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I don't write many diaries these days and don't write them to get in the recommended list. This one I would really like to get there, though. Not for what I write on it but to give it sufficient visibility to allow time for what all of you might write on it.

I am not even sure if the way I write this diary will work - I am really trying to create a blank wallpaper on which you will make your own comments.

I've just seen the first part of the four hour Scorsese film on Dylan which I understand is being given simultaneous premieres on the same night in both our countries. In fact, the BBC seems to be running various Dylan stuff all week on various channels - an indication of how deeply he is as much part of the UK psyche as he is part of your own in the USA.

I am not even sure if Kos will be happy at his blog being used for a discussion about Dylan (although does anyone else see a similarity in the looks between the twenty year old Dylan and Kos himself?)

So this diary is written because I'd just like to get your thoughts on the man and what he really means today in American society. I know that he is admired by you because I read the occasional comments here, but how relevant is he still?

I'm about the same age of Dylan but he was way much more advanced than I was when I first heard his music. It was around 1963. I was some sort middle class, ex-good school, headed for a profession but instead ended up at university as a bit-late student in Liverpool. In all honesty, I was the sort of jerk that this description sounds. The Beatles had emerged from the Cavern on the other side of the town and that was about as near to cool as maybe I was going to get. Except that I had this girl by the name of Cindy. She was a working class girl, bit of what my mother would have called a slut. Dyed long blonde hair, dirty finger nails from her mind numbing job behind the bright nail varnish and no education beyond middle school. I thought the attraction was just sex. Too late at the time, and truthfully far too many years too late when I should have been old and wise enough to have recognised the reality, it was a lot more than this. She had a mind that was way beyond mine, beyond were it was then and probably beyond were it is now. It was those long Sundays lying in my bedsit that she played the Dylan LP's to me. She talked to me about what he was saying and interpreted for me what those around him were saying. She gave me the insights that I only dimly glimpsed myself in the lines of Ferlinghetti and Ginsberg that we read to each other from the imported City Lights Bookshop paperbacks.

My only excuse to Kos for writing here about him is that he means so much to the left. He didn't just inform us in the sixties but does so about much of what we are doing now. I guess no one owns Dylan, not even we liberals. It has taken me all this time to feel at ease with the way that Dylan gives so little of himself to us beyond his poetry and music but I have learnt that we have no right to make any more demands of him. I still find him a paradox, as someone there in the background but also somehow there in the forefront. He is just there around us, I suppose, and we draw from him still.

I am no different from all those others who feel their life has been marked out by the milestones of the release of his new records. If I lost track of him in my late thirties, I think maybe Dylan was losing some of his own way at this time also. There was always something, though, that would blow your mind unexpectedly. Do others remember when the release of Blood on the Tracks suddenly brought it all back?

The Scorsese film tonight was brilliant. It was a weird experience, interspersing the Dylan pieces with the events of those early times, events that are themselves bookmarks of my own political awakening. I think I understand Dylan better from the comments of those who knew him in his early days, not that I expect to know him very well ever. I have his autobiography but, having read it twice, feel that it probably told me less than the Scorsese film told me.

I am highly intrigued by his relationship with Joan Baez. Her song about their time together and break up is bittersweet in the extreme, but there were no signals from her tonight. I love that woman and admire that she still has the will and strength to be with us now on the issues that we are fighting. She came to the North Wales Theatre two years ago to sing. I gave some flowers in at the stage door. How sad is that? But I am glad I did because that is all that I could do

Dylan is yours and I write on DKos because he represents much of what I admire about your country. Maybe we, over here, give him a status greater than you do? That would be weird as Scorsese kept reminding us tonight how badly we treated him when he changed from acoustic at the Manchester concert. I saw him again just four years ago in the same city. He seemed O.K. about being back  - but then he got the great reception that the outstanding gig deserved.

I've done my best to provide some wallpaper here, however incoherently. Bob Dylan. Ignore the diary and use this blank sheet to say whatever about the man.

Originally posted to Welshman on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:19 PM PDT.

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Comment Preferences

    •  Hi Greg! (none)
      We appreciate seeing real journalists lurking in the shadows around here. We even allow you to pimp your own work.

      I get all my data via the "Limbaugh method", I pull it out my ass.

      by Tomtech on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:22:40 PM PDT

      [ Parent ]

    •  Read it.. (none)
      ..and appreciated it. I liked hanging the comments on Ballad of the Thin Man.

