recording sessions that something exciting was happening.’
Photograph: Daniel Kramer/Courtesy of Taschen
An outtake from the Bringing It All Back Home album cover shoot with Sally Grossman, Woodstock, January 1965.
Photograph: Daniel Kramer/Courtesy of Taschen
One of several unpublished photos of Bob Dylan on 5th Avenue with Peter Yarrow, of Peter, Paul and Mary, and the guitarist John Hammond Jr.
Photograph: Daniel Kramer/Courtesy of Taschen
Soundcheck before the show, Forest Hills Tennis Stadium, Queens, New York, 28 August 1965.
Photograph: Daniel Kramer/Courtesy of Taschen
Bob Dylan With Top Hat Pointing In Car Philadelphia PA 1964
Having decided to photograph Dylan for his personal portfolio, it took Daniel Kramer six months to get permission from Dylan’s manager Albert Grossman. Kramer told the Guardian that it was a labour of love as “in the beginning you couldn’t sell a Dylan picture … it was matter of a process to introduce editors to the idea.” Kramer accompanied Dylan on a roadtrip from New York to Philadelphia for a concert at Town Hall
Photograph: Daniel Kramer
Bob Dylan recording Bringing It All Back Home in New York, 1965, Daniel KramerAccording to Daniel Kramer, the musicians in Columbia Records’ Studio A were all coached by Dylan, who played their parts for them on the piano. The sessions yielded the Dylan classics Subterranean Homesick Blues, Maggie’s Farm and Love Minus Zero/No Limit. However, Mr Tambourine Man was an out-take from Dylan’s previous LP, Another Side of Bob Dylan
Photograph: Daniel Kramer
***
Dylan celebrating his 25th birthday, George V, Paris, Barry FeinsteinDylan celebrated his 25th birthday at Hotel George V in Paris after his l’Olympia show. Having visited several tailors in Paris, he eventually bought two suits from the Renoma boutique. Johnny Halliday is on Dylan’s right.
Barry Feinstein was the official photographer on Dylan’s 1966 European tour; Feinstein’s images were exhibited as a show called Bob Dylan’s 1966 European Tour at the National Portrait Gallery in 2009
Photograph: Barry Feinstein Photography
Dylan and Françoise Hardy backstage at L’Olympia, 1966In 1964, Dylan dedicated a poem to singer and actress Françoise Hardy who he had never met. This photo was taken on 24 May 1966 at l’Olympia, Paris after Dylan refused to return to the stage unless she was brought to him. She recalled that he looked like a vampire with yellow skin and long yellow fingernails. Later, at his 25th birthday party, at the George V, he took Hardy to his suite and serenaded her with I Want You” and Just Like a Woman.
She later stated that “the thought that he was giving me a message with his songs did not cross my mind.” They never met again
Photograph: Barry Feinstein Photography
****
All photographs below : Ken Regan/Estate of Ken Regan/Ormond Yard Press
A backstage portrait of Dylan wearing white makeup.
Regan recalled Dylan saying: ‘I want the people way, in the back,to be able to see my eyes’
Visiting the Mayflower II and Plymouth Rock in Massachusetts.
It was here that Regan took a picture of the singer in a fur-collared coat, which would appear on the cover of the album Desire (Regan’s favourite Dylan album)
The Night of the Hurricane benefit at Madison Square Garden, December 1975, where Muhammad Ali visited Dylan backstage and gave him a gift – a huge boxing glove.
The show was to benefit the campaign for justice for Rubin ‘Hurricane’ Carter, the boxer wrongly convicted of murder in 1967
In New Haven, Connecticut, Regan photographed Dylan in his dressing room. ‘He turned around and looked right at me. I caught his eye and asked him to hold it for a minute.’ Dylan later said this was the best photograph anyone took of him.
The image was held back for 27 years, until it was used in 2002 on the cover of The Bootleg Series Vol 5: Bob Dylan Live 1975, The Rolling Thunder Revue.
“master poet, caustic social critic and intrepid, guiding spirit of the counterculture generation”
Robert Allen Zimmerman aka Bob Dylan hits 70 on May 24th 2011. He has been recording for at least five decades , yet his music represents nearly a century of North American music as he brought his influences from blues and traditional music, along with his family background from Ukraine and Turkey. Even Welsh poetry had its influence as Bob’s name reminds us (i.e. Dylan Thomas).
