oh-my-god, this is fan-fuckin-tastic. You have got his number, babe. And I love your talking back to that "schmendrick." Haven't heard that word in eons.
I love this more than I can express. Your rebuttals to his lyrics had me laughing out loud on the subway. Thank you Laurie. And with the title “A fever dream about Bob Dylan”, I’m compelled to be sure you know about my book, Dreaming of Dylan: 115 Dreams about Bob.
Great piece, Laurie, as always! At 17 I recognized what was going on with Don’t Think Twice —passive aggression, which was the hallmark of my mothers behavior. Also, you mentioned that other musicians liked working with Dylan. I know his former musical director and guitarist for Rolling Thunder, and that’s not true. Bob would constantly switch things up on stage without letting the rest of the band know. They had to adapt on the fly. Joan Baez hated this, too. Plus, he wasn’t great about sharing credits.
I wonder what you'd make of "I'm Not There," which might be his most self-pitying song about a woman yet gets under my skin for elusive reasons you articulate here. He's so enviably full of himself, as few women are. I never lusted after him, don't much like him, am not sure he ever grew up. I want to be full of me, not Dylan. And yet I need to know he's out there, being Dylan. God, I'll miss him when he goes.
Listening to Dylan from a tiny round wire speaker up high in the wall opposite my bed that my dad installed in my room as a pre-teen saved my life. And I remember the look of it as if burned into my skull as I lay there later as a teenager on acid. It was a sacred portal out of which diminished the mundane and my angst at feeling I didn't fit in; finally, someone was expressing my feelings. Another portal was the jukebox at Olivia's Place in Venice, where we used to go for grits and eggs in '66. $.25 cents got us "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" or "Masters of War," -- no matter what he says, he was the voice of my generation.
I kept thinking that only a Jewish woman with a visceral understanding of and more chutzpah than Bobby Z, before and post-bar mitzvah, could have made me laugh out loud on the M86 as you did today, Laurie...even as I hold such a soft spot and admiration for his roots, drive, neuroses, and indisputable gifts.
Loved this piece so much. Dying to know your thoughts on “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”! It’s maybe my favorite Dylan song, ever, and I’ve often said I wish it were written about me... but only bc I don’t understand much of what he’s saying about her; I would LOVE to be that elusive. 😆 Alas, I am and always have been an open book. My dad, who is a Dylan aficionado, can’t even tell me what Dylan’s talking about. He says, “I don’t think even Dylan knows.”
I first heard "Don't Think Twice" as a teen and first found it annoying and then hilariously pouty. Recently I've come to a conclusion similar to yours, that the singer is trying to deny his vulnerability in the face of rejection. The one thing I've always kind of liked about Dylan though, is that he's not afraid to express his need for women/a woman, even though he doesn't turn them into characters
I kept trying to decide what I most wanted to excerpt… that kicker, sure, but it punches most powerfully only after you’ve read the whole essay… so we’ll not do that and those who read through it will experience it best…
But this jumped, especially the first sentence, parched with a million layers of subtext. Yes, he does.
“Bob sings for other men. In the early days, he sniffs around men for what they can do for him. There are women in some of the pictures, but he’s not looking at the women. He’s looking inward, as if the camera could snatch away something essential. He had a habit: Whatever worked for him, he didn’t give it away. Has ever a performer made less of an offering to the audience? I don’t mean the quality of his work. I mean his sense of giving them something. Dylan is: I have to do this. This is what I do. I can’t help it. I do it all the time. You can watch me do it. Take it or leave it. I’m going to do it, anyway.”
I love making fun of the lyrics, obviously. I know all the male humans who have listened to Bob all these years and not noticed the lyrics will be like back off, lady, or be like fucking hell, Jeesh, what a creep the guy is. Bob called Joni Mitchell "an honorary man" and has said in a "Rolling Stone" interview women shouldn't perform on stage. We all say stupid things from time to time. Bob's left-over Beat ethos remains a draw to many people, and that astounds me and burns me, as does the persistence of all misogyny. And--always "and" and not "but"--Bob is someone to contemplate and enjoy for many reasons. I was trying to allow him--allow all of us with our complexities--to stand in the room as we are. How do we do this in the culture of "purity tests"? Including my indignation? That is one of the propositions I'm entering into the conversation in this piece. And what is great, as well, in an artist who works hard all the time, within his own art form, and what can women, especially, learn from Bob's ardor, commitment, and take-me-as-I-am stance? We can take a lot. Don't ask for approval. Me, I want approval here. And I forget with a figure like Bob, of course I'm setting off all kinds of little, unpopular bombs. Thanks for reading me! (Something Bob probably wouldn't say.)