      New International Times, the place where Kossacks and the world meet.

      by Welshman on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:44:04 PM PDT

      [ Parent ]

    •  thank you for the reminder! (none)
      tivoing as we type!

      and the intro blurb has snippets from one of my favorites:  

      Darkness at the break of noon
      Shadows even the silver spoon
      The handmade blade, the child's balloon
      Eclipses both the sun and moon
      To understand you know too soon
      There is no sense in trying.

      Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
      Suicide remarks are torn
      From the fool's gold mouthpiece
      The hollow horn plays wasted words
      Proves to warn
      That he not busy being born
      Is busy dying.

      Temptation's page flies out the door
      You follow, find yourself at war
      Watch waterfalls of pity roar
      You feel to moan but unlike before
      You discover
      That you'd just be
      One more person crying.

      So don't fear if you hear
      A foreign sound to your ear
      It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.

      As some warn victory, some downfall
      Private reasons great or small
      Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
      To make all that should be killed to crawl
      While others say don't hate nothing at all
      Except hatred.

      Disillusioned words like bullets bark
      As human gods aim for their mark
      Made everything from toy guns that spark
      To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
      It's easy to see without looking too far
      That not much
      Is really sacred.

      While preachers preach of evil fates
      Teachers teach that knowledge waits
      Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
      Goodness hides behind its gates
      But even the president of the United States
      Sometimes must have
      To stand naked.

      An' though the rules of the road have been lodged
      It's only people's games that you got to dodge
      And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.

      Advertising signs that con you
      Into thinking you're the one
      That can do what's never been done
      That can win what's never been won
      Meantime life outside goes on
      All around you.

      You lose yourself, you reappear
      You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
      Alone you stand with nobody near
      When a trembling distant voice, unclear
      Startles your sleeping ears to hear
      That somebody thinks
      They really found you.

      A question in your nerves is lit
      Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
      Insure you not to quit
      To keep it in your mind and not fergit
      That it is not he or she or them or it
      That you belong to.

      Although the masters make the rules
      For the wise men and the fools
      I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.

      For them that must obey authority
      That they do not respect in any degree
      Who despise their jobs, their destinies
      Speak jealously of them that are free
      Cultivate their flowers to be
      Nothing more than something
      They invest in.

      While some on principles baptized
      To strict party platform ties
      Social clubs in drag disguise
      Outsiders they can freely criticize
      Tell nothing except who to idolize
      And then say God bless him.

      While one who sings with his tongue on fire
      Gargles in the rat race choir
      Bent out of shape from society's pliers
      Cares not to come up any higher
      But rather get you down in the hole
      That he's in.

      But I mean no harm nor put fault
      On anyone that lives in a vault
      But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.

      Old lady judges watch people in pairs
      Limited in sex, they dare
      To push fake morals, insult and stare
      While money doesn't talk, it swears
      Obscenity, who really cares
      Propaganda, all is phony.

      While them that defend what they cannot see
      With a killer's pride, security
      It blows the minds most bitterly
      For them that think death's honesty
      Won't fall upon them naturally
      Life sometimes
      Must get lonely.

      My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
      False gods, I scuff
      At pettiness which plays so rough
      Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
      Kick my legs to crash it off
      Say okay, I have had enough
      What else can you show me?

      And if my thought-dreams could be seen
      They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
      But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.

      Copyright © 1965; renewed 1993 Special Rider Music  

      •  Timeless (none)
        It's Allright, Ma, (I'm Only Bleeding)

        Young Dylan was a conduit.  It was like the Universe was talking thru him.

        He's still a badass mofo, man.  Time Out of Mind is brilliant.  & if you want to hear some 12 string guitar playing & singing that sounds impossible,  get Good As I Been To You & World Gone Wrong.  

        As for songwriting, even his bad songs are good!

        I try to make it to as many of his shows as I can.  He really seems to enjoy doing live shows these days.  He dances, chats, & smiles.  It's good to see him happy. He really loves his band, rightly. Those guys can play.

        I passed him down around Chambers Street in NYC, way back when I was about 10 & he was about 20.  He was in his leather jacket, & I thought he looked so cool.  4 or 5 years later he went electric, & that's when I fell in love with him.  Like a Rolling Stone is when I discovered him.  He flung open the doors & I walked in.  There was no turning back, except to check out what he'd done before.  He changed the world.