Much of his most celebrated work dates from the 1960s when he was an informal chronicler, and an apparently reluctant figurehead, of social unrest. Though he is well-known for revolutionizing perceptions of the limits of popular music in 1965 with the six-minute single “Like a Rolling Stone,”a number of his earlier songs such as “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “The Times They Are a-Changin’” became anthems for theUS civil rights and anti-war movements.
His early lyrics incorporated a variety of political, social and philosophical, as well as literary influences. They defied existing pop music conventions and appealed hugely to the then burgeoningcounterculture. Initially inspired by the songs of Woody Guthrie, Robert Johnson, Hank Williams, and the performance styles of Buddy Holly and Little Richard,Dylan has both amplified and personalized musical genres, exploring numerous distinct traditions in American song—from folk,blues and country to gospel, rock and roll, and rockabilly, to English, Scottish, and Irish folk music, embracing even jazz and swing.
In Mike Marqusee’s words: “Between late 1964 and the summer of 1966, Dylan created a body of work that remains unique. Drawing on folk, blues, country, R&B, rock’n’roll, gospel, British beat, symbolist, modernist and Beat poetry, surrealism and Dada, advertising jargon and social commentary, Fellini and Mad magazine, he forged a coherent and original artistic voice and vision. The beauty of these albums retains the power to shock and console.”
Even though many find his singing ‘unconventional’ he is unique and I am sure it does not bother him what people think of his singing -just like when he went electric at Manchester Free Trade Hall in 1966 . Here is the commentary by Andy Kershaw on the incident when Dylan was called ‘Judas’ just for relinquishing his acoustic guitar for one with pick ups.
In the autumn of 1978, I arrived at Leeds University, already over-qualified in Dylanology. Another Bobsessive, I soon discovered, was living close by in our Headingley student ghetto, and he supplemented his grant by dealing Dylan bootlegs. One night he sold me a copy of an album that, according to the crudely stamped label, was a recording of Bob Dylan and The Hawks (later The Band) at the Royal Albert Hall on their notorious UK tour in May 1966. It was on these dates that Bob first appeared in Britain with an electric band. (His tour the previous spring, immortalised in the film Don’t Look Back, was still solo Dylan, in protest mode, with just an acoustic guitar.)
Bob by Feinstein
The 1966 bootleg was not only of first-rate sound quality; it was also the most dramatic, confrontational concert I’d ever heard – and I was a regular at Clash gigs at the time. It remains, for me, the most exciting live album of all. Dylan, on that tour, split his audiences straight down the middle. Many were thrilled by his new psychedelic songs and the massive onslaught of The Hawks roaring through the biggest PA system that had, at that point, been assembled in the UK. It had flown in with the band from Los Angeles.
But many others in those staid, municipal concert halls were outraged and betrayed by their darling acoustic minstrel plugging into the mains. (It was, though no one realised it at the time, the birth of rock music as opposed to pop music). No matter that Dylan had released five electric singles – notably, “Like a Rolling Stone” – and one electric album in the previous 12 months: British audiences were still getting up to speed on his earlier records and they wanted back the Woody Guthrie protégé they’d seen in 1965.
This tension between artist and audience snapped in an almighty confrontation on the bootleg. Slow hand-clapping and jeering throughout Dylan’s electric half of the show – which was later properly identified as his concert at Manchester’s Free Trade Hall on 17 May 1966 and finally given official release by Columbia Records in 1998 – climaxes with one betrayed folkie letting fly with a long yell of “Judas!” It became the most famous heckle in rock’n’roll history.
Dylan is rattled, and for an awkward second the audience is stunned – until a yelp of solidarity with the heckler goes up. It is still a genuinely shocking moment. (Concert-goers in those days were routinely reverential. They still stood for the national anthem at the end). Dylan eventually composes himself and leers: “I don’t believe you. You’re a liar!” And then, off mic: “You fucking liar!” (some claim he said: “Play fucking loud!”) before he and the band kick into the most majestic, terrifying version of “Like a Rolling Stone”, their final number – a performance of Gothic immensity surely drawn from Dylan by his anger at that single shout.
Well, if you dont like his singing or his electric guitar playing you can at least wonder at the genius of his poetry..
