A week ago I went to
a Bob Dylan concert with daughter, son-in-law, and a friend. I went mostly for
Jack since I was not a big Dylan fan, but he was. His favorite songs were “It
Ain’t Me, Babe” and “Don’t Think Twice,” songs I hated; they were break-up
songs, so why would Jack think I’d want to hear him sing them?
I first heard a
Dylan record in summer 1963, in a college dorm room. The raspy, atonal voice
was annoying, and because I connect to songs via rhythm and melody, not lyrics,
I didn’t get the appeal. Jack and I went to the Dylan concert in October 1965,
when he famously did the first set in his usual folkie acoustic style, then
riled most of the audience with his electric set for the second half. But it
was the electric songs that woke me up: “Maggie’s Farm,” “Positively 4th
Street,” “Like a Rolling Stone.” For the next 10 or so years, every change
Dylan made in his style fit right in with the zeitgeist and my zeitgeist. Then
he hit his religious phase, becoming a born-again Christian for a brief period,
and he lost me; “Gotta Serve Somebody” was not a song I could relate to.
Jack and I had also
gone to the Blood on the Tracks concert in 1974 or 1975. Jack had a book of
Dylan lyrics, titled “Lyrics 1962-1985,” and Dylan’s “Chronicles, Volume One”
(if there was a volume 2, that one isn’t in the apartment).
At last week’s
concert, I cried when “It Ain’t Me, Babe” was the second song and “Highway 61”
the third and “Simple Twist of Fate” the fourth (that was one of my favorites,
and I cried throughout it). He didn’t sing another of my favorites, “Lay Lady
Lay,” from “Nashville Skyline.” And I knew that Dylan did different
arrangements for his oldies, but still, “Blowin’ in the Wind” was
unrecognizable until almost the end.
Dylan was the soundtrack of the ’60s, of my
’60s. Looking through the “Lyrics” book, there are more songs I remember and
like than I thought. I’m glad I went to the concert, and felt Jack there,
singing those songs to me.
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