Recently in Bob Dylan Category

"Songs performed by Dylan on this new album include, 'Here Comes Santa Claus,' 'Winter Wonderland,' 'Little Drummer Boy' and 'Must Be Santa." Put away the Mannheim Steamroller -- In order to help Feeding America, the freewheelin' Bob Dylan will release a holiday album, Christmas in the Heart, October 13. "It's a tragedy that more than 35 million people in this country alone -- 12 million of those children - often go to bed hungry and wake up each morning unsure of where their next meal is coming from. I...hope that our efforts can bring some food security to people in need during this holiday season."

"Motorists who follow Dylan's directions, however, may take some time to reach their destination. "I think it would be good if you are looking for directions and you heard my voice saying something like, 'Left at the next street.... No, right... You know what? Just go straight.' He added: 'I probably shouldn't do it because whichever way I go, I always end up at one place - Lonely Avenue.'" By way of a friend, Bob Dylan plans to voice a satellite navigation system. Yes, please.

"Ask Muhammad All why he fights one more fight. Go ask Marlon Brando why he makes one more movie. Ask Mick Jagger why he goes on the road. See what kind of answers you come up with. Is it so surprising I'm on the road? What else would I be doing in this life -- meditating on the mountain? Whatever someone finds fulfilling, whatever his or her purpose is -- that's all it is." As a companion to Douglas Brinkley's recent cover story on "Bob Dylan's America", Rolling Stone publishes excerpts from their various interviews with Dylan over the years. (I haven't read the Brinkley article -- it's not online -- but that "United States of Bob" conceit is one Greil Marcus already pretty thoroughly explored in The Old, Weird America (nee Invisible Republic) -- listen to "Bob Dylan's 115th Dream" for a good intro on the subject, or consider how much antebellum history Dylan was able to squeeze into three verses in "As I Went Out One Morning.")

In other Bob news, and in keeping with the trickster on the borderlands" persona Dylan adopts for much of the zydeco-flavored Together Through Life, there's a thin line between love and hate in the surprisingly violent new video for "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'," exclusively over on IFC. "Subterranean Homesick Blues," it isn't. At best, you can consider it in keeping with a traditional murder-ballad-type ditty like "Delia's Gone," I guess. But those who believe Dylan has serious problems with women are going to find plenty of ammunition here. (And that's before they even get to "My Wife's Home Town.")

Let's disconnect these cables, overturn these tables, this place don't make sense to me no more... As you can see [or maybe you can't -- the "embed code" option doesn't seem to work, so I switched it out with a jpg], I've been having a little fun with this pretty spiffy Star Trek advertising toy, which is definitely worth playing around with for a few minutes. I've seen a lot of upload-your-pic widgets in the past, but I'm pretty amazed at how fast and how well this maps a pic onto a 3-D avatar. Could this Dylan-spouting Vulcan be the future of MMORPG gaming?

"There didn't seem to be any general consensus among my listeners. Some people preferred my first period songs. Some, the second. Some, the Christian period. Some, the post Colombian. Some, the Pre-Raphaelite. Some people prefer my songs from the nineties. I see that my audience now doesn't particular care what period the songs are from. They feel style and substance in a more visceral way and let it go at that. Images don't hang anybody up. Like if there's an astrologer with a criminal record in one of my songs it's not going to make anybody wonder if the human race is doomed. Images are taken at face value and it kind of freed me up." On the official site, Bob Dylan talks about his new album, Together Through Life, due out April 28.

Don't get up, gentlemen -- he's only passing through: Rolling Stone gets word of a "surprise" Bob Dylan album coming out next month(!) "The magazine quotes an anonymous insider who says the 10-song set's arrival 'came as a surprise' to those around the folk-rock legend. The currently untitled album reportedly centers on 'raw-country love songs, sly wordplay and the wounded state of the nation.'"

Get yer agitprop on: By way of DCoE (and with a tip of the hat to Shepherd Fairey), Paste Magazine gives you the chance to make your own "Obamacon" posters. I could waste a lot of time with this.

"With all due immodesty, I think it doesn’t help to lose me because people have told me they read The Voice not only for me, but certainly for me." In another troubling indicator of how bad things are getting in the world of print journalism, the venerable institution Nat Hentoff is laid off from The Village Voice. "'Nat Hentoff wrote liner notes for every great musician that I’ve ever loved, from Billie Holiday to Bob Dylan and Aretha Franklin, and that’s not even what he’s been writing about for the last 30 years,' said Tom Robbins, a Voice staff writer."

"In the lower courts, according to a study Professor Long published in the Washington & Lee Law Review last year, Mr. Dylan is by far the most cited songwriter. He has been quoted in 26 opinions. Paul Simon is next, with 8 (12 if you count those attributed to Simon & Garfunkel). Bruce Springsteen has 5."

With great lawyers, you have discussed lepers and crooks: By way of Ted at the Late Adopter, the NYT examines Chief Justice Roberts' use of Dylan in court opinions. "Mr. Dylan has only once before been cited as an authority on Article III standing, which concerns who can bring a lawsuit in federal court...The larger objection is that the citation is not true to the original point Mr. Dylan was making, which was about the freedom that having nothing conveys and not about who may sue a phone company."

"'Actually, one of my favorites during the political season is "Maggie's Farm,"' Obama said of one of Dylan's tracks. 'It speaks to me as I listen to some of the political rhetoric.'" But does he like the RATM version? While doing the obligatory secrets-of-his-iPod conversation with Rolling Stone -- he's a huge Stevie Wonder fan, which explains "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" on the trail -- Sen. Obama sings the praises of Dylan. (Dylan did the same of Obama earlier this month.)

"You should always take the best from the past, leave the worst back there and go forward into the future." Take that, Sean Wilentz. In an interview with The Times (concerning his touring art show), the freewheelin' Bob Dylan backs Barack Obama. "Well, you know right now America is in a state of upheaval. Poverty is demoralising. You can't expect people to have the virtue of purity when they are poor. But we've got this guy out there now who is redefining the nature of politics from the ground up...Barack Obama. He's redefining what a politician is, so we'll have to see how things play out. Am I hopeful? Yes, I'm hopeful that things might change. Some things are going to have to."

"There he lies. God rest his soul, and his rudeness. A devouring public can now share the remains of his sickness, and his phone numbers. There he lay: poet, prophet, outlaw, fake, star of electricity. Nailed by a peeping tom, who would soon discover...even the ghost was more than one person."

Whatever happens in IN and NC, at least we're all assured of one excellent piece of news on Tuesday: My favorite film of 2007, Todd Haynes' I'm Not There, comes out on DVD tomorrow. (See also my pre-Oscar Youtube appreciation.) Due to my imminent move, I'm mostly divesting myself of extraneous possessions at the moment. Still, I'm very much looking forward to picking this up tomorrow.

They may have lost some luster due to Scott Templeton garnering one for the Whiting/Klebanow regime. Nevertheless, the 2008 Pulitzers were announced yesterday, and they included 6 for the WP, Daniel Walker Howe's What Hath God Wrought in the history category and a special citation to the freewheeling Bob Dylan "for his profound impact on popular music and American culture, marked by lyrical compositions of extraordinary poetic power." Well, ok then.

"Lisa Bonet ate no basil, Warsaw was raw. Was it a car or a cat I saw? Rise to vote, sir. Do geese see God? 'Do nine men interpret?' 'Nine men,' I nod." By way of THND, Weird Al Yankovic channels Dylan through palindromes, in the manner of "Subterranean Homesick Blues," I'm Not There, and "Royal Jelly." (McCain palindrome via here.)

As the Oscars are tomorrow night (remember to get your entries in for the annual Web Goddess Oscar Pool), as my favorite film of 2007 got snubbed in most categories, and as I spent an hour or two last night trawling around Youtube (which reminded me, for example, how irredeemably goofy the ending of There Will Be Blood was), here are some musical clips from the year's maligned masterpiece, Todd Haynes' I'm Not There. (Note: The Weinstein Company has posted almost all of Cate Blanchett's performance for Oscar purposes, but I wouldn't recommend watching those clips unless you've already seen the movie, since they're taken from all over the place and disrupt the careful interweaving of all 6 Dylans.)

"Subterranean Homesick Blues": I'd never seen this before, but here's the international trailer for the film, featuring all six incarnations doing the classic video from Don't Look Back.

"I Want You": Robbie (Heath Ledger) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) fall in love (directly following this scene.) Note the freewheelin' beginning and that fateful motorcycle.

"Ballad of a Thin Man": There's something happening here, but BBC's Keenan Jones (Bruce Greenwood) don't know what it is...other than that it somehow involves Jude Quinn (Cate Blanchett), Stephen Malkmus, circus geeks, and the Black Panthers.

"Going to Acapulco": In downtown Riddle, Billy Story (Richard Gere) attends the public funeral of young Mrs. Henry. She has slit her own throat, an ominous harbinger of dark times to come. (That's Jim James of My Morning Jacket in the Dylanesque whiteface, along with Calexico.)

"When the Ship Comes In": Wunderkind Woody Guthrie (Marcus Carl Franklin) wows some kindly Middle American folk with his musical wherewithal.

The trailer for I'm Not There, opening...uh...a few months ago (and available on DVD May 6.)

(Obama silhouette pic via a friend/colleague at Peasants Under Glass, where we talked about some of the following in the comments.)

Something is happening here, but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones? Let's go back a few days to Friday, just after Iowa, at the 100 Club Dinner in Milford, NH: "What you need to understand about the dinner and the venue is this: it was supposed to be a Clinton room." The Clinton advance people had secured the best tables at the front, so all the formidable Granite State luminaries who've backed Hillary could show their strength, and show the Iowa upstart how things work in "independent" New Hampshire. Meanwhile, the Obama voters had been shunted to the back of the room, far away from the podium, the cameras, and the action. All well and good...except it didn't work out that way. The legions of Obama voters surged to the front just before his speech and, by most accounts, blew the Clinton operation out of the room. "'I'm really worried about him,' said [Beverly] Hollingworth, a member of the state's Executive Council and a former state senator, as she headed for the door. 'Other people have been working their whole life for change, and have made good progress. This is just rhetoric.'" And you know something is happening here, but you don't know what it is. Do you, Mrs. Hollingworth?

Fast forward to this morning, where George Stephanopoulos held his usual This Week roundtable at the site of last night's Manchester debate: Sam Donaldson, Cokie Roberts, George Will, and Donna Brazile. For his part, Will seems to be among the "national greatness," "Morning in America" civic conservatives -- such as Peggy Noonan and particularly Andrew Sullivan -- who've responded to Obama's candidacy, and see elements of their beloved Reagan in his crossover appeal. (No doubt anti-Hillary schadenfreude is playing a considerable part too.) Brazile, who worked the comment desks at CNN on Iowa night, had already said her piece last Thursday, and didn't add much this Sunday morning.

But those venerable dinosaurs of the Beltway punditariat, Cokie Roberts and Sam Donaldson, were virtually beside themselves that the Insider candidate seemed to be going down in flames, and soon proved themselves absurdly in the tank for Clinton. Cokie sneered at the constancy of Obama's youth appeal: "Young people, as much as we'd like to see them active in politics, are notorious for not showing up when you need them." She then went on to parrot Clinton's most recent talking points. (Consider "It's a lot of talk, when the reality is, change will happen," or "She embodies change just by being the first woman who might be elected president.")

Donaldson, meanwhile, got bogged down in a wish-fulfillment metaphor about the old champ wearing down the young hotshot (i.e. The Hustler, with Obama as Fast Eddie and Clinton as Minnesota Fats) and huffed and puffed with aggrieved authority, "I agree with Bill Richardson, experience is not a leper!...She's the only one who brought up the economy, did you notice? Anyone could've said look, we may go into a recession here, there's hard times. Only Senator Clinton -- with her experience, if you will -- managed to bring it up!" (You heard it here first, folks. Obama is too inexperienced to have considered the possibility of a recession.) "We're always looking for the non-candidate, the non-politician, and we'd think that'd be great, Donaldson intoned. "But, George, when you have a toothache, most of the people here go to the dentist that's drilled teeth for a long time, I think that's where the country could turn out." (Note here that it's Edwards, not Obama, running the standard outsider-against-the-Washington-ramparts campaign that Donaldson is decrying.)