As early as 1965 media critics were acknowledging Dylan’s status not only as a popular music star but as a poet of substantial literary merit. Dylan has generally treated his critics with derision, stating that they do not understand what he is trying to express. Dylan has always confounded reviewers by refusing to explain the meaning of his songs, however, insisting that they stand for themselves. Because many of his songs hold up well as poetry, separated from their music, they are natural choices for study by critics specializing in contemporary language arts, who compare them to the works of Walt Whitman, T. S. Eliot, and Allen Ginsberg. Ginsberg himself proclaimed Dylan to be among the greatest poets of the century. Dylan usually avoids discussion of his works as poems or talk of himself as anything but a performing songwriter: “Poets drown in lakes,” he told Paul Zollo in a 1991 interview. Zollo explains that Dylan “broke all the rules of songwriting without abandoning the craft and care that holds songs together.” Such well-crafted songs include “Mr. Tambourine Man” and “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” which are examined for their visionary symbolism and imagery. “Like a Rolling Stone” is praised for its lyrical qualities and the emotional force of the repeated refrain, “How does it feel?” and its powerful expression of alienation. “Desolation Row” which portrays a dark, apocalyptic vision of the fate of human society, is another favorite of critics. Dylan’s work fell below his own classic standard during parts of the 1980s and 1990s. Not until Time Out of Mind did critics once again overwhelmingly praise Dylan’s lyrics as startlingly fresh compositions, equal to his most critically acclaimed songs from the 1960s and 1970s. Music writer Bill Flanagan was present at a party held in 1985 to honor Dylan’s accomplishments. When television reporters asked him to explain Dylan’s significance, he explained that Dylan refused to accept any limits on rock and roll and thus showed everyone else that the form could expand to include all sorts of ideas. Flanagan relates a conversation he had with musician Pete Townshend, who also attended the party. “He joked about the futility of trying to offer a concise explanation of Dylan’s significance. ‘They asked what effect Bob Dylan had on me,’ he said. ‘That’s like asking how I was influenced by being born.’” (ref:http://www.enotes.com/poetry-criticism/dylan-bob).
Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying
Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover that you’d just be one more
Person crying
So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing
As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don’t hate nothing at all
Except hatred
Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred
While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have to stand naked
An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it
Advertising signs they con
You into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit
To satisfy, insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something they invest in
While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him
While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him
Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn’t talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony
While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed
Graveyards, false gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough, what else can you show me?
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your death’ll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand o’er your grave
’Til I’m sure that you’re dead
As any Dylan fan knows every time you see him live, his songs morph into new creations -sometime for the best and sometimes…but their his songs and he doesn’t stand still -his idea of the ‘never ending tour and musical journey.
And remembering Woodie Guthrie
Live in 1963 -Brandeis University
1964 -I dont believe you
1975 -Abandoned love
Bob Dylan at Live Aid
Live Aid -when the ship comes in
The last waltz – forever young medley
A very croaky Bob in 2010 -Blind Willie McTell
Dylan re-invents every song every night. The results range from transcendent to downright intolerable, sometimes within the same song, but they are never predictable.
and the artist as painter…..
Following Bob’s motorcycle accident in 1966 (some say he was in rehab -no serious motorbike crash just a psychological crash)
he was ‘taught’ to draw and ever since he was been working on his other arts -here are some examples of his paintings:
Photographer Bob Gruen’s images are among some of the most reproduced in rockdom: John Lennon, arms across his New York City t-shirt; Led Zeppelin posing in front of their private plane; a very cool Clash in an open-air ride, en route to their gig with the Who at Shea Stadium. And yet, Gruen says he never took those photos (nor any of the others in his gallery of thousands) with an eye on the iconic. “The New York City t-shirt picture was not planned at all,” he says. “None of them were planned.”
New Yorker Gruen never had any aspirations to make a career of rock photography. When he started in 1965, there was hardly any such thing. Taking pictures was a matter of survival for him. “I didn’t choose this as a business plan. We didn’t have those words back then,” he says. “It was more by default because I just couldn’t get up and do the nine-to-five job.”
As a young man without a plan, Gruen talked his way into the Newport Folk Festival of 1965, the first concert he attended with a camera. That it happens to have been the day Bob Dylan famously went electric was of no real consequence to him image-wise; he was really just there to hear the music. “I didn’t feel that special about it,” he says of the time. “I didn’t even have a place to exhibit the photo for almost 10 years.”
Wolfgangs Vault also lets you spend your money on memorabilia such as fine photographs:
Rolling Thunder concert print
Reference to the third Bob that you can find on the site is Bob Marley.
Bob Marley
3 concerts from 1978-1979 are listed on the site with some great songs. The quality of the sound on some concerts on the site can vary and in some cases sound like good old bootleg albums.