        The film is awesome.  I was lucky that work was slow last nite & I got to watch the second half.  

        The concept of war is outdated. Dalai Lama

        by x on Wed Sep 28, 2005 at 10:11:55 PM PDT

        [ Parent ]

    •  good article. (none)
      Looking forward to the movie.
  •  What's the title? (none)
    BBCA here in the states doesn't mention Dylan or Scorsese in their short discriptions of tonights shows.

    I get all my data via the "Limbaugh method", I pull it out my ass.

    by Tomtech on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:19:25 PM PDT

    •  The title.. (none)
      ...is No Direction Home. I'll dig up some info from the BBC site and post it here.

      New International Times, the place where Kossacks and the world meet.

      by Welshman on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:23:36 PM PDT

      [ Parent ]

      •  BBC Press Release (none)

        I guess it is OK to give it in full as it is a Press Release taken from this site on which there is a lot more:

        Arena: No Direction Home - Bob Dylan
        Starts Monday 26 September on BBC TWO, accompanied by a Dylan season on BBC FOUR

        Overview

        There is no simple way to tell Bob Dylan's story. The painting is too large. Focus on one small aspect, and you miss the big picture.

        It's a story of American culture in transition, of music in the air, of politics and of art, of literature and of poetry.

        Drawing from hundreds of hours of unseen footage and rare recordings, in-depth interviews and revealing photographs,

        No Direction Home - Bob Dylan, directed by Martin Scorsese, strikes a remarkable balance - telling the story of one man's journey and at the same time placing that story within the greater canvas of human events.

        No Direction Home - Bob Dylan starts in the eye of the hurricane. Bob Dylan, live, 1966 in front of a hostile audience inflamed by his decision to electrify his music.

        There are boos, cat calls, fans streaming out. On stage, in newly discovered footage, is Dylan singing Like a Rolling Stone. It's hard to imagine anyone walking out on this performance, much less booing it.

        A story told in flashbacks, No Direction Home: Bob Dylan intertwines the immediacy of Bob Dylan's controversial 1966 tour of the British Isles with his remarkable personal and musical journey.

        Producers: Anthony Wall, Jeff Rosen, Nigel Sinclair, Susan Lacey and Martin Scorsese.

        A production of BBC Arena, Spitfire Pictures, Grey Water Park Productions, thirteen/WNET/PBS, Sikelia Productions.

        In co-production with Vulcan Productions and NHK in association with Box TV.

        Part One (26 September, BBC TWO)

        Part one is a portrait of the artist as a young man. It traces Bob Dylan's journey from a rock'n'roll-loving kid in the Midwest to his arrival as a major musical force in the world of folk music.

        His high school teacher recounts a disastrous rock 'n' roll appearance at the local talent show and a school friend plays one of Dylan's first recorded songs.

        In his own words, Dylan tells viewers how he became smitten with folk music as the story shifts scenes from the iron range in Minnesota to Greenwich Village in New York City.

        An amazing cast of characters is introduced - Dave Van Ronk, the King of the Greenwich Village folk clubs; Joan Baez, the Queen of the folk music world; Allen Ginsberg, America's beat poet laureate.

        And most importantly, the wide range of music that influenced the young Bob Dylan is explored.

        Dylan's fame and notoriety grows, his skill as a performer matures rapidly and the songs begin to pour out: Blowin' in the Wind, Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall, Masters of War, Don't Think Twice It's All Right and many more.

        Part one ends at what seems to be the dawn of a new generation. Dylan, hands intertwined with musician Pete Seeger, The Freedom Singers and Odetta singing Blowin' in the Wind at the closing night at the Newport Folk Festival in 1963.

        Part Two (27 September, BBC TWO)

        Part two sees the story turn dark.

        At 23, Bob Dylan is already a newsworthy phenomenon, capable of filling Carnegie Hall without ever having a hit song on the radio.

        And with that success come expectations: expectations from the old left to become a political activist, expectations from the media to articulate the concerns of America's youth.

        It's a role in which Dylan is completely uninterested. And Dylan is already on the move, finding a new musical vocabulary to capture the complexity of a seismic cultural shift.

        He injects a heightened sense of poetry into his writing. He adds electricity to his music; electricity that now seems inevitable, but at the time labeled him a sell-out and a traitor.

        At a disastrous concert at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965, his electrified instruments set the audience in turmoil.