Now, on one hand, who cares what Sam Donaldson and Cokie Roberts think? Not only are they so completely invested in the Beltway power structure that it's in their very marrow, but they've been living the sheltered life of the television Green Room for decades now. (So, it seems, has ABC's Charlie Gibson, who showed last night during the Manchester debate that he thinks a two-academic family makes $200,000 a year. Uh, Charlie, try $3,000 a class.) As I know from considerable personal experience, the higher echelons in Washington invariably turn up their noses at candidates with outside-the-Beltway appeal, and tend to view them as interlopers worthy of ridicule (or, if they catch a spark, vitriol. At its most extreme, this is how you get Senator Clinton angrily exclaiming in 2000 that killing Ralph Nader "might not be a bad idea.") In short, Sam and Cokie, like countless other members of the Washington media machine, see themselves as bastions of the Beltway order, keepers of the flame, and they don't like any provincial outsiders upsetting the established status quo. All the more reason why Obama is causing them great consternation: "You've been with the professors and they all like your looks. With great lawyers, you have discussed lepers and crooks. You've been through all of F. Scott's Fitzgerald's books. You're very well-read, it's well known. But, something is happening here, and you don't know what it is..."

On the other hand, if we peel away their affronted Beltway dismay about Obama's upstart candidacy, Sam, Cokie, and Mrs. Holllingworth's views speak to arguably the biggest open question about the Illinois Senator's broad-based appeal, and the one demographic factor that most threatens his winning New Hampshire, and the nomination: the generation gap. Pulling up the Iowa numbers again: "Among all caucus-goers under age 45, a smashing 50 percent supported Obama, compared with just 17 percent for Edwards and 16 percent for Clinton. Among those under 30, Obama went even higher, to 57 percent. Among seniors, by contrast -- nearly a quarter of participants -- it was Clinton 45 percent, Edwards 22, Obama 18." Obama pulled young voters out in droves in Iowa, and I think he shows every indication that he can do it again in New Hampshire and beyond. Still, as Cokie snarkily reminded us, older voters are consistent voters. And, allowing that individuals mostly defy easy groupings and follow the dictates of their conscience, the Boomers as a generation are clearly not sold on Obama just yet. So, what's going on here?

Part of it, I think, was explained by Andrew Sullivan a few months ago in the Atlantic Monthly: "Obama’s candidacy in this sense is a potentially transformational one. Unlike any of the other candidates, he could take America -- finally -- past the debilitating, self-perpetuating family quarrel of the Baby Boom generation that has long engulfed all of us...If you are an American who yearns to finally get beyond the symbolic battles of the Boomer generation and face today’s actual problems, Obama may be your man." Senator Obama has since furthered this line of argument himself, telling Newsweek's Joe Klein that he aims to move past "the dorm fights of the '60s." To younger voters, the culture wars that raged from the sixties to the nineties just don't resonate. They seem like ancient history. To older voters, who lived through the experience and witnessed time and time again how low today's GOP will sink in their pursuit of power, this past isn't dead. It isn't even past.

This is why, Sullivan continued in the Monthly, Clinton's methodical (some might say calculating) persona and incrementalist approach doesn't seem to rankle older voters nearly as much as it does those under 45. "[S]he has internalized what most Democrats of her generation have internalized: They suspect that the majority is not with them, and so some quotient of discretion, fear, or plain deception is required if they are to advance their objectives. And so the less-adept ones seem deceptive, and the more-practiced ones, like Clinton, exhibit the plastic-ness and inauthenticity that still plague her candidacy. She’s hiding her true feelings. We know it, she knows we know it, and there is no way out of it." To many older liberals and progressives, who've experienced one dismal setback after another since the heydays of the New Frontier and Great Society, the Clintonian brand of cautious pragmatism often seems the only viable approach to moving the country forward. Put simply, you get burned enough times, you stop using the stove. This time, irony isn't the shackles of youth, but of their parents.

The sheer fact of Clinton and Obama's presidential candidacies, I think, also plays a part in the wide generation gap. The great liberal and progressive victory of the Boomers, one that merits them the moniker "greatest generation" just as readily as fighting WWII does their parents, is the sweeping and (for the most part) successful cultural transformation of race and gender in American life. This is not to say that racism and sexism don't continue to fester in America, both individually and institutionally -- Of course they do, and they're all the harder to root out for having gone underground. But, thanks to the civil rights revolutions of the 1960s and 1970s, younger people tend to view race, gender, and other issues of identity as much more fluid concepts than most Boomers do. While many older voters still possess vividly etched memories of separate drinking fountains, grotesque sexism in the workplace, and fire hoses trained on children, Generations X, Y, and Z grew up sharing a multiracial consumer culture of MTV, The Cosby Show, hip-hop, Tiger Woods, Eminem, etc. Similarly, I think it's safe to say that people under 50 are much more likely to have had a female boss at one point or another. (Counting 'em up, I've worked under more women than men, and I doubt I'm in a slim minority on that point.)

Put simply, and while being careful not to overstate the case, categories like race and sex just don't seem as defining to the youth of today. Boomers fashioned this new world through blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifice, but -- like Moses at the Promised Land -- they can't enter it as readily as their children and grandchildren. This is part of the reason, I think, why, anecdotally speaking, older columnists seemed so much more taken aback by Obama's victory in lily-white Iowa. This also partly explains why Clinton seems to enjoy the strong support of older women. They remember a considerably lower and less permeable glass ceiling -- and the considerable struggle it required to break it -- while many younger women seem to more readily presume (as I do) that sex isn't really a barrier to the presidency anymore.

Now, the response to an older Clinton voter to all of these arguments thus far might be something along the lines of "Just you wait...We know better than you, sonny. Obama may seem like a rock star, but we can see there's no substance to him." But, it doesn't do any dishonor to older voters to suggest in return that maybe this is the moment to forsake a lifetime of dashed hopes and bet on the possibility that the time for a new, expanded progressive coalition has finally come. This is not an easy thing to do. As accomplished and dedicated a reformer as Jane Addams, part of a progressive generation for which I have great empathy, couldn't bring herself to vote for Franklin Roosevelt in 1932, and she was not alone.

Still, there's something strikingly dismaying about watching Clinton and other members of her generation dismiss Obama's message as merely "false hope" (a particularly vicious phrasing) and empty rhetoric. This is the same generation who recoiled from the tested, experienced establishment candidate in 1960, despite his considerable national security credentials, and flocked to the young, hopeful standard of Camelot. This is the same generation who, buoyed by the words of Dr. King, swelled the ranks of the civil rights movement, and who -- disgusted by the continuance of a badly thought-out war overseas -- was inspired by the moving oratory and surprising crossover appeal of Robert Kennedy.

Those leaders were all tragically taken from us, of course, two of them forty years ago this spring and summer. It's maddening to think of how the past four decades might've played out had we the opportunity of their continuing leadership and inspiration. And it's been a long time, far too long, since we've seen anyone on the left who can be mentioned in the same breath as those fallen leaders without hyperbole. But, look at those Iowa numbers again. Maybe, just maybe, that wheel has finally come full circle. Maybe, Senator Barack Hussein Obama is the real deal. Maybe he's the candidate who can transcend the sad political paradigm we've been operating under since 1980 and bring about that long overdue progressive realignment. We've only seen one caucus, of course, but the game moves fast in 2008, and all the indicators seem to suggest he's got "it." If you're not going to stake a chance on him now, what, then, are you waiting for?

I started this entry with a Bob Dylan song. I'll end with another, one I listened to on Friday for the 1,000th time and "heard" like it's the first time. (It sounds completely different when unburdened for a few moments by the ironic punchline of the years after 1968.) If it seems like GitM has become all-Obama, all-the-time since last Thursday, well, there's a good reason for it. Right now, I truly believe we're standing at a crossroads moment, one that could all too easily become evanescent, another missed opportunity in a political lifetime that doesn't offer many of them. But if, on Tuesday, New Hampshire nurtures the spark set in Iowa last week, and Nevada and South Carolina kindle the blaze, we could be looking at a full-fledged progressive wildfire across the nation come SuperduperTuesday. So, to the older voters -- and to any voters -- who, for whatever reason, may be harboring doubts about Barack Obama, give him another look. We're at the first hinge of 2008, and what we do in the next few days and weeks will echo profoundly throughout the next several years of our governance. The old road is rapidly agin', y'all. So please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand, for the times, they could be a-changin'.

Charles, Cash, Curtis, Dylan, Strummer...Given the glut of rock biopics and documentaries we've seen in recent years, it's well past time that influential musical chameleon Dewey Cox got his due. Unfortunately, just as James Mangold's Walk the Line felt too staid and conventional to capture the true appeal of the Man in Black, Jake Kasdan's Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story -- which I saw in the days before Christmas -- never really gets inside the head of the Giant Midget. Sure, it covers most of the important facts about his life -- the childhood tragedy, the struggle with smell-blindness, the breakout single, the dark f**king middle period, the LSD decade, the selling out. But, while John C. Reilly does what he can as Cox (and the resemblance is admittedly uncanny), I never felt while watching Walk Hard that Kasdan actually "got" the man or his music...or his monkey or giraffe, for that matter. Given his famous father and his earlier affiliation with Freaks & Geeks, Kasdan seemed like he would be the guy to do Cox justice, but this is sadly a missed opportunity. It's just too bad Todd Haynes was busy with I'm Not There...Once again, nearly fifty years after the fact, Zimmerman will be walking-hard away with all Dewey's laurels.

Kasdan's take on Dewey's story begins just before Cox's final performance at the Lifetime Achievement Awards -- You may remember Eddie Vedder's memorable tribute speech, and the Jewel/Lyle Lovett/Jackson Browne/Ghostface Killa mash-up of "Walk Hard" got a lot of radio run over that summer -- before flashing back to that defining moment in the White Indian's life as a boy, the famous accidental cleaving-in-two of his prodigy brother. ("I'm cut in half pretty bad, Dewey.") Rallying to his brother's fallen musical standard, the teenage Dewey soon finds himself thrown out of the house, married young (to Edith, as played by SNL's Kristen Wiig), and working as a busboy at a local black club, where he one day wows the crowd with a version of his early hit, "(Mama) You Got to Love Your Negro Man." Soon thereafter, he lands a band and a record contract, and after the cutting of "Walk Hard," the rest is history: Cox buys a monkey, lapses into a vicious drug habit, falls for his voluptuous backup singer Darlene Madison (Jenna Fischer), gets clean, lapses into another vicious drug habit...well, you know the rest.

Ok, ok, let's go ahead and break the fourth wall. As a played-straight parody of the rock biopic genre, Walk Hard is admittedly uneven most of the time. But, it makes for a relatively amusing two hours if you're in the mood for it. It's nowhere near as funny as the original Airplane or Top Secret, but I'd say it holds its own with the Hot Shots flicks, and it's miles above Scary Movie and its ilk. Yes, the film can be unfocused and scattershot (There's even a decently funny recurring gag involving the kitchen sink.) A lot of the jokes seem like leftovers from the last Will Ferrell script, and, like Trey Parker and Matt Stone's Team America, Walk Hard occasionally follows the beats of its object of parody so closely that the movie loses its edge. Still, there are definitely some quality moments therein, from Tim Meadows trying not to seduce a naive Dewey into a marijuana habit to Cox meeting Buddy Holly (Frankie Muniz, inspired casting) and the Fab Four (Surprisingly, Justin "Mac Guy" Long is far and away the funniest as George, while Jack Black's Paul is woefully bad and Paul Rudd's John is just...strange.)

