Dylan at the Greek, 10/19/12

I went on my annual pilgrimage to a Bob Dylan concert on October 29, this time at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley, my favorite venue for music in the Bay Area. Having been a loyal Dylan devotee for 49 years, I pay homage most every year. Even when he was drinking so heavily he titled his worst album Knocked Out Loaded, I still enjoyed the concerts. With Mark Knopfler offering a perfect opening set, this year proved to be a marvelous evening. Following are some lyrics from the songs he sang, with those lines that strike me most strongly marked in bold, followed by some personal comments.

Bob opened with “Watching The River Flow,” a song written during his mid-Sixties rural retreat at Woodstock where he recuperated from the madness of his sudden fame. The song took on greater meaning two days later when I heard readings from Deep River by Howard Thurman at the 17th Annual Howard Thurman Convocation at the Church for the Fellowship of All Peoples. In that book, Thurman addresses how “the river,” which is ever changing and uncontrollable, carries deep metaphorical meanings.

Bob sings:

If I had wings and I could fly
I know where I would go
But right now I’ll just sit here so contentedly
And watch the river flow… 

People disagreeing everywhere you look
Makes you wanna stop and read a book
Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street
That was really shook
But this ol’ river keeps on rollin’, though
No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow
And as long as it does I’ll just sit here
And watch the river flow

I would rather be with a true You, but absent that, I’m content, present, waiting.

First released on his early Another Side of Bob Dylan album, “To Ramona,” a haunting lament to a lover who’s about to return to the South, was performed at the piano with the band playing quietly at first.

And there’s no use in tryin’
T’ deal with the dyin’
Though I cannot explain that in lines…

But it grieves my heart, love
To see you tryin’ to be a part of
A world that just don’t exist
It’s all just a dream, babe
A vacuum, a scheme, babe
That sucks you into feelin’ like this
I can see that your head
Has been twisted and fed
By worthless foam from the mouth…

You’ve been fooled into thinking
That the finishin’ end is at hand
Yet there’s no one to beat you
No one t’ defeat you
’Cept the thoughts of yourself feeling bad… 

From fixtures and forces and friends
Your sorrow does stem
That hype you and type you
Making you feel
That you must be exactly like them… 

For deep in my heart
I know there is no help I can bring
Everything passes
Everything changes
Just do what you think you should do
And someday maybe
Who knows, baby
I’ll come and be cryin’ to you

I can only support Your efforts to overcome society’s brainwashing as best You can.

“Things Have Changed,” was written as the soundtrack for the movie “Wonder Boys,” which deals with an author suffering mid-life writer’s block. Normally, I take the song to be from the main character’s point of view, not Dylan’s. But on this night, Bob and his band performed it with such verve I could feel “another side” of Bob identifying with the movie’s character with life-affirming relish.

I’m well dressed, waiting on the last train
Standing on the gallows with my head in a noose
Any minute now I’m expecting all hell to break loose… 

Gonna take dancing lessons, do the jitterbug rag
Ain’t no shortcuts, gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think he’s got anything to prove
Lot of water under the bridge, lot of other stuff too
Don’t get up gentlemen, I’m only passing through… 

I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road
If the Bible is right, the world will explode 

I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can 

Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much 

Feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet… 

I hurt easy, I just don’t show it
You can hurt someone and not even know it 

The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity
Gonna get low down, gonna fly high 

People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed

Having sex is merely icing on the cake. Deep nourishment comes from getting away from one’s ego and loving a true You. But being real can reveal “too much information,” as they say.

“Tangled Up In Blue” is another story of a quest to find lost love.

…But all the while I was alone
The past was close behind
I seen a lot of women
But she never escaped my mind, and I just grew
Tangled up in blue… 

Then he started into dealing with slaves
And something inside of him died
She had to sell everything she owned
And froze up inside… 

So now I’m goin’ back again
I got to get to her somehow
All the people we used to know
They’re an illusion to me now… 

We always did feel the same
We just saw it from a different point of view
Tangled up in blue

Lifeless zombies, shut down by fear, are everywhere. I seek authentic encounter, but time and again I discover I was in fact relating to an illusion, a victim of wishful thinking.

All of Bob’s music is rooted in the blues, which can be liberating when it helps one face reality head on. Once when introducing the great blues man John Lee Hooker, Bob called Hooker “the godfather of our music.” When accepting a Grammy, in reference to another blues legend, he said, “Like Robert Johnson said, ‘Our music will bust your brains.’” The night of this concert, the biting humor in the blues came through more clearly than ever, often prompting me to laugh, like with “Cry A While.”

…To break a trusting heart like mine was just your style
Well, I cried for you—now it’s your turn to cry awhile 

I’m on the fringes of the night, fighting back tears that I can’t control
Some people they ain’t human, they got no heart or soul
Well, I’m crying to the Lord—I’m tryin’ to be meek and mild
Yes, I cried for you—now it’s your turn, you can cry awhile 

Well, there’s preachers in the pulpits and babies in the cribs
I’m longin’ for that sweet fat that sticks to your ribs
I’m gonna buy me a barrel of whiskey—I’ll die before I turn senile
Well, I cried for you—now it’s your turn, you can cry awhile

Smiling at the futility of trying to be humble, I move on and buy some whiskey, determined to enjoy life when I’m alone, while preferring to cuddle with a dear friend.

