Another recently unearthed free verse poem, written a few months after my father’s passing. I was inspired to write about the comfort we find in art during times of uncertainty and pain. I’m happy it’s found a place.
In my time as a writer and consumer of poetry and songs, I’ve found few artists as polarizing to my fellow lovers of music and literature as Robert Zimmerman, aka Bob Dylan. From those who simply can’t find their way beyond the nasal vocal delivery to those who speak of him as a kind of prophet, the truth is few artists in popular music have had the kind of cultural impact as Dylan. I’m not saying anything that hasn’t been said better by many writers over Dylan’s seven-decade career, and this IS NOT a career retrospective – this is, as all things I will present to you in this space, about the craft and the mystery of art, and few have gotten as close to the heart of that mystery as Bob Dylan.
As a young songwriter, hearing Dylan for the first time was like God himself pulling back the curtain of creation and saying, “See, this is how it all works.” I was blown away, terrified, and determined to understand how someone could find themselves in such command of their craft. How the hell did he write like that? These fantastic images that flowed from his pen were like nothing I’d heard before, and they set my imagination on fire. Clearly, he was tapped into the source – there could be no other explanation. Later I’d find out that the source he was tapped into was a tremendous knowledge of folk and blues music, a bit of theft, poetry, and a lot of amphetamine. Still, plenty of artists had enjoyed their share of these and other things, but none of them returned from their trips with a message like this.
So what as artists of the social media age do we have left to learn from Dylan?
First, not to let the opinions of others dictate how you approach your work or determine what success and failure are to you. Is the act of creation enough? Is the act of creation and sharing it with others enough? Or does it need two thousand likes and to fill your inbox with hundreds of followers curious about your skin-care routine? If your answer is the latter – please take some time to rethink your approach.
Second, the bravery to follow one’s muse wherever it leads. Dylan, throughout his career, has been a chameleon. From Woody Guthrie clone, to protest singer, to rock ‘n’ roll cool guy, to a country artist, to evangelical preacher riding a slow train promising fire and brimstone, to bluesman, to doing his best Frank Sinatra impression, nothing has stood between Dylan and his vision. Tastemakers be damned. Carve it into your heart and bravely step into this cynical world to leave a mark that is uniquely yours. Bob would have it no other way.
A couple of years back, I attended a Dylan concert at the Brady Theater in Tulsa, Oklahoma. From the sparse stage set-up to the minimal, warm lighting, the room was ready to recieve the message.
Dylan took the stage with his incredible band and delivered not a single song in its original format. The audience of mostly general music fans were left stunned. What was this? Why is he changing the arrangements? What is he doing? The endings of several songs were met with an uncomfortable silence, followed by almost reluctant applause.
Dylan was showing us the raw truth of his craft. That there on his stage, in his mid-seventies, night after night, he was not there to deliver the hits. No, he had come to conjure spirits, to throw the curve, and call wild audibles all in an attempt to find that elusive moment where creativity, heart, and muse align. He was, in his way, pulling back the curtain and saying, “See, this is how it all works.”
When I began posting a few weeks back, I mentioned that I would share not only my poetry and updates regarding new releases but the work that inspires me.
After listing my favorite poetry collections of 2020 in a previous post, I thought it would be interesting to share some choice selections from other mediums. So, today we’re talking music. More specifically, Fionn Regan’s, The End of History.
Released in 2006, I stumbled onto this album after reading a short review in American Songwriter magazine. Regan, an Irish songwriter, was likely included in the magazine due to his association with the Nashville based label, Lost Highway. Upon first listen, I knew I’d found something extraordinary.
For me, it was all there, the apparent mastery of his instrument, the simple but effective vocal delivery, the ambiguous lyrics. It felt both modern and from another time altogether. I could close my eyes and picture the Irish countryside or a dense forest. It oozed with mystery and captured my imagination as few things had before.
I remember thinking to myself, ‘How am I the only person I know listening to this?’ I still don’t have an acceptable answer to that question. This album obviously stood head and shoulders above most of the music I’d discovered, and, at least stateside, it was seemingly met with indifference. My friends would suffer many drunken ramblings concerning this injustice. God Bless them for their patience.
The album received considerable praise overseas, being nominated for the Mercury Prize for Best Album released in the United Kingdom by a British or Irish act. I have no idea how far Regan’s influence reaches across the pond, but I do know he’s been able to release a steady stream of brilliant albums since The End of History.
So, as I stand at the brink of rambling, I will close by saying, If you haven’t heard this album and enjoy singer/songwriter/folk music, do yourself the enormous favor of getting on your streaming platform of choice and right the scales of justice.
Fourteen years later, I’m still listening and still unable to wipe the smile from my face. Enjoy.