At any rate, I'm not going to give all the jokes away here, suffice to say that Cox's black-and-white Dylan period tickled my funny bone the most. Dewey does two Dylanesque ditties here: The first, "Royal Jelly", is a gloriously inscrutable poetic epic a la "Desolation Row" ("Mailboxes drip like lampposts from the twisted birth canal of the coliseum, rimjob fairy teapots mask the temper tantrum, O say can you see 'em?") [See it live.] The other, "Let Me Hold You (Little Man)", is an un-PC The Times They Are A Changin' screed directed at the injustice faced by all the, uh, little people. ("Let me hold you, midget man, pretend that you're flying in space. Let me hold you, little man, so the dog will stop licking your face.") High art it's not, and I can't recommend rushing out and seeing it or anything. But, for a few solid chuckles over the course of two hours, Dewey Cox and Walk Hard deliver the goods decently enough. Someday -- perhaps soon, given that Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Pineapple Express, and Drillbit Taylor are all due next year -- the helium will probably leak out of the Judd Apatow comedy factory's balloon. But Cox, thankfully enough, isn't the canary in the coalmine just yet.

"Most of the time, I'm halfway content. Most of the time, I know exactly where it all went." Maybe it's the impending holidays. Maybe it's dissertoral stress. Or maybe it's the weather, or something like that. Still, it was one of those weekends...So, in light of that, Bob Dylan's "Most of the Time" meets Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I never would have chosen this sort of hermit life for myself. But, given this is the hand I'm currently playing, at least there're great movies and great music on my side.

"A song will lift, as the mainsail shifts, and the boat drifts on to the shoreline." If you've been reading this site for any length of time, you probably already know that I drank the Bob Dylan kool-aid a good while ago. So, more than likely, my opinion of Todd Haynes' I'm Not There, which I raced down (on the D-train, no less) to catch at the Film Forum this morning, should be taken with at least a shaker of salt. And, to be honest, it's hard to imagine how this film plays to people who aren't all that into Dylan -- If you don't already have a basic sense of his story and his various periods, I could see it being as incoherent and irritating as Southland Tales (although it's assuredly better-made.) But, if you do have any fondness for Bob, oh my. The short review is: I loved it. Exploding the conventional music biopic into shimmering, impressionistic fragments, Todd Haynes has captured lightning in a bottle here. The movie is clearly a labor of love by and for Dylan fans, riddled with in-jokes, winks, and nods, and I found it thoughtful, funny, touching, and wonderful. Put simply, while No Country for Old Men is right up there, I'm Not There is my favorite film of the year. I can't wait to see it again.

Like Navin Johnson, Bob Dylan was born a poor black child. (Marcus Carl Franklin) Ok, perhaps not. But Hayne's movie doesn't really aim to tell the story of one Robert Zimmerman of Hibbing, Minnesota. anyway. -- He's not there. Instead I'm Not There refracts Dylan through a prism of sorts, giving us multiple versions of the man (and myth) at various stages in his life and work. And, so, after a first person POV shot of "Dylan" (us?) taking the stage in '66, and a title shot involving a potentially-momentous motorcycle, we are introduced to one Woody Guthrie (Franklin), an 11-year-old folk wunderkind traveling hobo-style along the rails, singing union songs and making up his past as he goes along. But the times they-are-a-changin', and, as a kindly matron informs Woody, the old songs don't necessarily do justice to the problems of 1959. Enter Jack Rollins (Christian Bale), an earnest young troubador who once lit Greenwich Village on fire with his ballads of social protest ("finger-pointin' songs"), and, having rejected the folk scene and found Jesus, is now the subject of a No Direction Home-style documentary. (Julianne Moore does a Joan Baez impression here, straight out of Scorsese's doc, which is pretty hilarious, and maybe even a little mean -- note the business with the cat.)

By now, you probably see where this is going. Post-Newport, Cate Blanchett shows up as Jude, a.k.a. the reedy, combative, drugged-out, and dog-tired Dylan of (blonde on) Blonde on Blonde and Don't Look Back. (It takes a woman like her, to get through, to the man in him.) Ben Whishaw shares the load of society's probing as Arthur Rimbaud, a Bob who spends most of the movie facing down some unknown interlocutors. Heath Ledger's Robbie is the romantic and the womanizer, the Dylan who woos the heartbreakingly beautiful Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg, playing an amalgamation of Suze Rotolo and Sara Lownds), looks for solace in a normal life outside Woodstock, and eventually stares into the abyss of Blood on the Tracks. And Richard Gere is Billy, an aging outlaw hiding out in Riddle, MO, part of the mythical American landscape conjured by Bob in "Bob Dylan's 115th Dream," "Desolation Row," John Wesley Harding, The Basement Tapes, "Blind Willie McTell," and countless other songs.

Each of this fellowship of Dylans does quality work in the role. Cate Blanchett is getting the most press these days, perhaps deservedly so, but I was as impressed with Bale, Whishaw, Franklin, and particularly Ledger -- After seeing the extent of his range here, it's pretty clear he's going to kill as the Joker next summer. And other actors resonate here as well. I already mentioned Julianne Moore and the exquisite Charlotte Gainsbourg. (My crush on the latter, already simmering after The Science of Sleep, will no doubt grow by leaps and bounds now, particularly once you factor in her fragile, breathy version of "Just Like a Woman" on the soundtrack. With a face that's at once honest, open, statuesque, and melancholy, she's the perfect sad-eyed lady of the lowlands.) Also notable is David Cross, the spitting image of Allen Ginsberg, Michelle Williams invoking Factory Girl Edie Sedgwick, and a well-preserved Richie Havens delivering a Joe Cocker moment with his version of "Tombstone Blues." Bruce Greenwood (of Thirteen Days, The Sweet Hereafter, and recently John from Cincinnati) does particularly impressive work as Jude's nemesis, a BBC newsman who wants to pin both the mercurial singer and the meaning of his (her) music to the wall like a butterfly. Clearly, something is happening here, but he don't know what it is...

Do you need to know a lot about Dylan going in? Well, it undoubtedly helps. I'm Not There is rife throughout with Dylanalia, and, yes, at times it's dropped as blatantly as the groaners in Across the Universe: Jude mutters "Just like a woman!" at one point as a punchline, and an LBJ on the wall during a party strangely exclaims "It's not yellow, it's chicken." But, others are more obscure, hidden in the fabric of the film like a crossword puzzle for Dylanophiles. Many of the strange denizens of Gere's Riddle recall characters in songs or various Dylan incarnations, from the whitefaced troubador at Ms. Henry's funeral to the Union solders and passing Lincoln on stilts. As Robbie and Claire (Renaldo and Clara?) have one of those tired, terse phone discussions that signifies the end is near, a movie poster over her shoulder reads "CALICO" (i.e. "Sara," the "calico sphinx in a scorpio dress (you must forgive me my unworthiness.)") Or, in the scene accompanying one of Dylan's masterpieces, "Visions of Johanna," the Ledger Dylan, a movie star of sorts, is bored on the road and skirt-chasing one of his co-stars. As this goes down, we happen to see some elderly crones in neck braces ("the jelly-faced women all sneeze"), Ledger walking in a museum ("Inside the museum, Infinity goes up on trial"), the Mona Lisa (who "musta had the highway blues, you can tell by the way she smiles"), and the co-star he's tailing, of course, is named Louise. ("Louise, she's all right, she's just near. She's delicate and seems like the mirror. But she just makes it all too concise and too clear that Johanna's not here.")

If this all is starting to sound like two and half hours of insufferable inside-baseball for Dylanheads, well, I guess it might be. But I really don't think it plays like that. (And I also don't think that was the appeal for me either. Both Masked and Anonymous and Twyla Tharp's The Times They Are-A Changin' trafficked in similar inside gags, and I didn't enjoy those anywhere near as much as this film.) Basically, I'm Not There is too vibrant and enthusiastic to feel smug, remote, or exclusive about its fondness for Dylan. It never purports to define the meaning of any particular song, showing instead that more often than not their beauty lies in their ambiguity. (For example, both defenders of the cultural Old Guard and the Black Panthers feel "Ballad of a Thin Man" is about them.) And it often pokes fun at the Dylanophiles among us, throwing in a number of disgruntled fans at various times (particularly after Bob plugs in) and having Jude get pestered by an overeager amateur Dylanologist after hanging with the Beatles (a very jolly cameo indeed.) Plus, for all the reverence, Dylan himself isn't as whitewashed as he was in No Direction Home -- His drug habit, his youthful arrogance and occasional thin skin, and some questionable views on women poets are all on display here.

A talented artist in his own right (case in point: Safe and Far from Heaven), Haynes employs all the magic of the movies to tell Dylan's story. The Robbie-and-Claire scenes are filmed in color occasionally as riotous as in Hayne's homage to Douglas Sirk, Jack's social protest and Christian periods are told in faux-documentary fashion, and Jude's England tour is all black-and-white cinema verite, a la Don't Look Back. That's why I'm pretty sure i'm Not There will work even for people who don't know the first thing about Dylan. It remains visually interesting throughout, and never falls into the usual biopic rut, that standard, hackneyed rise, fall, and rise again narrative which tends to bring down even otherwise well-made entrants in the genre like Walk the Line.

And, of course, it benefits from having one of the better soundtracks out there, and Haynes has expertly weaved Dylan's music (and some quality cover versions) into almost every moment of the film. Let me put it this way: Within the first five minutes, I'm Not There features some period NYC subway footage set to the irrepressibly toe-tapping "Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again." (Also another visual pun -- the subway folk are "stuck inside of mobile.") From that moment on, the movie pretty had much me. In the end, I don't know if non-Dylan folk will vibe into it or not, but I found I'm Not There a splendid gift from one Dylan fan to the rest of us, and assuredly one of the more inventive and captivating biopics in recent filmdom. "And the sun will respect every face on the deck, the hour that the ship comes in."

"You know what's even better than a great road tune? Not having some DJ talkin' all over it...unless, of course, that DJ is me." Sigh. On behalf of his XM radio show, Bob Dylan hawks Cadillacs. To be honest, I much preferred when he was pushing ladies' lingerie. At least that's a product I can get behind.

So where are the strong? And who are the trusted?> Why, Bob and Elvis, of course, and they're in the Nutmeg State, or at least they were last night. As promised, I caught the traveling Dylan-Costello tour over the weekend in (relatively) nearby Bridgeport, CT. The setlists:

Elvis: (The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes | Either Side of the Same Town | Veronica | The River in Reverse | Down Among the Wine and Spirits | Bedlam | From Sulfur to Sugar Cane | Radio Sweetheart/Jackie Wilson Said | (What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding? | The Scarlet Tide

Bob: Leopard Skin Pill-Box Hat | It Aint Me, Babe | I'll Be Your Baby Tonight | You're a Big Girl Now | Rollin' and Tumblin' | Workingman's Blues #2 | 'Til I Fell In Love With You | When the Deal Goes Down | Honest With Me | Spirit on the Water | Highway 61 Revisited | Nettie Moore | Summer Days | I Shall Be Released

Encore: Thunder on the Mountain | Like a Rolling Stone

Taking the second act first (well, third -- as in Bob's Beacon stand in 2005, Amos Lee was the *real* opener), Bob's set -- as you can see -- was heavy on the Modern Times, which is an album I never really listened to all that much. (It came out just before I was kicked to the curb last year, at which point it just got consigned to the iPod shuffle dustbin.) And, as I've said before, when it comes to new Bob, I prefer the looming darkness of Time Out of Mind to the rockabilly antics of Love & Theft, which was also represented here a few times. Still, there were a few gems interspersed throughout the set. Bob's post-apocalyptic croak these days doesn't really suit tender ditties like "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight," and on "I Shall Be Released" I was thinking it might even be time to go the Leonard Cohen backup-singer route. But he still got a fair amount of mileage out of "Like a Rolling Stone" and the raucous opener, "Leopard Skin Pill-Box Hat," and he looked spry as ever while playing most of the new stuff. Plus on this, my eighth Dylan show (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7), I happily got to scratch off "You're a Big Girl Now" on my own mental checklist of songs to hear the man play live. And, while I'm not sure last night's version quite did the song justice -- A line like "I'm going out of my mind with a pain that stops and starts!" needs the plaintive howl of 1975, not the world-weary rasp of 2007 -- I was glad to hear it made the list regardless.