        Director Martin Scorsese delicately balances Dylan's internal world with signpost images from the external world. Dylan's music is the backdrop as the war in Vietnam escalates, the free speech movement in Berkeley signals a new youth movement, and the nightly news brings home images people would never have dreamed of seeing on their television sets.

        Scorsese takes the time to let viewers really see the music unfold in revelatory concert performances.

        And now the past catches up to the 'present era' that is the starting point for the film. It is 1966: Desolation Row, Mr Tambourine Man and Visions of Johanna echo against a changing worldwide landscape and resonate in Dylan's personal world of constant touring and press conferences.

        By the end of the film, Scorsese has taken viewers on an emotional, musical and intellectual journey.

        And it is plainly obvious, for Dylan and indeed for everyone, that there are some journeys from which there is No Direction Home.

        New International Times, the place where Kossacks and the world meet.

        by Welshman on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:29:49 PM PDT

        [ Parent ]

    •  The title (none)
      of the documentary is "No Direction Home." But it's part of the American Masters series--that title is what came up on my Tivo listing.

      Of science and the human heart, there is no limit. -- Bono

      by saucy monkey on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:23:42 PM PDT

      [ Parent ]

    •  on PBS (4.00)
      American Masters series, two hours tonight and two more tomorrow.

      Writing a diary about Dylan is always appropriate here, if you ask me.

      You're only young once, but you can be immature forever -- Larry Andersen

      by N in Seattle on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:27:57 PM PDT

      [ Parent ]

  •  Begins tonight (none)
    ...here at 8 CST then tomorrow and Wednesday night on PBS.
  •  The Ghost of New Orleans by Bob Dylan (none)
    The Ghosts of New Orleans
    by Bob Dylan

    Memories of a magic place: One of the passages in Bob Dylan's "Chronicles, Volume One" is about time he spent in New Orleans in the late 1980s. It was written before the city was devastated by the storm Katrina.

        The first thing you notice about New Orleans are the burying grounds - the cemeteries - and they're a cold proposition, one of the best things there are here. Going by, you try to be as quiet as possible, better to let them sleep. Greek, Roman, sepulchres- palatial mausoleums made to order, phantomesque, signs and symbols of hidden decay - ghosts of women and men who have sinned and who've died and are now living in tombs. The past doesn't pass away so quickly here. You could be dead for a long time.

        The ghosts race towards the light, you can almost hear the heavy breathing spirits, all determined to get somewhere. New Orleans, unlike a lot of those places you go back to and that don't have the magic anymore, still has got it. Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there's a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There's something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in their hands. A lazy rhythm looms in the dreamy air and the atmosphere pulsates with bygone duels, past-life romance, comrades requesting comrades to aid them in some way. You can't see it, but you know it's here. Somebody is always sinking. Everyone seems to be from some very old Southern families. Either that or a foreigner. I like the way it is.

        There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better. There's a thousand different angles at any moment. At any time you could run into a ritual honoring some vaguely known queen. Bluebloods, titled persons like crazy drunks, lean weakly against the walls and drag themselves through the gutter. Even they seem to have insights you might want to listen to. No action seems inappropriate here. The city is one very long poem. Gardens full of pansies, pink petunias, opiates. Flower-bedecked shrines, white myrtles, bougainvillea and purple oleander stimulate your senses, make you feel cool and clear inside.

        Everything in New Orleans is a good idea. Bijou temple-type cottages and lyric cathedrals side by side. Houses and mansions, structures of wild grace. Italianate, Gothic, Romanesque, Greek Revival standing in a long line in the rain. Roman Catholic art. Sweeping front porches, turrets, cast-iron balconies, colonnades- 30-foot columns, gloriously beautiful- double pitched roofs, all the architecture of the whole wide world and it doesn't move. All that and a town square where public executions took place. In New Orleans you could almost see other dimensions. There's only one day at a time here, then it's tonight and then tomorrow will be today again. Chronic melancholia hanging from the trees. You never get tired of it. After a while you start to feel like a ghost from one of the tombs, like you're in a wax museum below crimson clouds. Spirit empire. Wealthy empire. One of Napoleon's generals, Lallemaud, was said to have come here to check it out, looking for a place for his commander to seek refuge after Waterloo. He scouted around and left, said that here the devil is damned, just like everybody else, only worse. The devil comes here and sighs. New Orleans. Exquisite, old-fashioned. A great place to live vicariously. Nothing makes any difference and you never feel hurt, a great place to really hit on things. Somebody puts something in front of you here and you might as well drink it. Great place to be intimate or do nothing. A place to come and hope you'll get smart - to feed pigeons looking for handouts. A great place to record. It has to be - or so I thought.

