Songwriter Confessions #5
The ghost of Bob Dylan breezed into the studio this week and
touched me on the shoulder. Lyrically, Bobby Zim has always been
right up there, although melodically he's down here with the
rest of us. I played in a folk group in the 60s around Britain
and in France and my mental repertoire of folk music often
helped me in spotting melodies that ole Bob had borrowed from
the folkies. For instance: the melody of Bob Dylan's 115th Dream
is a direct lift of a 19th century whaling song called Brave
Franklin (and His Gallant Crew). But music is full of
coincidences: ever notice that the verse chords and melody of
the Bellamy Bros' If I Said You Had a Beautiful Body and the
Eagles' Lying Eyes are exactly the same? No? I bet the lawyers
did... Anyhoo... Bob's specter touched me on the shoulder and
suit-ably inspired, I grabbed a pencil and started
scribbling...here's what I wrote:
Crystal tango souvenirs race through my boxcar dreams And
leopard skins in pickle jars lie down in velvet screams The
image of the conqueror is burned into my brow No resurrection
tragedy can undersell me now...
No, I don't know what it means either...but it gets
worse/better...
One screaming year of ecstacy falls in a ball of flame Crying
out Jerusalem or any other name And sailors scramble to the
ropes still coiled around his neck While kings and queens look
on and throw their arrows with respect
So far, so whaaat? But now it gets pretty good...
A fortune hidden in the flames, a beast inside a cage No
careless hand can understand the storms that in him rage The
monster lies in alibis thrown down from day to day I wish I had
the legs to go, but more the guts to stay
I kinda like that, but now we need the big wrap-up...
So fare you well, young pensioner; a husk inside a shell And
all you princes of delight, I know you far too well The eagle
shakes his feathers out, the angel tips his ring And Noah pulls
the plug out, as the waves begin to sing...
Well, I must say at this point, I don't know whether to reach
for the Valium or the Smith & Wesson. This may be why Bob
crashed his motorcycle and went away for a while. I even sought
the advice of my good friends Jose Cuervo and Jack Daniels, but
after much discussion, no consensus had been reached by the time
I fell off the chair onto the cat. If you think you have a clue,
drop me a line at feedback@billdollarmus
ic.com. And if Mr Dylan should happen to see this... love
ya, Bob!...and-a...one...two...three...
Copyright- Bill Dollar 2005