If I'm being a bit harder on Dylan than usual, it may be because Elvis had just left the building, and he pretty much tore the roof off the place in his set. When I heard he was on the bill, I was wondering who his back-up band might be: The Attractions, The Imposters, or some other permutation thereof. Well, as it turned out, this was a solo stand: just Elvis in black, a few guitars, a spotlight, a microphone, ten chords, and the truth. He played more of his standards when I saw him at the Beacon, but that wasn't a problem here; His too-brief set included a few well-known hits ("Veronica," "PLU"), some golden oldies ("(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes", "Radio Sweetheart"), some as-yet-unreleased songs ("Down Among the Wine and Spirits," "From Sulfur to Sugar Cane"), and even a cover of Van Morrison's "Jackie Wilson Said," and each one burned with clarity and conviction. Among the highlights for me were "Either Side of the Same Town," my favorite song from The Delivery Man, "The River in Reverse" (from his album with Alan Toussaint -- it was a blistering call-and-response number last night), and the anti-war lament "The Scarlet Tide" (also from Delivery Man.) (To his credit, Costello also had a remarkable amount of Bridgeport-specific stage patter last night, from name-dropping the old arena there to paying respect to the father of show business, Bridgeport native P.T. Barnum. Somebody had done his homework.)

Johnny's in the basement, mixing up the medicine, I'm on the pavement, thinking about the government. And Tessa? Well, she's sending me this swanky link to the new Dylan messaging site, where you can create your own version of the seminal 1965 Subterranean Homesick Blues video. (Also up here is the video for Mark Ronson's brand new remix of "Most Likely You'll Go Your Way (And I'll Go Mine.)" I'm not sold on the horn section, to be honest, but it'd be hard to improve on Blonde on Blonde in any event. Time will tell, just who fell, and who's been left behind...)

In case you missed it or were otherwise dissuaded by the lousy format last time, the teaser for Todd Haynes' off-kilter Bob Dylan biopic I'm Not There is now officially online, along with a new red-band trailer for Robert Zemeckis' stab at Beowulf. Definitely catching the former, probably seeing the latter.

A tour to look out for: The freewheeling Bob Dylan is, as ever, on the road, but this September and October he's bringing along Elvis Costello to boot. I've seen Bob a lot, and I've seen Elvis, but seeing 'em back-to-back should be more fun than you can shake a stick at. (I'm definitely going to the Bridgeport, CT show...undecided about Albany.)

As you can see, Heath Ledger's been busy. First off, new pics surface of Ledger and others as Bob Dylan in I'm Not There, including more images of Cate Blanchett eerily channeling the Blonde on Blonde-era Bob. (See below and here for more.) And, apparently much to the consternation of the Time Warner powers-that-be, eighteen early and spoilerish stills from Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight have leaked onto the Internets, including a few of Ledger's Joker seeming to enjoy a police interrogation more than he probably should. Check 'em out before they disappear.

Speaking of I'm Not There, the Todd Hayne's new Dylan biopic has a teaser out, where you can catch brief glimpses of all the varied permutations of Bob. (Blanchett, Bale, Ledger, Gere, Whishaw, et al.) And, also in the trailer bin, Woody Allen ventures back into Match Point territory with Ewan MacGregor, Colin Farrell, Tom Wilkinson, and newcomer Hayley Atwell in the new (French-subtitled) preview for Cassandra's Dream. And John C. Reilly brings to life one of Dylan's formative influences in the parody-heavy trailer for Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, brought to you by the Freaks & Geeks team of Jake Kasdan and Judd Apatow and also starring Jenna Fischer, Kristen Wiig, and Tim Meadows (as well as Jack White as Elvis and Paul Rudd, Jack Black, Mac Guy, and Jason Schwartzman as John, Paul, George, and Ringo.)

She's got everything she needs, she's an artist, she don't look back. (Although if I had to guess, she's been watching the heck out of Don't Look Back lately.) With (a non-levitating) Bruce Greenwood in tow, Cate Blanchett channels Blonde on Blonde-era Dylan and meets never-nude Allen Ginsberg (David Cross) in this brief You-tubed clip from Todd Hayne's forthcoming I'm Not There. Other Dylans in the production: Christian Bale, Marcus Carl Franklin, Richard Gere, Heath Ledger, and Ben Whishaw.

It doesn't seem to play nice with Internet Explorer at all, but this parody mash-up, Dylan Hears a Who: Seuss via Zimmerman -- sent via my sister Tes -- is definitely worth checking out. The joke aside, whoever put this together did a great job of capturing that vintage Dylan sound -- I particularly like the "Ballad of a Thin Man"'ed up version of "Miss Gertrude McFuzz," but all seven tracks are surprisingly catchy and on point. Huzzah.

Oof, Valentine's Day. Not a holiday I've been looking forward to of late, even if it does provide the chance to write up some favorite songs here, as per recent tradition. As many of y'all surely know, V-Day and all the attending hoopla is rarely much fun when you're single, and it's even worse when you're walking wounded, as I'd number myself these days. To wit: Late last year, I got kicked right in the teeth by someone I was really fond of, and even though it's been many months now since it all went down -- long enough that I really should've just gotten over it and moved on -- most days since then are sadly still kind of a struggle.

But, oh well...no hope, no harm, just another false alarm. I've loitered on the Injured List before -- in fact, you could say much of my adult romantic life has been Grant Hillish to the extreme, all burgeoning potential cut short by season-ending injuries -- so I'm pretty sure, at an intellectual level if not yet a gut one, I'll get back in the game someday. In the meantime, here's some music for ya. Usual rules apply: the files will be only up for a few days, right-click to save them, and please don't link to them directly.

For all the genre's many strengths, the slice-of-life relationship song isn't normally what you'd consider a central feature of hip-hop. Cuts like Method Man's "All I Need," Outkast's "Mrs. Jackson," or the Tribe's "Bonita Applebaum" notwithstanding, shake-your-booty jams and odes to the playa lifestyle outnumber romantic ditties by at least five or six to one. "You Got Me," from the Roots' 1999 album Things Fall Apart, numbers among the exceptions.

Co-written by Jill Scott (who performed the song in Dave Chappelle's Block Party and on tour for the Roots) and co-sung by Eykah Badu (on the original cut and video), "You Got Me" is a story of a meet-cute ("We used to live in the same building on the same floor and never met before until I'm overseas on tour") that grows into a relationship that works despite the odds ("When you out there in the world, I'm still your girl"), and despite the loose talk all around. ("Lies come in, that's where the drama begins.")

It ain't easy for the couple in "You Got Me," but they're making do. They got each other, and most of the time, that's enough to get by. (And bonus points for ?uestlove's infectious drum-and-bass outro -- our time with this pair ends with the fade, but their story clearly continues.)

You Got Me -- The Roots feat. Erykah Badu (3.9MB, 4:19)
(song removed)
From Things Fall Apart.

[Update:]

I picked a Bob Dylan song last year ("Most of the Time"), and I freely admit that, however brilliant, Blood on the Tracks is now one of the hoariest of breakup-album cliches. Still, "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go" was on my mind a lot over the past year (see also my review of The Fountain), so it's going up anyway (and, hell, maybe I'll pick a Dylan song every Valentine's Day from now on -- he's got enough to go around.)

Here, unlike most of the cuts on the album, Bob is actually happy ("I could stay with you forever and never realize the time.") -- Life is good to him, he's got a good woman by his side. But, though he's ignoring it, the insurmountable problem -- "the crystal...in the steel at the point of fracture," to borrow a phrase from All the King's Men -- is already manifest, a tiny speck on the horizon soon to loom over everything. Despite his euphoria, Dylan can already recognize that this relationship is finite: Eventually, "Yer gonna have to leave me now, I know." So, Dylan listens to the crickets and the river instead, and does his best to relish what happy moments still lie ahead, before the axe inevitably falls.

(Everybody and their brother owns Blood on the Tracks -- if you don't, buy it! For you and your brother! -- so I've also thrown in a cover version by Mary Lou Lord. It's a bit alt-chickish, sure, but I prefer it to other versions I can name, such as Elvis Costello's too-jaunty-by-far take on Kojak Variety.)

You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go -- Bob Dylan (2.8MB, 2:55)
(song removed)
From Blood on the Tracks.

You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go -- Mary Lou Lord (5.3MB, 3:46)
(song removed)
From Hard Rain: A Tribute to Bob Dylan, Vol. 1.

[Update:]

Canada's answer to Dylan, the inimitable Leonard Cohen has also been mining the joys and perils of romantic entanglements for four decades now. To be honest, I'm hit-or-miss with his early stuff, but I just can't get enough of his "Satan's lounge act" later period. (As I've said before, and as with Dylan, Tom Waits, etc., I'm basically a sucker for the "broken, gravelly voices with tales to tell" genre.)

Like "Everybody Knows" and "First We Take Manhattan," "I'm Your Man" is one of the better-known songs from Cohen's later incarnation (and the name of a recent tribute documentary to him, which I haven't seen.) "I'm Your Man" combines a lot of Cohen's strengths -- that debauched, plaintive, and world-weary croak, a knack for memorable imagery and earthy allusions (even at his most bathetic, Cohen never lets you forget there's a primal beast that "won't go to sleep" raging inside him, one with carnal appetites inseparable from his professions of love -- see also "In My Secret Life," "Waiting for the Miracle," or countless others), and a second-act twist that complicates what initially seemed to be a straightforward pop ditty.

Here, what appeared to be a confident ode to that special gal in his life becomes instead a hail-mary plea for forgiveness. ("I've been running through these promises to you, that I made and I could not keep"), one that he already knows is not going to shake out as he desires ("A man never got a woman back, not by begging on his knees...") The joke is, Cohen's not her man anymore. No matter how many times he says otherwise or tries to contort himself to regain his muse's affections, Cohen is stuck being himself, the guy who blew it somewhere along the line. Sorry, Leonard. At least you got Manhattan.

[Update:]

Since I already lyric-checked the Smiths earlier in this post, why not go straight to the source? Maybe they just captured a certain zeitgest of feeling alone, different, and melancholy in the Reagan-Thatcher era. Still, the Smiths have a lot to answer for their part in helping to fashion a generation of angst-ridden, self-absorbed romantics (in which I include myself.) Either way, nobody does "way over yonder in the minor key" quite like Morrissey, Marr, & co., who built an entire career on the twisted, solipsistic pleasure one comes to take in excessive moping.

What the Smiths perfectly capture in song after song is the narcissism of the whole enterprise. With all the horrible things happening in the world every day to people who don't deserve them, it takes no small amount of self-absorption and lack of perspective to luxuriate in a slough of despond for weeks on end. And yet, we all do it all the time, dwelling on our own petty problems while the world seems to crash and burn -- it's virtually inescapable.

In "A Rush and a Push and the Land is Ours," probably my favorite Smiths song (well, along with "This Night Has Opened My Eyes"), the band brings this irony front and center. In the lyrics' biting condescension even in the midst of gloom ("people who are uglier than you and I, they take what they need and just leave"), in the vague disreputability of the land-grab metaphor at the heart of the song ("A rush, a push, and the land that we stand on is ours! It has been before, so why can't it be now?"), and in Morrissey's trademark wailing, swooning, and growling, "A Rush, A Push, and the Land Is Ours" captures both the varied emotions and uglier facets of heartache that will attend all too many of us this holiday Wednesday. (Also, courtesy of Youtube, here's what appears to be the vintage video.)

However you stand on this Valentine's Day, have a safe and a happy one out there, as always. (And, as I noted last year, if you want more music, Fluxblog does the mp3blog thing day in and day out, and is considerably better at it than I am. And Max of Lots of Co. offers choice dance/techno/pop mixes around the start of every month.)

The freewheelin' Bob Dylan has a lot to answer for in this intermittently amusing Post Show send-up of Dylan's No Direction Home. Admittedly, this guy's singing-Bob impression is pretty funny. (By way of Tes.)

"The pistols are poppin' and the power is down, I'd like to try somethin' but I'm so far from town..." Ok, I'll admit it -- I reupped for more time, to catch up on political news. And, while doing so, I discovered that Slate, of all places, is not only premiering Bob Dylan's new video for Thunder on the Mountain, which is chock-full of vintage Dylan footage, but offering a chance to win a guitar signed by the man himself. Cool...but is it strung lefty?