    Excerpted from ''Chronicles, Volume One'' by Bob Dylan. Copyright © 2004 by Bob Dylan. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, Inc., NY.

    Copyright © 2005 The International Herald Tribune

  •  Can't wait (none)
    half an hour 'till show time.  Perhaps there is hope for TV after all.

    Scientific and medical truth is not determined by majority vote.

    by YankInUK on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:32:16 PM PDT

  •  Guys (none)
    Thanks for your comments to date, but do please also recommend this diary. If the programme has not had the huge amount of pre-publicity that it has had over hear, then I wouold like more to know about it. And to get as many comments as I can.

    I ask not because of the worth of the diary but because of the worth of the man.

    New International Times, the place where Kossacks and the world meet.

    by Welshman on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 05:32:47 PM PDT

  •  here's another take on the program (none)
    even calls it a whitewash...

    http://slate.msn.com/id/2126752/?nav=ais

    I'm still looking forward to it and hope to comment later...

  •  I grew up (none)
    and grew in social awareness with Bob Dylan's music.  It is part of my history, part of my generation's history.  His poetry/music has indelibly colored my life.
    I will be in the audience tonight.

    We shape the clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want. - Lao-tzu

    by myeye on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 06:01:51 PM PDT

    •  Me, too. n/t (none)

      Presidentin' is hard work. GWB

      by Caldonia on Tue Sep 27, 2005 at 09:16:53 AM PDT

      [ Parent ]

    •  Hail, Dylanistas! (none)
      He is the Great one!  Anyone who thinks Dylan is not a Master of Music & a Voice of the common person, just does not get Dylan.

      He is a musical genius.  If people would just Listen to what he said, sang,  & what he played.

      I am a old time, long term Dylanista.  

      He is my Tribal Leader, whether he likes it or not.  He's the genius, he does not get to choose.  If it makes himself feel any better about the situation, I don't follow anyone, & a Dylan song still rips my heart out, after all these years.  

      Bobby D, you are more than you'll ever know.  Your home is in my heart, which has no home.  

      The concept of war is outdated. Dalai Lama

      by x on Wed Sep 28, 2005 at 12:13:16 PM PDT

      [ Parent ]

  •  As a fellow Minnesotan (none)
    I see a bit of the state in his personality and art, even though he left the state in his late teens. People from the Upper Midwest tend to be taciturn, and they often turn to art as a needed outlet for self expression. But even with our self expression, we can be pretty economical. Dylan chooses to reveal only what he wishes to reveal about himself. He's not sloppy or self-indulgent in that regard. When I went to school at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis 25 years ago, I sometimes would be in a diner or bookstore in Dinkytown, just off the campus on University Avenue, thinking that I was walking where Dylan walked twenty years earlier. By the way Welshman, thanks for the diary. I got rather spoilt expecting to see a diary from you on an almost daily basis. It's now a treat to read your diaries when they occassionally (sp?) pop up.
  •  hehe, let's forget him better still (none)
    love dylan and never wanted to get his autograph or shake his hand.

    figure that what he said was enough.

    the iconography of dylan always reminds me of the monty pythons scene from the life of brian...

    "you are the messiah!'

    "no i'm not!"

    "yes you are, I should know, I've followed a few in my time!"

    "No I'm not!"

    "Only the true messiah would deny his divinity!"

    "Well where does that leave me?  okay, FUCK OFF!"

    "HOW SHALL WE FUCK OFF OH LORD?"

    THAT'S DYLAN

    YOU GOT TO FIGURE IT OUT FOR YOURSELF.

    listening to tambourine man.... the lyrics, oh man those lyrics....

    "to dance beneath the dimond sky with one hand waving free.....silhoutted by the sea"

    done that, tripping my brains out staring at the Milky Way on the Outer Banks 30 odd years ago... and never thought of dylan while i did it, but recalled those lines the moment i looked over the horizon of stars to the end of the world.

    thanks bob. 'preciate that moment.

     

  •  I saw Dylan (none)
    at some big show Clapton threw at Madison Square Garden (ugh, had to sit thru Mary J. Blige, who couldn't hit a note it it sat on her). He came out and did "Travelin' Riverside Blues" and blew Clapton away on the guitar. I was stunned. So much understated passion, not just the same solo I'd heard umpteen times before like Clapton's. So much for "Clapton is God".

