Americanarama - A Cauldron Of Songs

  In the heart of the heat, with our gloriously untanned sun-screened skins glossy and our shirts slowly becoming a tone darker with sweat, the remedy of honest music prevailed yet again at  Americanarama. Because that word, Americanarama, was invented by rockin' hometowners Hollerado, and the genre of music called Americana was actually created on a record called Music From Big Pink, with famously local origins, the whole night was a bit of a roots homecoming for us last Monday night in Toronto.

  Molson's Amphitheatre (rebranded The Moistened Armpit Theatre) hosted Bob Dylan's second date of the tour with its usual inhospitality of overpriced food and alcohol, loutish security and blank jumbotrons.

  Richard Thompson's Electric Trio, promptly stepping up to the plate at the advertised start-time of 5:30, accomplished a half hour of complex string theory and rousingly intricate rhythm before half of the audience had even arrived. The sting of the sunlight's onslaught concentrated the available audience into peripheral embankments of shade far away from the stage area.

  A quick turnaround brought My Morning Jacket on at 6:15. Their pivotal anthem The Way That He Sings came second in the set and was magnified to full throttle from the start, unlike the slow build-up of the recorded version. Cataracts of long hair, saxophones, feedback and sonic blare followed wave upon wave, stunning the audience with the passion and perseverance of these true stone rockers. The shade began to spread out a little more. MMJ closed off with Run Thru, which ended with a raging coda longer than the song. As my friend Dave said, "They did everything but set themselves on fire."

  Listening to songs like Sugar Mountain and Dolphin's Smile during Wilco's set-up (what was it, Bob's iPod?) brought home an awareness that the youngsters who composed more than half of the crowd were just the control group for a Sixties throwback ego-system.

  Jeff Tweedy and his six compadres certainly brought the party, starting with their most agreeable hits, laid out for the Wilco newbies. (Wilco: Expressing compliance or agreement, esp. acceptance of instructions received by radio.)

  A lengthy run through a tune in 11/8 time left even the completists dozing off. The fire was stoked, ultimately, when Richard Thompson returned to the stage to joust ferociously on Fairport Convention's Sloth with Wilco arch-soloist Nels Cline in one of those rare two-guitar carousals devoid of wank. Then a demure Feist came out and dueted on You And I with Tweedy, bringing some Canadianarama to the proceedings.
( An attempt a bit later to build a bit more maple into the show was choked by Feist's inability to come up with coherent lyrics for the second verse of Leonard Cohen's  Suzanne). Wilco's finale reached a solid pinnacle when Tweedy brought My Morning Jacket back for a spirited charge at the Neil Young workhorse Cinnamon Girl. Every face in the place smiled.

                                                                     Picture by Chris Pizzello   
  With the sun well set and scalper prices plunging, Bob Dylan and his pearly-suited troupe (including Hogtown fret-polisher Colin Linden) stepped into a landscape of hanging kleig lights and twin fire chambers with gold and blue tones pulsing off the drums to rock out on Things Have Changed, his Academy Award-winning theme from Wonder Boys. The song set the template for a set heavily loaded with post-millennial compositions: three from Tempest, two from Love & Theft, and one each from Together Through Life & Time Out Of Mind.

  Dylan sang the first few songs wandering amongst his crew and blowing his characteristic reveilles on harmonica between verses that took off to melodic off-roads and romantic vibrato. As he arrived at the piano stage left, he leaned into it and stuck to playing rhythm and improvising licks there for some midset reinventions of Tangled Up In Blue, A Simple Twist Of Fate, A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall, and She Belongs To Me.

  As he ramped up to Twelve Gates To The City with Jeff Tweedy and Jim James back for harmonies and acoustic scrubbing, there was an exuberance emerging from the shaman himself, referencing our own beautiful city, that spread into the crowd and bouyed up All Along  The Watchtower and his standard encore number,  Blowin' In The Wind. 

  Offshore breezes picked up from the fade as the ensemble posed for the curtain call, then, in the middle of the beautiful city, the multitude came ashore with the effects of urgent apocalyptic visions and rapturous love lyrics bristling & refreshed in their memories.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHKcSCCOuGo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuMpcYcqfBY

Bob Dylan : How D'Ya Think He'd 'A Done On Idol?

                     

 I'll be playing some Bob tomorrow. His 72nd Birthday is cause for celebration. Let us not talk falsely now.

Ode to Woody

Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie  by Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown

by Arthur O'Shaughnessy. 1844–1881

Ode

WE are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,	5
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,	10
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure	15
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;	20
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

Distillin' Dylan

my songs're written with the kettledrum

in mind/a touch of any anxious color. un-
mentionable. obvious. an' people perhaps
like a soft brazilian singer . . . i have
given up at making any attempt at perfection/
the fact that the white house is filled with
leaders that've never been t' the apollo
theater amazes me. why allen ginsberg was
not chosen t' read poetry at the inauguration
boggles my mind/if someone thinks norman
mailer is more important than hank williams
that's fine. i have no arguments an' i
never drink milk. i would rather model har-
monica holders than discuss aztec anthropology/
english literature. or history of the united
nations. i accept chaos. I am not sure whether
it accepts me. i know there're some people terrified
of the bomb. but there are other people terrified
t' be seen carrying a modern screen magazine.
experience teaches that silence terrifies people
the most . . . i am convinced that all souls have
some superior t' deal with/like the school
system, an invisible circle of which no one
can think without consulting someone/in the
face of this, responsibility/security, success
mean absolutely nothing. . . i would not want
t' be bach. mozart. tolstoy. joe hill. gertrude
stein or james dean/they are all dead. the
Great books've been written. the Great sayings
have all been said/I am about t' sketch You
a picture of what goes on around here some-
times. though I don't understand too well
myself what's really happening. i do know
that we're all gonna die someday an' that no
death has ever stopped the world.

Bob turns 70 this month, May 24. 

Protest Song of the Day...Bob wants to know your plans for the Summit

When You Gonna Wake Up?

Lyrics by Bob Dylan 1979 Special Rider Music

God don't make no promises that He don't keep.

You got some big dreams, baby, but in order to dream you gotta still be asleep.

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?

Counterfeit philosophies have polluted all of your thoughts.

Karl Marx has got ya by the throat, Henry Kissinger's got you tied up in knots.

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?

You got innocent men in jail, your insane asylums are filled,

You got unrighteous doctors dealing drugs that'll never cure your ills.

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?

You got men who can't hold their peace and women who can't control their tongues.

The rich seduce the poor and the old are seduced by the young.

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?

Adulterers in churches and pornography in the schools,

You got gangsters in power and lawbreakers making rules.

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?

Spiritual advisors and gurus to guide your every move,

Instant inner peace and every step you take has got to be approved.

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?

Do you ever wonder just what God requires?

You think He's just an errand boy to satisfy your wandering desires.

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?

You can't take it with you and you know that it's too worthless to be sold,

They tell you, "Time is money" as if your life was worth its weight in gold.

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?

There's a Man up on a cross and He's been crucified.

Do you have any idea why or for who He died?

When you gonna wake up, when you gonna wake up

When you gonna wake up and strengthen the things that remain?