Found while looking for an online version of the recent Rolling Stone story on Todd Haynes' I'm Not There (which includes a shot of Cate Blanchett as the Blonde on Blonde-era Dylan), writer Jonathan Lethem picks out some forgotten Dylan gems as a sidebar to his recent cover story on Modern Times.

As part of his Modern Times publicity blitz, Bob Dylan hawks iPods in a new commercial. Call him a sell-out, but, hey, things have changed. And besides, I have no real problem with iPods...or lingerie, for that matter. And, also in recent Dylanalia, Louis Menand reviews Bob Dylan: The Essential Interviews for The New Yorker (courtesy of Ralph Luker at Cliopatria.)

"I hate to break it to Justin Timberlake, but a wheezy old man has recorded the best make-out songs of 2006. Put Modern Times in the CD player, pull your sweetheart close, and -- as a young man advised a lifetime or so ago -- shut the light, shut the shade." Also in Slate, Jody Rosen swoons over Bob Dylan's new album, which I'm listening to for the first time right this minute. So far, it sounds like a more accessible version of Love and Theft...I think I kinda dig it.

"What we do understand, if we're listening, is that we're three albums into a Dylan renaissance that's sounding more and more like a period to put beside any in his work. If, beginning with Bringing It All Back Home, Dylan garbed his amphetamine visions in the gloriously grungy clothes of the electric blues and early rock & roll, the musical glories of these three records are grounded in a knowledge of the blues built from the inside out...Dylan offers us nourishment from the root cellar of American cultural life. For an amnesiac society, that's arguably as mind-expanding an offering as anything in his Sixties work. And with each succeeding record, Dylan's convergence with his muses grows more effortlessly natural." In the new Rolling Stone and on the eve of Modern Times (due out this Tuesday), author Jonathan Lethem interviews Bob Dylan. (Via Ed Rants.)

"I'm wondering where in the world Alicia Keys could be, I been looking for her even clean through Tennessee." Dylanologists, get your pencils ready: Word is Bob namedrops Alicia Keys on the first track of his new album, Modern Times, due out August 29.

I'm a bit late in hearing this excellent news: Bob Dylan's 44th album, Modern Times (and his first album of original material since Love & Theft, released on 9/11) comes out next month: August 29, to be exact. Tracks include "Thunder on the Mountain," "Spirit on the Water," "When the Deal goes Down," and "Beyond the Horizon."

Salute him when his birthday comes...a very happy 65 to the freewheelin' Bob Dylan. May your heart always be joyful, may your songs always be sung. Update: My fellow Americans: The State of the Dylan is strong.

According to Dark Horizons, Heath Ledger will replace Colin Farrell as Bob Dylan in Todd Haynes' forthcoming Bob biopic I'm Not There. Purportedly also playing Dylan in the film are Christian Bale, Cate Blanchett, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Richard Gere, and Julianne Moore.

"Don't call it a comeback, he been here for years, rocking his peers, putting 'em in fear, making tears rain down like a monsoon, explosions overpowerin', over the competition LL Cool J is towering. LL Cool J -- stands for Ladies Love Cool J." On the eve of the premiere of his new XM "Theme Time Radio Hour" (which premieres Wednesday,) Bob Dylan shares some of his early show playlists (organized around themes such as the weather, mothers, drinking, and cars) and his on-air comments about some favorite selections.

"In his conversation with Robert Kennedy, King refused to heed an appeal for moderation: 'I am different from my father. I feel the need of being free now.' This impatience for freedom, acted out by the courageous young Freedom Riders, helped propel a reluctant America at least part of the way down the road to racial justice." In the same NYT Book Review as the Brinkley piece posted on Monday, Columbia's Eric Foner favorably reviews Raymond Arsenault's Freedom Riders: 1961 and the Struggle for Racial Justice. And, also in history news, the AP profiles historian, Dylanologist, and recent Bancroft winner Sean Wilentz. "There isn't much that's gone wrong with the country's institutions that a good election can't cure. Or a few good elections. So I have a kind of willful optimism."

Also in music news, the freewheelin' Bob Dylan is in the studio working on his 31st studio album (and the follow-up to 2001's Love and Theft.) "Work...began early this month with four days of rehearsals with his touring band at the Bardavon 1869 Opera House in Poughkeepsie, New York. The crew have now moved to Manhattan to record the songs." And, for the Springsteen fans out there, the story also reports that the Boss is currently cutting an album of Pete Seeger covers, The Seeger Sessions.

Happy Valentine's Day. In keeping with a GitM tradition started last year, and since y'all out there, dear readers, are once again my Valentines for the day whether you like it or not (I long ago stopped delving into personal detail around these parts -- Suffice to say that, my fellow Americans, the State of the Love Life is, um, not good. In fact, like those pesky WMD, its existence has been almost entirely theoretical for some time...Ah, well.) -- I've thrown up more tunes for your holiday perusal. At any rate, as per the usual mp3blog rules: the files will be only up for a day or two, right-click to save them, and please don't link to them directly. Otherwise, enjoy!

For sundry reasons involving the Internet Age, Kraftwerk's "Computer Love" has taken on all kinds of ulterior meanings since it first debuted on 1981's Computer World, when 300 baud modems ("I call this number for a data date") and TRS-80s operating on tape decks were the order of the day. When these German electronica pioneers weren't creating the music of the future, it seems, they were presciently anticipating our current era of Instant Messaging, online dating sites, and the like. Still, its newer resonances notwithstanding, I've always found something giddily innocent about this track. While the lyrics suggest a much more downbeat affair, the chirps and whistles in this song never fail to bring a big goofy grin to my face -- particularly in this clubbier 1991 remix version, when those syncopated synths take off like a bird in flight. There are some songs that just make ya happy, no matter what -- for me, this is one of those.

Computerlove -- Kraftwerk (6.2MB, 6:37)
(song removed)
From The Mix.

[Update:]

As I've wrote in this review of Ultra years ago, Depeche Mode is a band that's been misunderstood and misunderestimated by a lot of people here in America. Which is not to say they're some hidden secret -- obviously, they're one of the biggest bands in the world, and have had a huge US following for decades now.

Still, even today, in the reviews of DM's recent Playing the Angel, rock critics trod out the doom-and-gloom "Depressed Mode" copy that's been circulating since at least 1986's Black Celebration. But they miss the point. Very few DM songs -- Ok, "Satellite," from A Broken Frame is one -- are out-and-out depressing in the way, say, most Nine Inch Nails songs are. Rather, almost all of the songs on Black Celebration, one of my Desert Island discs, work in the same groove, including this one, "Here is the House." As one review of "Enjoy the Silence" summed it up, it's "me and you against the world."

Yes, Celebration argues, this earth can be a cruel, unrelenting place, filled with misfortune and disappointment. But, maybe, just maybe, you and I can rise above all that, and together light a candle that'll warm us both through another unforgiving night. In sum, DM's best romantic ballads aren't depressing so much as poignant and ever-so-slightly hopeful. I'll be the first to admit that the band has come close to over-mining this particular mode after 25 years, but still, when they do it right, it's a thing of beauty. (Also, since I'm sure a lot of people out there already have this song in their collection, I've also posted Martin's early demo version, which actually fits the song really well in a lo-fi Magnetic Fields kinda way.)

Here is the House -- Depeche Mode (4.1MB, 4:19)
Bonus Track: Here is the House (Demo) -- Martin Gore (4.3MB, 4:35)
(songs removed)
Original version on Black Celebration.

[Update:]

I had a hard time figuring out which song I wanted to post from Peter Gabriel's sublime rumination on romance, Us (1992), 'cause almost every song -- particularly on the A-side -- is a certifiable classic. (A younger friend of mine once musically conflated Gabriel's oeuvre with that of his Genesis bandmate Phil Collins, which almost drove me to apoplexy. I mean, I don't hate Phil Collins or anything, but, c'mon now -- Gabriel is a lot more than just "Sledgehammer," and even "Sledgehammer" isn't "Susudio.")

In the end, I opted for this cut of "Blood of Eden" from Wim Wender's Until the End of the World (which for some odd reason was left off that otherwise great soundtrack.) The Us version is disarmingly beautiful, but the lack of Sinead O'Connor's backing vocals here lend the track a different resonance.

On the album, you can actually hear "the union of the woman and the man" in O'Connor and Gabriel's lush harmony, but here, with Gabriel plaintive and alone, it's just a fading memory, the echo of happier times. And yet, at certain moments (such as in the bridge), the memories come flooding back. "The blood of eden keeps rushing through me, when I'm sure there's none that remains." With love in the rear-view mirror, disappearing over the horizon, Pete still has the echoes of the past to keep him keepin' on.

Blood of Eden (Wim Wenders Version) -- Peter Gabriel (6.2MB, 6:40)
(song removed)
From Blood of Eden (Single).

[Update: The Wim Wenders version is hard to find on the tubes, but below is the original version with Sinead O'Connor.]

Speaking of which, nobody does keep-on-keepin'-on like its coiner, the inimitable Bob Dylan. From "Don't Think Twice" to "Like a Rolling Stone" and Blood on the Tracks to Time out of Mind, one of Bob's career trademarks has been the post-mortem relationship song. Some are angry and vindictive, some are haunted, some are jaunty and could care less, some are resigned and reflective, some are (love)sick with remorse and regret. There are so many great songs that could have gone here, but I ended up choosing "Most of the Time," from the somewhat underappreciated Oh Mercy (1989), the forerunner to Dylan's recent revival. In this song, Bob's basically got his act together and has moved on from an old love...most of the time. In direct contrast to Gabriel in "Eden," the past here is treacherous. ("Most of the time, I can't even be sure, if she was ever with me or if I was ever with her.") Dylan's learned to live with his scars, but at any moment -- a passing haircut, a fleeting remembrance, a scent of perfume in the air -- and he is undone once again, as if it were yesterday. After all, even for a guy like Bob Dylan, who once seemed to carry the weight of the world as if it were nothing, you don't get very far in life without some ghosts in the machine.

Most of the Time -- Bob Dylan (4.5MB, 5:03)
(song removed)
From Oh Mercy.

[Update:]

Ok, hopefully five tunes won't kill my bandwidth...Have a safe and happy Valentine's Day out there, y'all. (And, as a side note, if you're looking for more quality music, be sure to check out the splendiferous Fluxblog almost-daily, and don't miss out on the Max Music Mixes every month at Lots of Co.)

Johnny's in the basement mixing up the medicine, and Bob's in...the DJ booth? Apparently Dylan will host his own show on XM Radio beginning in March. "Dylan will offer regular commentary on music and other topics, host and interview special guests including other artists and will take emails from XM subscribers."

While there's no one hard and fast rule to a good artist biopic (and, indeed, last week's Capote belies to some extent what I'm about to say), it should capture what's innovative and idiosyncratic about its subject, and help to explain why we should care about their artistry. And, while James Mangold's reasonably entertaining Walk the Line has its moments, and Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon are both excellent, I ultimately found this movie somewhat frustrating. For, except for occasional flashes, the movie, I think, misses the chance to do Johnny Cash justice -- you never really get a sense of what was so unique and extraordinary about him. And, even considered solely as the romance of the Man in Black and his long-suffering muse, June Carter (of the fabled Carter Family,) Walk the Line stumbles ever so slightly. If you came into this film knowing nothing about Johnny Cash or June Carter Cash, I'm not sure this movie makes their case. Too often, it follows a standard Behind the Music "rise, drug-addled-fall, and rise again" structure, which makes it feel like it could be about, well, anybody.

To its credit, the film starts off well -- We begin on a chilly day outside Folsom Prison in 1968, as a guard nervously listens to an ominous throb emanating from and through the high, grey walls. Slowly, it resolves into a readily identifiable Cash backbeat, and we go inside to find the Man in Black's band waiting for him to take the jailhouse stage. But Cash is lost in reverie, struck by the sight of a buzzsaw blade in the prison shop room. For a soon-to-be-obvious reason, it takes him back to his boyhood days picking cotton in rural Arkansas, where the sounds of trains going someplace else are always in the distance, and the only respite from the sweltering heat is the voice of young June Carter on the radio. Ok, so far, so good...Mangold has shown that he's not afraid to keep everything a little impressionistic, to color his palette with iconographic Cash-isms and help the man's music breathe through the picture.