I love your rules for art. I feel them too. Don’t justify don’t apologize and don’t ask for love. It’s the antithesis of how women are socialized. But it’s so necessary. Instinctively I never tell people who buy my book, I hope you enjoy it. Because that’s not on me.
My favorite line here: "Just don’t date him or become road kill under his wheels."
I did not care for early Dylan, his nasal twangy unmelodic voice, and music you couldn't dance to. But I went to the 1965 Carnegie Hall concert, listened to those around me going up the stairs who were bemoaning his going electric. My husband loved the first half of the show, I was bored. But the second half, when the songs had rhythm and bounce, I didn't care that the instruments were electric. He made me want to get up and dance, and i didn't care what the words were.
I can’t tell you how much I love this post. My fifth younger brother (I have six) was obsessed with Dylan and played his albums incessantly. It got on my nerves and I thought his lyrics seemed too bossy. I would think similar things, like “you go lay your own self on that big old brass bed, I’m not going to Buster”. My only Dylan story comes from an incident in winter at the beginnings of his Rolling Thunder tour. He was staying at the Seacrest Hotel, Falmouth, with his band mates (where I live on Cape Cod). Back then winter was deadly quiet, bleak, and cold. The went to Wendell’s Corner Snack Bar, a block from where I live. A run down tiny diner run by a mother and her gambling problem son. A couple of my friends were there from the mechanics shop down the block. They were not impressed due to attitudes needing adjusting but took photos none the less. Decades later a few years before COVID, the run down closed little diner was bought by a kid who went to HS with my daughters in the late 80s. It’s now a cool little place called Epic Oyster with aforementioned phots hanging on the wall. No one ever figured out why they were here in the dead of winter.
Thanks, I’m very flattered. I’m really more of a visual artist, avid reader and lover of good writing. On another note, the film you mentioned includes Bob’s stay at the Seacrest hotel when there was a mahjong tournament mainly comprised of middle aged Jewish women. The hotel manager at the time decided Ginsberg reading his poetry to the group was a great idea, seeing as he was also Jewish. Sam Shepherd was there as a writer, keeping a tour diary and there is a good excerpt that includes the experience. None of the big names were purported to go to the diner.
Excerpt from the Independent, “On The Road With Bob Dylan”
“It's not the energy that drives people off the deep end but the kind that brings courage and hope and above all life pounding into the foreground. If he can do it here, in the dead of Winter, at an off-season resort full of menopause, it's no wonder he can rock the nation.”
another delightful post with wonderful moments of sparring! (you and richard, you and bob.) i'm no expert on dylan. i get what you say about his lyrics for sure, but i also like many of his songs, despite the sneering and self pity and the fact that, no, he can't really sing (i don't mind). some of it has to do purely with melody (the guitar, drums and percussion in "lay, lady, lay") and maybe i actually like the sneering sometimes ("how does it feeeeeeel?"). "not dark yet" is another song i love for its melody and arrangement, tho more woe-is-me lyrics you'd be pressed to find. speaking of pressed: my favorite moment in "i'm not there" is when christian bale as gospel dylan sings "pressing on" in his pressed poly slacks! he plays it so straight, it just cracks me up.
oh-my-god, this is fan-fuckin-tastic. You have got his number, babe. And I love your talking back to that "schmendrick." Haven't heard that word in eons.
Thanks, mama. Very happy to have you as a reader. xxL
Honestly, I think he stole that energy from women in the first place.
I love this more than I can express. Your rebuttals to his lyrics had me laughing out loud on the subway. Thank you Laurie. And with the title “A fever dream about Bob Dylan”, I’m compelled to be sure you know about my book, Dreaming of Dylan: 115 Dreams about Bob.