    I'd always thought of him as a songwriter. I was never a huge Dylan fan, though an admirer. My inter-genre favorite was Johnny Cash, who WAS a great admirer of Dylans, which is hard for me to argue with.

    My greatest connection w/ his music is the last couple of discs.

  •  Sorry but (none)
    I'm a little sick and tired of the hype. For about the last two weeks now I have'nt been able to open a newspaper or magazine or turn on the radio or tv without seeing or hearing about this. Saturation synergy has gone waaaay overboard, imho. I can't believe that there are actually some folk who have'nt heard about this yet;whatever rock your'e living under, please make some room there for me.

    Al Qeada is a faith-based initiative.

    by drewfromct on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 06:15:42 PM PDT

  •  How does it feel? (none)
    I come from a family of raving Dylan fans who also play music themselves.  My brothers participate in a Bobfest every year in southwest Wisconsin.  Disclosure: I've always loved Bob, but my worldview somehow resonates more with Neil Young.

    My problem with Bob, or I guess the reason I don't follow him as avidly as my sibs, is that IMHO he worked himself into an artistic corner.  By taking on the job of navel-gazing for the collective zeitgeist of the 60s so well, there was no direction home by the time he hit the 1990s.  I'm down with Bob saying (in so many words) don't look to me for answers but somehow I want my artist heroes to say something beyond that.

    Maybe it's the curse of artists who peak early (yes, I know Blood On The Tracks is among his best and is from his mid career) and then have the bad taste ;-) to not die tragically -- mellowing, instead, into a comfortable long life.  Maybe this is what is to be admired about Bob Dylan -- he burned so brightly but didn't burn out.

    I'm hoping that tonight I'll find something new to admire.  Thanks for this diary.

    Rust never sleeps.  

    I Am The King Of The Eleven Comment Diary

    by CalbraithRodgers on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 06:16:52 PM PDT

  •  Dylan should win the Nobel Prize. (none)
    He is one of the quintessential American writers of the 20th Century.
    •  Quintessential Americans? Twain and Dylan (none)
      rip out of the American fabric either of them and the holes are huge, huger than any others.

      there was before twain's work and what came after.

      there was before dylan's work and what came after.

      the chasms are immense for each divide.

  •  Dylan [sic] (4.00)
        Dylan's going to do a remake of one of his own as a Welsh song:  "Knock, knock, knoin' on Evan's door".  <g>  Sorry for the bad pun.
  •  Anyhow (none)
    ...thanks guys. We almost got Dylan up there. Great try.

    New International Times, the place where Kossacks and the world meet.

    by Welshman on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 07:59:54 PM PDT

    •  maybe tomorrow night (none)
      The first half just finished.  Despite the comments from the Slate review cited above, the first half of the documentary was awesome.  Just the footage alone would have been worth watching.  Add to that the fascinating biographical evolution of the artist and the deft filmmaking of a master.  I know I know:  the story is old, now reduced to mythology.  But it is a great story, as fascinating as the Beatles mythology.  You can see the "Dylan goes electric" moment coming--and you can sense the train wreck (or rather motorcycle wreck) on the horizon...

      Scientific and medical truth is not determined by majority vote.

      by YankInUK on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 08:22:41 PM PDT

      [ Parent ]

  •  Bought the DVD (none)
    Dylan was, is, and will always be relevant. God, it sounded good listening to his early stuff.
  •  DYLAN (none)
    The Comealyan Poet  he changes with the life around him but he is always Bob Dylan

    All the mistakes'misquotes,misspellings and errors are mine and mine alone

    by xanthippe2 on Mon Sep 26, 2005 at 09:18:01 PM PDT

  •  Hain't really got the hang of this Kos thing yet (none)
    So I'm posting in reponse weeks late.  Sorry I missed this.  As it is, I diaried on this the day before it aired.  But being new here, no one noticed.  Plus I did it late Sunday night, and so it was gone before (US) dawn on Monday.

    Anyhow, on the chance that you check your Hotlist (a feature I only first explored this week), you'll notice this delinquent comment.  Here's a link to my diary.  

    I actually wrote Country Joe & he gave permission to use his pic.  Yeah, I know the documentary is about Dylan, but the connection is because of Scorsese, who edited "Woodstock".

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