Unfortunately, though, most of the film thereafter feels depressingly literal. After apprising us of a childhood tragedy, the film takes us through Cash's early days in the Air Force, his increasingly loveless first marriage to Vivian Liberto (Ginnifer Goodwin, looking like Audrey from Twin Peaks and feeling like a stock biopic trope), his rise to fame, his subsequent addiction to Go Pills, and his ultimate redemption thanks to a good-hearted woman, always there to help out a good-timin' man in his hour(s) of need. This is all capably handled, I guess, but too often it feels rote, in an Insert-Rock-Star-Here kinda way. Worse, aside from one discerning monologue by rock-n-roll impresario Sam Phillips (Dallas Roberts) at Cash's first audition, the film never really gets to the bottom of the singer's appeal. We see Cash on his all-star Sun Records tours -- and thus get impersonations of Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbison, and Carl Phillips, among others -- but the film never explains what was unique about Cash among Phillips' impressive stable of talent. (No Dylan here later on, though...but Cash's close friendship with Bob is explicitly referenced several times, including a timely cover of "It Ain't Me, Babe" and a lively use of "Highway 61"'s police whistle intro.)

In fact, allow me to digress -- one of the many fascinating aspects of the Dylan-Cash camaraderie (also briefly featured in one of the most memorable moments of the recent No Direction Home) is that, aside from a shared affinity for murder ballads and mind-altering substances, they were a study in contrasts, at least in the Sixties. Often, the young Dylan seems impetuous and invincible. Keenly aware of injustice, he nevertheless remains unfazed. He's unrepentant in his anger -- To paraphrase Herbert Croly's colorful description of Theodore Roosevelt, the early Dylan wields righteousness like a hammer, throwing the sins, taunts, and ridicule of this world right back from whence they came. Or, at many of his best moments, he turns his back on it all. Instead, he illuminates our experience by imagining the world anew, conjuring a landscape (what Greil Marcus has called the "invisible republic") that renders both grievous sins and exalted sacraments to be often socially conditional, if not absurd and irrelevant.

But Cash -- Cash can't escape his critics, because his worst critic is himself. Nor can he either simply condemn or intricately reimagine Evil, because he has been Evil's instrument. He's a man of our world -- In fact, he's the Last Man, the Fallen Man. ("But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back, Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.") Forget righteousness: Cash's characters are just as cognizant of injustice as Dylan's, but they also know they've done wrongs that can't and never will be forgiven. They've been living desperate for so long they've become resigned to it. They walk the line, because they know what it's like to stray far off the path, and they've paid the price in spades. And their adherence to their creed -- be it a woman, the Savior, or something else, depending on the song -- is all the more heartfelt and admirable because it has been tested, and even broken. In short, Cash has suffered grave consequences, and persevered in spite of them. He's been through the Ring of Fire and out the other side, and his gravelly-delivered tales of guilt and penitence have set the stage for any number of later artists, including Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, and, by no coincidence at all, the older Bob Dylan.

Well, that's my take on Cash, and there are many others (For example, Ed Champion had a nice read on him last week contrasting Cash with Franz Ferdinand.) But, back to the movie -- I barely got any sense of a Cash critique at all in Walk the Line. At best, it assumes you already have an opinion and appreciation of the man coming in, which may be true but still seems like lazy writing. (Or, alternatively, I guess you could say that it attempts to explode the Cash myth -- "He wasn't really a jailbird!" -- but that gets us back into staid Behind the Music territory again.) That being said, the fault with the film is not Joaquin Phoenix's by any means. Admittedly, his singing voice is off -- although, whether it be to his getting better or my brain sorting out the cognitive dissonance -- he improves as the film goes along. But, otherwise, Phoenix goes for it, and despite often seeming physically and vocally far afield from Cash, he delivers a powerful performance from the inside-out. As Dave Edelstein noted, it's hard to watch him wrestle with drug abuse and the memory of his dead brother here and not think of River Phoenix. (If anything, I was reminded of Anthony Hopkins in Oliver Stone's Nixon, which is another brilliant performance, although arguably one that doesn't suggest Tricky Dick to anyone who remembers him.)

Reese Witherspoon is also superb (indeed, award-worthy) as June Carter, who, as in life, I suppose, was both a vivacious stage presence and a model of forbearance. (It's also great to hear a genuine, unaffected southern accent onscreen. Too often, they sound actorly and are off by hundreds of miles -- I'm looking at you, Cold Mountain.) But, the romance at the heart of the film is missing that certain je-ne-sais-quoi. From what little I know about it, Johnny and June Carter Cash are one of those love stories for the ages. She was his angel, his ray of light in the dark (images which the film does try to bring to life.) But, here, and I'm not quite sure exactly who's at fault, Johnny Cash just comes off as a disciple of the mega-creepy Anakin Skywalker school of courting -- i.e., act like a stalker for long enough and eventually she'll come 'round. Again, I don't really blame the actors. They do what they can with what they've got (although perhaps memories of Phoenix's turn as Gladiator's Commodus are partially at fault.) But, to my mind, if the movie tried harder to sell us on Cash's unique artistry, perhaps we'd have a better sense of what June, daughter of an estimable clan of folkies, saw in him. As it is, he just seems like an extremely lucky, albeit talented, amphetamine junkie.

And, to close an overextended review, that's the basic problem with Walk the Line. The parts are all here, but, aside from the occasional flicker of life, the soul of Cash is mostly absent. Perhaps it'd be impossible to do right by him, to capture all the mystique of his music and his persona on celluloid. But, that doesn't make this film any less frustrating. Try as Walk the Line might, the elusive and unforgettable Johnny Cash remains a ghost rider in the sky.

Just a reminder: Bob Dylan: No Direction Home, the Martin Scorsese-assembled documentary that's been getting middling to great reviews, premieres tonight on PBS at 9pm (check local listings.)

"Our generation has envied our elders' experiences more often than we've questioned them. Growing up in the shadow of the '60s, we couldn't help viewing the political involvement of the age as nobler, the culture and the music as more vital, the shattering of social norms more exciting, than the zeitgeist of our own formative years." Slate's David Greenberg invokes popular culture's (and the academy's) rampant Sixties-ism to suggest why post-John Wesley Harding Dylan gets so little love.

"As we pulled up in front of the Rollingstone Feed & Grain store, the first-take bootleg album version of the song blasted by chance from the car's CD player. 'Coincidence?' Doc said, hinting that the unseen hand was mine, 'or science?'" Bob fan Steve Dougherty ventures down Highway 61 in search of Dylanalia.

In the trailer bin, Philip Seymour Hoffman channels In Cold Blood-era Truman Capote -- I presume that's how he actually sounded -- in the preview for Capote, also with Catherine Keener and Chris Cooper. Elsewhere, 1880s Aussie Guy Pearce gets an offer he probably should refuse in The Proposition, written by Nick Cave and also starring Ray Winstone, John Hurt, Danny Houston, David Wenham, and Emily Watson. Finally, I should've posted this before, but only now found it: the trailer for Martin Scorsese's Dylan-doc No Direction Home, appearing on PBS Sept. 26th and 27th.

The official Bob Dylan site retools for No Direction Home, a 2-hour documentary on Bob circa 1961-1966 and directed by none other than Martin Scorsese. It'll premiere on PBS on 9/26 and 9/27 (and on DVD 9/20), and will be accompanied by a seventh volume in the Bootleg series.

"'He never missed a single Little League game I had. He's collected every home run ball I ever hit. And he's still affectionate to me.' He paused and smiled. 'Maybe he doesn't want people to know that,' he said. 'But I'll tell you, because it's my interview.'" On the eve of The Wallflowers' fifth album, Jakob Dylan relents and opens up about his famous father.

Bob at the Beacon, Night 3 (for me) [Monday/Tuesday]:

Maggie's Farm / To Ramona / Cry A While / Bye And Bye / Ballad Of Hollis Brown / If You See Her, Say Hello / Lenny Bruce / Honest With Me / The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll / High Water (For Charley Patton) / I Shall Be Released / Highway 61 Revisited

Encore: Po' Boy / All Along The Watchtower

In all honesty, I think this was my least favorite setlist of the three shows (that missed Wednesday gig still haunts me.) Although I did get to hear my favorite song on Love & Theft this time around -- "Cry A While" -- I generally prefer the Time Out of Mind cuts when it comes to the new stuff. Still, the show wasn't a bad one by any means, and while my own personal highlights came early in "Maggie's Farm" and "If you See Her, Say Hello," it was also nice to hear "Hollis," "Hattie," and "I Shall Be Released." (And even after two previous shows, nine of tonight's 14 songs were new to me during this Beacon stand.)

So, that wraps up this leg of the Never-Ending Tour...Next up for Dylan: A ball park summer swing with Willie Nelson, which unfortunately won't be making it to the city. Catch it if you can. (And by the way, if you ever hit up the Beacon for a summer show, dress light. It's a great venue in terms of acoustics and view, but the air flow in there leaves something to be desired.)

Aw, man. Drifter's Escape, Senor (Tales Of Yankee Power), Girl Of The North Country, Tangled Up In Blue, A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall, and Blind Willie McTell? That's a killer setlist, and no mistake. Monday and Tuesday were both grand, but I hope at least some of these cuts -- particularly Senor and Willie -- show up on Dylan's Saturday night closer. Update: Shelter from the Storm, Love Sick, Not Dark Yet, and Things Have Changed? Bob, you're killing me.

Night #2 of Bob's Beacon Stand:

Tombstone Blues / Love Minus Zero/No Limit / Lonesome Day Blues / This Wheel's on Fire / Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum / John Brown / Under the Red Sky (Listen here) / Highway 61 Revisited / Bye and Bye / Shooting Star (Listen here) / Honest With Me / Masters of War

Encore: Don't Think Twice, It's All Right / All Along the Watchtower

So, only two repeats from last night (Highway 61, Watchtower) in a 14-song setlist...that's not bad at all. Tonight's choices were more esoteric than Monday's show, with "This Wheel's on Fire" and "John Brown" the main standouts in the middle going. "Masters of War" has been given a spooky and even somewhat jarring update -- as my friend Jeremy noted, it's not exactly the type of song you expect to rock out to. And, while I don't think I was as moved in this show as I was by "Visions of Johanna" or "Desolation Row" the night before (the stifling heat in the upper deck cheap seats didn't help), any evening in which you hear the freewheelin' Bob Dylan perform "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" has to go down as a good one.

Unfortunately, we missed Amos Lee this time around. As for Merle & the Strangers, I'd say their setlist was about 50-60% the same, although, Greatest Hits-wise, "Silver Wings" and "Okie from Muskogee" had been replaced by "The Bottle Let Me Down" and "Are the Good Times Really Over." And, on both nights, Haggard has crooned a ditty called something like "Wish I Was Thirty Again," which strikes a favorable chord in this corner.

At any rate, I'll be missing the next two shows, but am greatly looking forward to the last stop of this tour, Saturday night at the Beacon. (Yea, I know three shows is kinda decadent, but tix went on sale the Tuesday morning after Hunter checked out, and it seemed to me then that it's worth catching Dylan as many times as possible if given the opportunity. Two shows into this swing, I'm not regretting my decision at all.)

The Bob Dylan Show's freewheeling week in NYC began here last night at the Beacon Theatre, and it was a doozy. Bob's got two opening acts this time around: First up was Amos Lee, a young guy who seemed pretty talented and exuded a sort of John Mayer/VH1-Storytellers vibe, and his three-piece band. Unfortunately, I arrived late and only caught the tail end of their set, but what I heard sounded pretty good.

Then came Merle Haggard and the Strangers, a well-traveled outfit (according to them, 40 years and running) with -- as my friend Alex pointed out -- the spitting image of Boris Yeltsin on the drums. Haggard & co. offered some old-school, easy-listening, toe-tappin' country...I'm not a fan by any means, but I recognized some of the songs, including "Workin' Man's Blues," "Okie from Muskogee," and a cover of Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable." (Well, it's Merle Haggard...I wasn't expecting "London Calling.") And, despite some stage banter that sounded like it'd been in the can for a really long while (replete with rim-shots), the Strangers offered up a decent hour of countrified ditties that made for a solid, if somewhat quietening, kick-off to the Dylan set.