Love unfulfilled also comes through poignantly in “Make You Feel My Love.”

…I know you haven’t made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I’ve known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong 

I’d go hungry, I’d go black and blue
I’d go crawling down the avenue
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do
To make you feel my love 

The storms are raging on the rollin’ sea
And on the highway of regret
The winds of change are blowing wild and free
You ain’t seen nothing like me yet 

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn’t do
Go to the ends of the earth for you
To make you feel my love

Allowing the perfect to be the enemy of the good, we often fail to appreciate the true You standing right in front of us, not trusting that we deserve the love that is at hand.

Written after Katrina, “The Levee's Gonna Break” weaves the personal and the social.

I paid my time and now I'm as good as new
They can't take me back, not unless I want them to… 

If it keep on rainin' the levee gonna break
Some of these people gonna strip you of all they can take… 

I can't stop here, I ain't ready to unload
Riches and salvation can be waiting behind the next bend in the road… 

I picked you up from the gutter and this is the thanks I get
You say you want me to quit ya, I told you no, not just yet… 

Put on your cat clothes, Mama, put on your evening dress
A few more years of hard work then there'll be a thousand years of happiness… 

If it keep on rainin' the levee gonna break
I tried to get you to love me, but I won't repeat that mistake… 

If it keep on rainin' the levee gonna break
Some people still sleepin', some people are wide awake

I can’t force Others to wake up and be a true You. They may use me and use me, but they won’t use me up and I resolve to remain available, praying for another ecstatic moment of authentic mutuality.

Lost love is also addressed in one of his very best songs, “Shelter From The Storm.”

’Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form… 

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I’ll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm… 

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes an’ blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn… 

She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns… 

Now there’s a wall between us, somethin’ there’s been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed… 

I bargained for salvation an’ they gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn… 

Well, I’m livin’ in a foreign country but I’m bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”

Innocently taking too much for granted leads to walls of mixed messages and no-win double binds, leaving only memories of pure grace.

From these opening songs that speak of romance and its loss, Dylan shifted to social and political commentary with “Highway 61 Revisited.”

Now the rovin’ gambler he was very bored
He was tryin’ to create a next world war
He found a promoter who nearly fell off the floor
He said I never engaged in this kind of thing before
But yes I think it can be very easily done
We’ll just put some bleachers out in the sun
And have it on Highway 61

Not so surreal after all.

Probably one of my five favorite Dylan songs, “Desolation Row” continued the shift to social commentary with a reflection on the value of vulnerability.

And the riot squad they’re restless
They need somewhere to go…

Now Ophelia, she’s ’neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession’s her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah’s great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row…

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They’re trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She’s in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
“Have Mercy on His Soul”…

They’re spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words…

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row…

All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can’t read too good
Don’t send me no more letters, no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

Words deaden. Our society teaches people to talk all the time without talking about anything important, afraid to share openly and honestly, jealous and resentful of those who do, striking back to hurt others in order to keep them away, unwilling to deeply experience and share one’s dark side or to accept others non-judgmentally when they reveal themselves. As Emerson warned, “society will retaliate.”

“Thunder On The Mountain” continues to comment more broadly while addressing one individual.

Feel like my soul is beginning to expand
Look into my heart and you will sort of understand
You brought me here, now you're trying to run me away
The writing's on the wall, come read it, come see what it say…

I don't need any guide, I already know the way
Remember this, I'm your servant both night and day…

Gonna forget about myself for a while, gonna go out and see what others need

I've been sitting down studying the art of love
I think it will fit me like a glove…
Everybody got to wonder what's the matter with this cruel world today…

I got the porkchops, she got the pie
She ain't no angel and neither am I
Shame on your greed, shame on your wicked schemes
I'll say this, I don't give a damn about your dreams…

I did all I could and I did it right there and then
I've already confessed – no need to confess again…

I'll plant and I'll harvest what the earth brings forth…
For the love of God, you ought to take pity on yourself

In the midst of a wicked world filled with greed, I try to forget about myself and focus on the needs of others, doing what I can with compassion, for myself as well as others, accepting rejection when it happens.

Apparently using a straight man walking into a gay orgy as a metaphor, “Ballad Of A Thin Man” lacerates narrow mindedness.

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, “Who is that man?”
You try so hard
But you don’t understand…

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination…

You’ve been with the professors
And they’ve all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You’ve been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books
You’re very well read
It’s well known

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

The lack of imagination and the reluctance to let go stultify.

When local radio in Dallas in 1965 played “Like A Rolling Stone” once an hour and had listeners call in to express what it meant to them, I knew something was happening I never expected.

You’ve gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you’re gonna have to get used to it
You said you’d never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He’s not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?…

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They’re drinkin’, thinkin’ that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you’d better lift your diamond ring, you’d better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can’t refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You’re invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal

The pretty people only get close with pretty people. Myself, I prefer to relate soul-to-soul.

Dylan continues the themes of social oppression and the need for authenticity with “All Along The Watchtower.”

“There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief
“There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth” 

“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke
“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”

Why not be honest? In certain instances, it makes sense. But withholding and dissembling easily becomes a deadly habit.

Bob closed with “Blowin' In The Wind.”

Yes, ’n’ how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn’t see?…
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, ’n’ how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, ’n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind

And how long will it take for us to really listen to that person in front of us?