Sounds like a great book. Thanks for letting me know.
Great piece, Laurie, as always! At 17 I recognized what was going on with Don’t Think Twice —passive aggression, which was the hallmark of my mothers behavior. Also, you mentioned that other musicians liked working with Dylan. I know his former musical director and guitarist for Rolling Thunder, and that’s not true. Bob would constantly switch things up on stage without letting the rest of the band know. They had to adapt on the fly. Joan Baez hated this, too. Plus, he wasn’t great about sharing credits.
I realize that. I think Richard was referring to studio musicians who recorded with him. No one’s idea of an easygoing guy at any stage.
I wonder what you'd make of "I'm Not There," which might be his most self-pitying song about a woman yet gets under my skin for elusive reasons you articulate here. He's so enviably full of himself, as few women are. I never lusted after him, don't much like him, am not sure he ever grew up. I want to be full of me, not Dylan. And yet I need to know he's out there, being Dylan. God, I'll miss him when he goes.
Love and share you ambivalence.
Listening to Dylan from a tiny round wire speaker up high in the wall opposite my bed that my dad installed in my room as a pre-teen saved my life. And I remember the look of it as if burned into my skull as I lay there later as a teenager on acid. It was a sacred portal out of which diminished the mundane and my angst at feeling I didn't fit in; finally, someone was expressing my feelings. Another portal was the jukebox at Olivia's Place in Venice, where we used to go for grits and eggs in '66. $.25 cents got us "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" or "Masters of War," -- no matter what he says, he was the voice of my generation.
Beautiful. I get it. xxL
I kept thinking that only a Jewish woman with a visceral understanding of and more chutzpah than Bobby Z, before and post-bar mitzvah, could have made me laugh out loud on the M86 as you did today, Laurie...even as I hold such a soft spot and admiration for his roots, drive, neuroses, and indisputable gifts.
I'll be you Jew girl with pleasure, agree on all. xxL
Loved this piece so much. Dying to know your thoughts on “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”! It’s maybe my favorite Dylan song, ever, and I’ve often said I wish it were written about me... but only bc I don’t understand much of what he’s saying about her; I would LOVE to be that elusive. 😆 Alas, I am and always have been an open book. My dad, who is a Dylan aficionado, can’t even tell me what Dylan’s talking about. He says, “I don’t think even Dylan knows.”
Dylan often admits he doesn’t know.
I first heard "Don't Think Twice" as a teen and first found it annoying and then hilariously pouty. Recently I've come to a conclusion similar to yours, that the singer is trying to deny his vulnerability in the face of rejection. The one thing I've always kind of liked about Dylan though, is that he's not afraid to express his need for women/a woman, even though he doesn't turn them into characters
I kept trying to decide what I most wanted to excerpt… that kicker, sure, but it punches most powerfully only after you’ve read the whole essay… so we’ll not do that and those who read through it will experience it best…
But this jumped, especially the first sentence, parched with a million layers of subtext. Yes, he does.
“Bob sings for other men. In the early days, he sniffs around men for what they can do for him. There are women in some of the pictures, but he’s not looking at the women. He’s looking inward, as if the camera could snatch away something essential. He had a habit: Whatever worked for him, he didn’t give it away. Has ever a performer made less of an offering to the audience? I don’t mean the quality of his work. I mean his sense of giving them something. Dylan is: I have to do this. This is what I do. I can’t help it. I do it all the time. You can watch me do it. Take it or leave it. I’m going to do it, anyway.”
I love making fun of the lyrics, obviously. I know all the male humans who have listened to Bob all these years and not noticed the lyrics will be like back off, lady, or be like fucking hell, Jeesh, what a creep the guy is. Bob called Joni Mitchell "an honorary man" and has said in a "Rolling Stone" interview women shouldn't perform on stage. We all say stupid things from time to time. Bob's left-over Beat ethos remains a draw to many people, and that astounds me and burns me, as does the persistence of all misogyny. And--always "and" and not "but"--Bob is someone to contemplate and enjoy for many reasons. I was trying to allow him--allow all of us with our complexities--to stand in the room as we are. How do we do this in the culture of "purity tests"? Including my indignation? That is one of the propositions I'm entering into the conversation in this piece. And what is great, as well, in an artist who works hard all the time, within his own art form, and what can women, especially, learn from Bob's ardor, commitment, and take-me-as-I-am stance? We can take a lot. Don't ask for approval. Me, I want approval here. And I forget with a figure like Bob, of course I'm setting off all kinds of little, unpopular bombs. Thanks for reading me! (Something Bob probably wouldn't say.)