Finally, at around 9:30 or so, the man of the hour. Dylan's show hasn't changed all that much in the past couple of years, but he's honed further his crack team of back-up musicians, and the stage design -- red velvet curtains, a starry backdrop -- has a choice David Lynch surreality to it this time around. Here's the setlist:

To Be Alone With You /
I'll Be Your Baby Tonight /
It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) /
Visions Of Johanna (listen here) /
Cold Irons Bound /
Moonlight /
Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again /
High Water (For Charley Patton) (Listen here) /
Summer Days /
Standing In The Doorway /
Highway 61 Revisited /
Desolation Row

Encore: Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues / All Along The Watchtower

Aside from the occasional harp solo at center stage (during "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight" and "Desolation Row," for example), Dylan spent the evening on the keys. His voice is not it what once was, obviously, but I generally get over that by the first song or so -- In fact, on some cuts, like "It's Alright, Ma" or "Watchtower," I actually find Dylan's current raspy, menacing delivery an improvement.

For me, last night's highlights were "Visions of Johanna" and "Desolation Row," both of which remain two of Dylan's most transcendent wordscapes. And the Hendrix-esque closer "All Along the Watchtower," while not really a surprise, just keeps getting better and better -- Bob's now added a very eerie echo-effect to the last couplet ("Outside in the distance / A wildcat did growl / Two riders were approaching / The wind began to howwwwll...") I'm very much looking forward to seeing how he'll top that tonight.

By way of my sis, Beyonce Knowles is on the short list to play Bob Dylan (or at least one of his seven incarnations) in Todd Haynes' forthcoming I'm not there: Suppositions On A Film Concerning Dylan. Yeah, I can see it.

An event of note last night here at Columbia's Miller Theater: Music critic Greil Marcus, Princeton historian Sean Wilentz, and Oxford poetry scholar Christopher Ricks came together to contemplate Dylania old and new. Marcus began by speaking on the many lives of "Masters of War," including Dylan's Gulf War I Grammy performance and the recent "Coalition of the Willing" episode at a Boulder, Colorado high school. Wilentz followed by discussing Dylan's debts of gratitude (and debt to history) in the recent Chronicles. And Ricks punned his way through a priceless disquisition on Blonde on Blonde and the differences among poetry, prose, and song, finishing his remarks with a defense of "Just Like a Woman," which apparently has been deemed misogynistic in certain academic corners. (I asked the panel about the mixed reception to Masked & Anonymous, and Wilentz & Marcus in particular praised it as an underrated film...I'll probably have to see it again at some point.)

All in all, it was quite an interesting evening of Dylanology, although I must admit, I was a bit put off by some of Ricks' comments in the Q&A session -- He called "Masters of War" (and, for that matter, "The Death of Emmett Till") self-absorbed and overly tendentious songs, which I think there's a good deal of truth to, but then proceeded to castigate the audience for indulging its generally anti-Bush sentiment (via some mild chuckling) during Marcus' Coalition of the Willing anecdote. Ricks began by deploring knee-jerk political responses in either direction as a typically American (and occasionally Dylanian) vice...ok, fine, that's a criticism we've all heard before. "Fist fighting is here to stay,
It's just the old American way." But Ricks then went on to bemoan the tribulations faced by his poor right-wing friends in Massachusetts, who thought -- correctly, in Ricks' view -- that "John Kerry didn't deserve the presidency." (As you might expect, this gave the smattering of right-leaning folk amid the audience a chance to clap vociferously and to indulge anew the currently-popular fallacy that they're an oppressed minority.)

Yes, unfortunately, the decline of civility in debate and the "MacNeill-Lehrerization" of every issue into two opposite and irreconcilable poles are lamentable repercussions of the way politics is practiced today, as Jon Stewart famously noted on Crossfire several months ago. (Or, as Bob once put it, "Lies that life is black and white spoke from my skull...Ah, but I was so much older then,
I'm younger than that now.") But that doesn't mean that Americans' opinions of the war in Iraq aren't well-thought out and hard-won. Ricks treated the issue as basically six-one, half-dozen-the-other, that to voice an opinion about the Iraq War is somehow irresponsible and -- worse -- uncouth. (Whatsmore, I had no idea what anybody's politics were until Ricks began complaining about the presumed incivility in the room, at which point the audience immediately bifurcated into lefties and righties.) In sum, incivility is a serious problem, sure. But, for that matter, so is war.

The Q&A aside, though, the evening made for an eloquent appreciation of the many gifts of Bob Dylan, gifts further illuminated by the warmth and regard with which Marcus, Wilentz and Ricks held these songs to the light and uncovered some of their fragile tendrils of meaning and allusion. And if nothing else, the conference made for an excellent excuse to go home and delve into Bob's back pages for the remainder of the evening, and listen to old songs with new ears.

"But you who philosophise disgrace and criticise all fears,
Take the rag away from your face. Now ain't the time for your tears." Another quality Dylan link sent by way of All About George: Mother Jones' Ian Frazier delves into the story behind and after The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll.

"Of Dylan's many achievements, the most fundamental was his hitching together of the folk-lyric tradition and Western modernism, connecting them at the point where their expressive ambiguities met...Dylan did not do this to prove a point; he was naturally omnivorous, and he intuited the connection without worrying about pedigree." Sent to me by All About George, Luc Sante surveys recent Dylan literature for the NY Review of Books. Speaking of which, tickets for Bob's upcoming five-night stand at the Beacon Theatre go on sale this morning at 10am. In a perfect world, I'd go to all of 'em (while catching a matinee of Hitchhiker's on that Friday, April 29.) But, financial constraints being what they are, I'll probably settle on either 2 or 3 shows. We'll see.

Sent to me by way of All About George, the Washington Post rambles through "Bob Dylan: American Journey 1956-66," a new exhibit at the EMP in Seattle. Now there's something for y'all historians out there attending this week's annual AHA meeting to peruse, should the presentations wear thin and the job hunting grow disconsolate.

"It was like being in an Edgar Allan Poe story and you're just not that person everybody thinks you are, though they call you that all the time." In his first TV interview in 19 years (60 Minutes this Sunday), Bob Dylan tries once again to shake the burdens of expectation. "'You're the prophet. You're the savior.' I never wanted to be a prophet or a savior. Elvis maybe. I could see myself becoming him. But prophet? No."

"But there's one thing I know, though I'm younger than you -- Even Jesus would never forgive what you do." By way of a friend of mine (and in a striking confluence of the music and civil liberties posts earlier today), a high school band in Colorado -- Coalition of the Willing -- has the Secret Service sicced on them for practicing Bob Dylan's "Masters of War." Hmm...I've been known to belt that one quite loudly in the occasional times I plug in around here (It's basically A-minor throughout.) I guess I'd better begin with a disclaimer from now on to assuage the neighbors.

For the historians and Dylanologists out there (or for those wondering why Dylan would contribute a new song to a flat-out stinker like Gods and Generals), here's another intriguing passage from Bob Dylan's Chronicles, on his early days in the archives as a Civil War enthusiast. (Besides Clausewitz, he also professes an admiration for Reconstruction-era Republican Thaddeus Stevens, who "championed the weak" and "made a big impression on me," in a separate passage. (Chronicles, p. 40))

"I couldn't exactly put in words what I was looking for, but I began searching in principle for it, over at the New York Public Library, a monumental building with marble floors and walls, vacuous and spacious caverns, vaulted ceiling. A building that radiates triumph and glory when you walk inside. In one of the upstairs reading rooms I started reading articles in newspapers on microfilm from 1855 to about 1865 to see what daily life was like. I wasn't so much interested in the issues as intrigued by the language and rhetoric of the times. Newspapers like the Chicago Tribune, the Brooklyn Daily Times, and the Pennsylvania Freeman. Others, too, like the Memphis Daily Eagle, the Savannah Daily Herald, and Cincinnati Enquirer.

It wasn't like it was another world, but the same one only with more urgency, and the issue of slavery wasn't the only concern. There were news items about reform movements, antigambling leagues, rising crime, child labor, temperance, slave-wage factories, loyalty oaths and religious revivals. You get the feeling that the newspapers themselves could explode and lightning will burn and everybody will perish. Everybody uses the same God, quotes the same Bible and law and literature. Plantation slavecrats of Virginia are accused of breeding and selling their own children. In the Northern cities, there's a lot of discontent and debt is piled high and seems out of control.

The plantation aristocracy run their plantations like city-states. They are like the Roman republic where an elite group of characters rule supposedly for the good of all. They've got sawmills, gristmills, distilleries, country stores, et cetera. Every state of mind opposed by another...Christian piety and weird mind philosophies turned on their heads. Fiery orators, like William Lloyd Garrison, a conspicuous abolitionist from Boston who even has his own newspaper. There are riots in Memphis and in New Orleans. There's a riot in New York where two hundred people are killed outside of the Metropolitan Opera House because an English actor has taken the place of an American one. [Sic -- 23 dead. Bob's probably conflating the 1849 Astor Riot with the 1863 Draft Riots.] Anti-slave labor advocates inflaming crowds in Cincinnati, Buffalo, and Cleveland that, if the Southern states are allowed to rule, the Northern factory owners would then be forced to use slaves as free laborers. This causes riots, too.

Lincoln comes into the picture in the 1850s. He is referred to in the Northern press as a baboon or giraffe, and there were a lot of caricatures of him. Nobody takes him seriously. It's impossible to conceive that he would become the father figure that he is today. You wonder how people so united by geography and religious ideals could become such bitter enemies. After a while you become aware of nothing but a culture of feeling, of black days, of schism, evil for evil, the common destiny of the human being getting thrown off course. It's all one long funeral song, but there's a certain imperfection in the themes, an ideology of high abstraction, a lot of epic, bearded characters, exalted men who are not necessarily good.

No one single idea keeps you contented for too long. It's hard to find any of the neoclassical virtues, either. All that rhetoric about chivalry and honor -- that must have been added later. Even the Southern womanhood thing. It's a shame what happened to the women. Most of them were abandoned to starve on farms with their children, unprotected and left to fend for themselves as victims to the elements. The suffering is endless, and the punishment is going to be forever. It's all so unrealistic, grandiose, and sanctimonious at the same time.

There was a difference in the concept of time, too. In the South, people lived their lives with sun-up, high noon, sun-set, spring, summer. In the North, people lived by the clock. The factory stroke, whistles and bells, Northerners had to "be on time." In some ways the Civil War would be a battle between two kinds of time. Abolition of slavery didn't even seem to be an issue when the first shots were fired at Fort Sumter. [Sic! Tell that to John Brown or Alexander Stephens. To be fair, though, elsewhere in Chronicles (pp. 74, 76), Dylan notes other theories for the war's coming.]

It all makes you feel creepy. The age that I was living in didn't resemble this age, but yet it did in some mysterious and traditional way. Not just a little bit, but a lot. There was a broad spectrum and commonwealth that I was living upon, and the basic psychology of that life was every bit a part of it. If you turned the light towards it, you could see the full complexity of human nature. Back there, America was put on the cross, died, and was resurrected. There was nothing synthetic about it. The godawful truth of that would be the all-encompassing template behind everything that I would write.

I crammed my head full as of much of this stuff as I could stand and locked it away in my mind out of sight, left it alone. Figured I could send a truck back for it later." {Chronicles, pp. 84-86 -- emphasis and paragraph breaks mine.)

