Bob Dylan is 65
May 24, 2006
Bob Dylan’s been on my mind lately. He is 65 today. I’ve been reading Jonathan Cott’s collection of interviews with Dylan from the 1960s to 2004. I remember being 13 in 1973 and hearing on Louisville’s WAKY radio (with Coyote Calhoun) Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone”–I’d never heard anything like that. It’s a cliche, but it blew me away. Then “All I Really Wanna Do.” “Subterranean Homesick Blues.” Then there was that “wild, metallic, mercury sound” of Blonde on Blonde. Still to come was “Lilly, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts” from Blood on the Tracks and Dylan’s love for Jesus (Slow Train Coming), the greatest song of all time by the name of “Brownsville Girl” (”Now I’ve always been the kind of person that doesn’t like to trespass but sometimes you just find yourself over the line. Oh if there’s an original thought out there, I could use it right now”) and 1997’s Time out of Mind, which I listened to for the six weeks I was in Gaza in 2003, especially “Not Dark Yet.”
Here’s a song from 1962 or so. Still relevant? You could complement hearing this song with reading Robert Fisk, The Great War for Civilisation, chapter “Now Thrive the Armourers…” Like the following passage: “In a quarter of a century, I’ve seen thousands of corpses–women and children as well as men–blasted, shredded, eviscerated by the multi-billion dollar arms industry. Almost all of them were Muslims. This is the symbol of our triumph over the Middle East in Abu Dhabi this hot Monday of 2001, our ability to kill Muslims–and to help Muslims kill other Muslims–with our weapons. They have no weapons that can us. Not yet. Not for another six months.”
Masters of War
Bob Dylan
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your death’ll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand o’er your grave
‘Til I’m sure that you’re dead