Belief Systems

Give a Toss about Something

…”It’s just too much and not enough. A lot of my songs strike me that way. That’s the natural thing about them to me. It’s too hard to wonder why about them. To me, they’re not worthy of wondering why about them. They’re songs . They’re not written in stone . They’re on plastic.”

— Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan: The Song Talk Interview

The above is from a remarkably GREAT interview with the man himself. Bob Dylan. He is referencing “Precious Angel” specifically.

This is further proof Bob Dylan is the best interview in rock history…for a number of reasons. He was born in Duluth. He will likely die (not too soon, Bobby Z) on the French Riveria somewhere. No apologies, no rationales, just, “I just felt like living there,” will be one his last sentences. He also gave this particular interview about thirty years ago when plastic was still the primary way we listened to music.

People threw garbage at him and called him “Judas” because he just wanted to plug a guitar in the wall. His response, “Play it fucking loud!” (Last video link below)

“Come baby, find me, come baby, remind me of where I once begun
Come baby, show me, show me you know me, tell me you’re the one
I could be learning, you could be yearning to see behind closed doors
But I will always be emotionally yours”

— Bob Dylan, “Emotionally Yours”

Bob Dylan released an album called “Infidels” after his conversion to Christianity. An entirely different audience would call him “Judas” for entirely different reasons than his so-called fans from the 1960s.

The dude has serious cajónes. The Beatles, Johnny Cash, Springsteen, the Stones, The Band and a zillion others claim him as an influence. Every single recording artist from 1965 to 1975 probably owes him royalties for every dollar he/she/they made.

Robert Plant (whom I kind of despise and is a terrible interview) said Dylan changed the way he thought about music; Kurtis Blow had him record the opening verse of “Street Rock” because he is…Bob fucking Dylan. Seldom will you see me ever mention Robert Plant and Kurtis Blow in the same essay, much less the same paragraph. That is the kind of influence Bob Dylan has.

Bono is a great interview because he thinks big, wants to be big (mission accomplished) and takes himself just seriously enough before he realizes he is, at heart, a dork. He handles the responsibility of being an influential voice because he has great tenor very well. Plus, he is Irish. That helps.

Springsteen is a terrible interview for many of the same reasons. But Springsteen never thought of himself and will never see of himself as a dork. Springsteen always wanted to be Elvis AND Dylan. That takes a lot of energy. Saving up strength for interviews might be a little bit too much for someone who willingly shoulders the burden of the world. He is Irish, but that helps little here.

Bob Geldof – another great interview. Sanctimonious, angry, passionate knowing he saved millions of people from dying, and he still finds time to go on podcasts and occasionally making fun of himself. The fact he takes himself so fucking seriously most of the time makes him a great interview. Also? Irish.

Robbie Robertson was ten times a better interview than Levon Helm, probably because he was Cayuga, Mohawk…and Irish…thus settling the debate on who was the key to The Band.

But Dylan is the best. Because he does not care. At all. He’s Bob Dylan and “cares not a toss” (British/Irish phrase I picked up) what people think. I’m Mark Johnson, and I care… a small toss.

“Precious angel
Under the sun
How was I to know
You’d be the one
To show me I was blinded
To show me I was gone
How weak was the foundation
I was standing upon?”

— Bob Dylan, “Precious Angel”

I am not a religious person, but I am spiritual. I know and have been friends with people who say you cannot be one without being the other. This is demonstrably false.

A cavalcade of different songs is wearing through my earbuds from a select few artists. I hear a lot of passion, a LOT of harmonicas, and I hear…a lot of belief. I hope when I say or write something of significance, I hope it is with the same sense of belief that all those artists mentioned above (and more…Tracy Chapman and Melissa Etheridge, my apologies…you two are also on that list) deliver their words and notes.

I can see very well
There’s a boat on the reef with a broken back
And I can see it very well
There’s a joke and I know it very well
It’s one of those that I told you long ago
Take my word, I’m a madman, don’t you know

— Elton John, “Madman Across the Water”

Every night, I hear something new – or old – that gives me some reason to believe in something. It might be a job, or a person, or an event, or a sports team. It changes from night to night…or even minute to minute. The worst night of my life turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me; the physical abuse my body takes because my brain cannot make up its fucking mind is…worth it. Shitty things happen but sometimes (not always) good or even great comes from it. I am a fan of the Detroit Pistons today because I read an interview with their general manager two years ago. I despised them in the 1980’s. The music I like because I like the attitude of the artist; the people I work with I also like because they share similar passions; those I want to spend time with (albeit small circle) are in my orbit for reasons only I know…all spring from something that happened some time in some way to bring me here tonight, rhapsodizing about Kurtis Blow and Bob Dylan.

“I’ve indulged in higher knowledge, took scan of encyclopedia
Keeping constant research of our reports in news media
Kids starve in Ethiopia and we are gettin’ greedier
The rich are gettin’ richer and the needy’s gettin’ needier”

— Bob Dylan/Kurtis Blow, “Street Rock”

I am a firm believer in things happening for reasons…if that is all due to a higher being is something I leave up to you. It is already the weekend in most parts of the world, Europe, Asia, the east coast of the United States. I have yet to turn out the light…and I am on a bit of a roll anyway…but I imagine others waking up and wondering how their Saturday will play out. I want to know things; I aim to find out. Maybe you are one of those that read this who will provide me the answers I am looking for. You just have not been asked yet.

Beware.

“It’s microscopic, it cannot be seen by your naked eye
Unconscious thought, taking control of your body
Now you ought to be jumpin’ at a jam-packed party
With your big butt shakin’, I know it shows
You lose control of your head, arms, legs, and your toes
You got your beatbox blastin’ and now you’re in shock
Because the ground beneath your feet has all crumbled to rock
You take control of yourself, soon as the music stops
And realize you’ve been hit by the beat of Street Rock!”

— Kurtis Blow, “Street Rock”

I have come face to face with people who say, “I just can’t…” and it does not matter much (a medium toss) how that sentence is finished. I am not going to run a four-minute mile. This much is cut-and-dried. But it drives me crazy when people tell me that when their rationale is often – “because I haven’t done it before.”

Enough. Doing something and not liking it is one thing. Not doing something else because you worry about what others might say or what might happen in the end is cowardice.

Wind chimes clash with squealing tires and a variety of musical genres tonight. My left foot is moving in rhythm to the music, and a single source of light floods this room giving me just enough to make me believe I am not in a cavern. The music, the words and the passion are telling me one thing tonight:

It’s time to believe.

“Well, the rifleman’s stalking the sick and the lame
Preacherman seeks the same, who’ll get there first is uncertain
Nightsticks and water cannons, tear gas, padlocks
Molotov cocktails and rocks behind every curtain
False-hearted judges dying in the webs that they spin
Only a matter of time till night comes stepping in

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune
Bird fly high by the light of the moon
Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman”

— Bob Dylan, “Jokerman”