Some choice words on moral values and politics, courtesy of Bob Dylan's Chronicles (my current read):

"Clausewitz's book seemed outdated, but there's a lot in it that's real, and you can understand a lot about conventional life and the pressures of environment by reading it. When he claims that politics has taken the place of morality and politics is brute force, he's not playing. You have to believe it. You do exactly as you're told, whoever you are. Knuckle under or you're dead. Don't give me any of that jazz about hope or nonsense about righteousness. Don't give me that dance that God is with us, or that God supports us. Let's get down to brass tacks. There isn't any moral order. You can forget that. Morality has nothing in common with politics. It's not there to transgress. It's either high ground or low ground. This is the way the world is and nothing's gonna change it. It's a crazy, mixed up world and you have to look it right in the eye. Clausewitz in some ways is a prophet. Without realizing it, some of the stuff in his book can shape your ideas. If you think you're a dreamer, you can read this stuff and realize you're not even capable of dreaming. Dreaming is dangerous. Reading Clausewitz makes you take your own thoughts a little less seriously." (Chronicles, p. 45)

"'Chronicles: Volume One' leaves much to be said in future installments, and much good reason to look forward to them." Ex-film critic Janet Maslin peruses Dylan's "flabbergasting" Chronicles for the NYT. Update: Along related lines, Salon compiles a list of First Dylan meetings.

"A few years earlier Ronnie Gilbert, one of The Weavers, had introduced me at one of the Newport Folk Festivals saying, 'And here he is...take him, you know him, he's yours.' I had failed to sense the ominous forebodings in the introduction. Elvis had never even been introduced like that. 'Take him, he's yours!' What a crazy thing to say! Screw that. As far as I knew, I didn't belong to anybody then or now." On the eve of Chronicles, his long-awaited first volume of memoirs, the freewheelin' Bob Dylan sits down with Newsweek and offers up a choice excerpt on the price of fame (which reveals why Self-Portrait is pretty lousy.) It sounds like he's elided over some of his more interesting periods for now (Blood on the Tracks, the Christian years), but this should still be quite a fascinating read.

R.E.M. talk Around the Sun and, in discussing their dwindling popularity Stateside, pay credit to Bob Dylan. Notes Peter Buck, "In 1975, people thought he was going to be president. Now he plays 3,000 seat theatres. His last two records are the best things he's done in years. So I won't calculate who our audience is. I'll take whoever I can get at whatever level I can get them.'"

"You are able to take an idea and give it form: the idea that Harlem has hands, feet are flaming, lips are cracked and country, hail hammers and skies crack poems." In a burst of NY Times Dylanania, Jonathan Lethem reviews Dylan's Vision of Sin, the new tome of poetry criticism by acclaimed Oxford Professor Christopher Ricks, while Lucinda Williams pays her own respects to Robert Zimmerman. And, elsewhere in the music-themed Book Review this week, Time politico and Primary Colors author Joe Klein proclaims his fondness for Wilco.

"Popular culture usually comes to an end very quickly. It gets thrown into the grave. I wanted to do something that stood alongside Rembrandt's paintings." Via reader Jeff some time ago, Bob Dylan opens up about his songwriting process.

"The creepiest on-screen clone army of 2003 wasn't The Matrix's league of Agent Smiths at all, but Masked and Anonymous's cast of Bob Dylans. He was everybody, everywhere. Or, rather, everybody was him." Via my friend Mark, an intriguing take on Bob Dylan's recent run, including M&A, Live 1964, and the new book on Blood on the Tracks. (No Victoria's Secret, however.) Also in Dylan news, by way of Absolute Piffle, Bob's apparently also gotten into the wine business. Lingerie, wine...are Dylan-brand scented candles next?

Well, I see you got your brand new leopard-skin pill-box linens... Good friend Seth Stevenson holds forth on the Dylan Victoria's Secret ad. I found this particular tidbit quite interesting: "Asked in 1965 what might tempt him to sell out, Dylan replied: 'Ladies undergarments'." Hmmm...Well, now that Bobby D has fallen for Victoria, will Ray Davies be next?

"As I went out one morning to breathe the air around Tom Paine's,
I spied the fairest damsel that ever did walk in a new unlined demi with lace..." The times they are a-changin', 'cause apparently Bob Dylan is now hawking Victoria's Secret. Ah well, as the guy notes in this article, I'd rather have Dylan selling lingerie than the new BMW or something. In fact, this may even be a step up for the big fella after Masked and Anonymous.

Bobby Dylan remembers Johnny Cash: "If we want to know what it means to be mortal, we need look no further than the Man in Black. Blessed with a profound imagination, he used the gift to express all the various lost causes of the human soul. This is a miraculous and humbling thing. Listen to him, and he always brings you to your senses. He rises high above all, and he'll never die or be forgotten, even by persons not born yet -- especially those persons -- and that is forever."

Sent to me via All About George, writer Hannah Griffith discusses how she learned to stop worrying and love Dylan.

Alas, I'm not going to be around (and my limited discretionary funds for concert-going was already spent on R.E.M. tickets), but if you live in NYC and you're looking to wash the taste of Masked and Anonymous out of your mouth, Dylan's playing the Hammerstein Ballroom August 12-14. Should be grand.

So I went down to the Angelika yesterday afternoon (always a strange experience - you can hear and feel the subway running under you during films) to catch Masked and Anonymous and, well, I can only recommend this film to two types of people: Hard-core Dylanologists, and those cinema completists who need to see Ed Harris in blackface. I consider myself a pretty heavy-duty Dylan fan, and even I was a bit bored at certain points. The movie is basically Dylan's version of Waking Life, or what might happen if Bob had entered his own portal a la Being John Malkovich. All of the characters in the film speak in Dylanistic soliloquys (You actually get a very good sense of this from the website), and thus you end up with Giovanni Ribisi's disquisition on war, Val Kilmer's take on animals, etc. The movie takes place in a strange alternate present, where (I'm guessing) the revolutions of the Sixties went sour and ended up tearing the nation apart. Dylan's dad seems to be the ailing leader of the Bearflag Republic or something, and...well, there's no point in trying to explain it.

The movie is basically an extended riff on Dylan and Dylania...at (brief) moments it has the scope and absurdist grandeur of "Desolation Row," "Idiot Wind," or "It's Alright Ma." And some of the renditions of Dylan's music, from the new "One More Cup of Coffee" to the acapella "The Times, They Are a Changin'" are truly beautiful. Most of the time, however, it fails to capture Dylan's spark, and comes off flat and, well, embarrassing (particularly in some of the more questionable racial choices.) I think the extended monologues on life, death, and humanity are meant to have you dwell on the fundamental questions, but as the movie wore on I found myself contemplating altogether different queries: Did Chris Penn eat one of the Baldwins? Who would win in a caged deathmatch between Penelope Cruz and Audrey Tautou? Who knew it would end so badly between Walter and the Dude? When did Mickey Rourke turn into Billy Bob Thornton? So on, so on. I guess I'd recommend that Dylan fans see this film (particularly if you've sat through Renaldo & Clara), just to see where our man is at these days. (In fact, some Dylan fans seem to love it.) All in all, though, I can't say I recommend the film as a film.

On another note, in the two hours I had to kill between this movie and seeing a friend's (very good) band at the Baggot Inn, I stumbled upon a huge line at Tower Records, dutifully waiting to get Dave Gahan's signature. Times change, I guess. Ten years ago, I probably would have staked out this line with a handful of vinyl 12" DM singles. Nowadays, I just skipped it in favor of Forbidden Planet and The Strand. Must be getting old.

A Japanese writer finds himself quoted in Dylan. Sounds like he's got the right attitude about it...I wouldn't think this really constitutes plagiarism.

The LA Times checks in with REM as they gear up for a fall tour, pay their respects to Dylan, and talk about what songs they'll never play again. "Shiny Happy People" is no surprise, but I always kinda liked "Pop Song 89."

Martin Scorsese signs on to create a Bob Dylan documentary not unlike The Last Waltz. Cool...I assume this'll be Marty's next project after The Aviator.

Ethel the Blog points the way to a remarkable confluence of two of my favorite things: the freewheelin' Bob Dylan and ADA Claire Kincaid. Apparently, the lovely Jill Hennessy sings "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" on the recently released T-Bone Burnett-produced soundtrack for Crossing Jordan. Other potential standout tracks (not by Hennessy) include covers of VU's "Pale Blue Eyes", Dylan's "Buckets of Rain," Donovan's "Season of the Witch," and The Kinks' "Days" (Also covered by Elvis Costello for the Until the End of the World soundtrack.) Right now, there's no sign of any of these tracks on Kazaa, not that I've checked or anything. To be honest, I've never watched Crossing Jordan - from afar, it looks awful. But that doesn't speak any less of the late Ms. Kincaid...for two seasons there, Jack McCoy was a lucky, lucky man.

Bob Dylan's Never-Ending Tour continues in the spring of 2003. If you live in the South, you might want to check out these dates.

Sundance premieres Masked and Anonymous, Bob Dylan's return to the big screen. I'd heard about this project awhile back, but I hadn't realized it was actually filmed and in the can. I'm very curious...it's got a stellar cast, and Zimmy, of course. I could see this being really interesting or really embarrassing, but if nothing else comes out of it than introducing me to that Italian hip-hop version of "Like a Rolling Stone" on the first clip (found on Google/Kazaa as "Come una pietra scalciata" by Articolo 31), it's been worth it.

Bob Dylan's second night at the Garden was as enjoyable as the first, with its own share of surprises. The bulk of the setlist remained the same - Although this time around Bob seemed a little more hopeful (with Forever Young and The Times They-Are-A Changin' in the mix), he still made time for some Dylanesque zingers (such as One Too Many Mornings and You Ain't Going Nowhere) To be honest, at the end of the show the little cynic inside my head was on the fence about whether going twice was justified...until the band closed the night with a special surprise. Bob said a few words about a friend who couldn't be there tonight: "We were such good buddies, so I wanted to play this for him." At which point they broke into The Beatles' [George Harrison's] "Something." It was a beautiful moment to cap another great night.

Caught the first of Bob Dylan's two NYC shows last night, and as always it was a powerful experience. Dylan (who spent most of the night on piano) definitely had an agenda for the evening. For one, the war in Iraq weighed heavily on the early part of the set. A cover of Don Henley's "End of the Innocence" (?!) at the 4-spot led into the always-excellent "Things Have Changed" (as in the The-Times-They-Are-NOT-A'-Changin') and, after a surprisingly rockin' version of the Stones' "Brown Sugar," (?!), Bob gave us the one-two punch of "Masters of War" (self-explanatory) and "It's Alright Ma (I'm only Bleedin')" (in which he yelled the line "And even the President of the United States must have to stand NAKED.")

For another, Dylan spent an inordinate amount of time playing other peoples' songs, with Neil Young ("Old Man") and Warren Zevon ("Mutineer") tunes at the back end of the set. Considering also that the encore was "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" and "All Along the Watchtower" - two songs noted for other peoples' versions of them - and it seems like Bob felt like paying credit to his colleagues tonight.

All in all, a great show, with "Just Like a Woman" and "Shelter from the Storm" also deserving special attention (The really hardcore Dylan fans' highlight seemed to be the second song, "Yea! Heavy and a Bottle of Bread," from The Basement Tapes...but to be honest, I didn't recognize it until I saw the setlist.) The night also featured the following misheard exchange between me and my sister during a very loud "Drifter's Escape:" Her (pointing at guy a few rows over dancing like crazy): "He's jamming!" Me: "He's from Yemen?" Ah well, I guess you had to be there. (Picture courtesy of Jim Lawhead.)

The freewheelin' Bob Dylan comes back to the Garden Nov 11 and Nov 13, bookending the special-edition Fellowship release. Man, that's going to be a great week. Also, the aforementioned Peter Gabriel is playing MSG on Nov. 21...unfortunately, I teach section that night.

The Covers Project, via Pearls That Are In His Eyes. Great for use in association with Kazaa. To take just two examples, I didn't know Scott Weiland covered Depeche Mode's "But Not Tonight" (tho' the original is still better) or that Elvis Costello riffed on Dylan's country classic, "I Threw It All Away." Good stuff.

Dylan announces his Fall 2002 tour dates...alas, it looks like he's coming nowhere near the Big City.

The official Bob Dylan site announces he'll be touring the US through the fall of 2002. Dates to follow. Apparently, Dylan's also got a new song, "Waitin' for You", for the Ya-Ya soundtrack. Time to hit Kazaa.

Dark Horizons, among other places, reports that Bob Dylan will be penning a new tune for the Gods and Generals film.