*packed with a million layers of subtext.
I can’t figure out how to edit so this’ll have to do. Parched.. that don’t even make no sense!
I love your rules for art. I feel them too. Don’t justify don’t apologize and don’t ask for love. It’s the antithesis of how women are socialized. But it’s so necessary. Instinctively I never tell people who buy my book, I hope you enjoy it. Because that’s not on me.
Thanks so much for reading me!!
My favorite line here: "Just don’t date him or become road kill under his wheels."
I did not care for early Dylan, his nasal twangy unmelodic voice, and music you couldn't dance to. But I went to the 1965 Carnegie Hall concert, listened to those around me going up the stairs who were bemoaning his going electric. My husband loved the first half of the show, I was bored. But the second half, when the songs had rhythm and bounce, I didn't care that the instruments were electric. He made me want to get up and dance, and i didn't care what the words were.
If you could hear them!
I can’t tell you how much I love this post. My fifth younger brother (I have six) was obsessed with Dylan and played his albums incessantly. It got on my nerves and I thought his lyrics seemed too bossy. I would think similar things, like “you go lay your own self on that big old brass bed, I’m not going to Buster”. My only Dylan story comes from an incident in winter at the beginnings of his Rolling Thunder tour. He was staying at the Seacrest Hotel, Falmouth, with his band mates (where I live on Cape Cod). Back then winter was deadly quiet, bleak, and cold. The went to Wendell’s Corner Snack Bar, a block from where I live. A run down tiny diner run by a mother and her gambling problem son. A couple of my friends were there from the mechanics shop down the block. They were not impressed due to attitudes needing adjusting but took photos none the less. Decades later a few years before COVID, the run down closed little diner was bought by a kid who went to HS with my daughters in the late 80s. It’s now a cool little place called Epic Oyster with aforementioned phots hanging on the wall. No one ever figured out why they were here in the dead of winter.
A great story, and I love the way you tell it. Are you by any chance coming to the Zoom on memoir?
Thanks, I’m very flattered. I’m really more of a visual artist, avid reader and lover of good writing. On another note, the film you mentioned includes Bob’s stay at the Seacrest hotel when there was a mahjong tournament mainly comprised of middle aged Jewish women. The hotel manager at the time decided Ginsberg reading his poetry to the group was a great idea, seeing as he was also Jewish. Sam Shepherd was there as a writer, keeping a tour diary and there is a good excerpt that includes the experience. None of the big names were purported to go to the diner.
Excerpt from the Independent, “On The Road With Bob Dylan”
“It's not the energy that drives people off the deep end but the kind that brings courage and hope and above all life pounding into the foreground. If he can do it here, in the dead of Winter, at an off-season resort full of menopause, it's no wonder he can rock the nation.”
"a resort full of menopause," well for fuck's sake.
Right? Speaks volumes
another delightful post with wonderful moments of sparring! (you and richard, you and bob.) i'm no expert on dylan. i get what you say about his lyrics for sure, but i also like many of his songs, despite the sneering and self pity and the fact that, no, he can't really sing (i don't mind). some of it has to do purely with melody (the guitar, drums and percussion in "lay, lady, lay") and maybe i actually like the sneering sometimes ("how does it feeeeeeel?"). "not dark yet" is another song i love for its melody and arrangement, tho more woe-is-me lyrics you'd be pressed to find. speaking of pressed: my favorite moment in "i'm not there" is when christian bale as gospel dylan sings "pressing on" in his pressed poly slacks! he plays it so straight, it just cracks me up.
The music is great, yes.
love this, always hated the guy
Really loved this!
Made me laugh. And then made me think.
Very happy to hear.