Mysterious Control

Odd allies and some decisions

“Always in a hurry, I never stop to worry
Don’t see the time flashin’ by
Honey, got no money
I’m all sixes and sevens and nines
Say now, baby, I’m the rank outsider
You can be my partner in crime”

— The Rolling Stones, “Tumbling Dice”

Nothing whets an appetite like the hint of success. Nothing occludes a clear-eyed view of a situation like this same hint of success, while making the rest of the dish taste like bile.

I am not a gambler. I never thought the risk/reward was ever going to tilt in my favor. And I never gave it a chance to prove me wrong. Pessimism may not have been inbred and stitched into my DNA, but Catholic education and Jewish family members are a decent foundation for being prepared when shit turns sour.

It’s like training to be a Boy Scout, except with a ton more guilt.

But success – or at least the taste of it – can have a nasty aftertaste. You lose some control – or all control – when success is realized. Suddenly, that thirst for more success causes people to throw caution into the wind, not taking into full account the series of events that broke in your favor for success to occur.

Control matters a lot…about everything.

Bad decisions are borne from that taste of success. Name a rock band or artist and their biggest blunders came after experiencing a fair amount of success. I won’t go into naming all of them, but it is a spotty history of a major artist making a major decision and not having at least some measure of self-doubt or lack of control. Dylan going electric, Springsteen going quiet, Bono chopping off the mullet. Geldof making movies with Pink Floyd. Decent gambles all. Paid off handsomely. Sitting still and doing nothing? Yawwwwnnnnn…no risk, no control, no reward.

Dylan going electric killed folk music; Springsteen going straight into an album-long therapy session with “Tunnel of Love.” But then he got cocky with some success and basking in worldwide adulation gave birth to “Human Touch” and “Lucky Town,” grievous errors he luckily came back from. U2 catches lightning with “Achtung Baby” and two years later, dumps “Zooropa” on us. It is safe to say if Bob Geldof had not demanded and bullied the music world into doing things exactly his way, “Live Aid” doesn’t happen and it does not become a cultural touchstone 40 plus years later.

All thought they had complete control. Dylan and Geldof actually had it. Springsteen, reportedly, is (or was) a control freak. Legend has it that “Jungleland’s” sax solo was done and redone, note for note, over a 16-hour recording marathon for “Born to Run.”

Control only becomes a major issue when you have it and decide, “Nahhh…I already know everything. I’m good.”

“One day you’ll look back, and you’ll see
Where you were held now by this love
While you could stand there
You could move on this moment
Follow this feeling

It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright
She moves in mysterious ways”

— U2, “Mysterious Ways”

These are gambles on themselves which strike me as courageous and foolhardy. Linda Ronstadt, on the surface, has no reason in the world to sing “Tumbling Dice” in concert. The Rolling Stones and Linda Ronstadt are not natural allies in my mind, but she absolutely NAILS her version.

“Mysterious Ways” is about a guy who does not understand women and has not a clue about love. He gives in to the mystery of both, cedes control so he can take it back at a future date.

Sidenote: The belly dancer in the video ended up marrying The Edge.

When I venture out into the unfamiliar, I will be struck with that doubt; I’ll think “am I fucking myself over if I do this?” I will stop, think and wonder how much control do I have; how much did I give up when I made “this” decision? And…will I regret it?

“She wakes him up, forty-eight hours later the sun is breaking
Near broken chains, mountain laurel and rolling rocks
She’s begging to know what measures he now will be taking
He’s pulling her down and she’s clutching onto his long golden locks”

— Bob Dylan, “Changing of the Guards”

I had some success recently. I got a job. Not exactly earth-shattering, but it had been a long drought. The bar for “success” was absurdly low for me. I am not used to having control over much of anything. Will recent success screw up my taste buds, and is that taste of success fraught with risk? I really hope not. Will my decisions forthwith be products of firm control or will success short-circuit my brain?

I have to figure out, in Dylan’s own words, what measures I will now be taking. “Street-Legal” is a completely underrated entry in Dylan’s catalogue. Because it was the next album after “Blood on the Tracks,” it was going to pale in comparison. It shouldn’t. It stands on its own quite well, and “Changing of the Guards” is one of at least three great songs from the album which have aged spectacularly over the years. “Is Your Love in Vain?” and “Where Are You Tonight? (Journey Through Dark Heart)” being the other two.

My bucket list is not necessarily deep, but I have a fair amount of ambition to see certain things, visit certain places, partake in different adventures. What will drive my decision making when the time is nigh to make one or two…or three…crucial decisions?

I just hope I have some control over them.

“If only…” is one of the saddest phrases in the English language. It is the definition of “wistful” and implies regret and usually some very poor rationale for why a decision was or was not made. One of my hopes is that when it is time to shuffle off this mortal coil, I will not feel the need to utter “If only…” I can think of two examples off the top of my head who let an inability to understand drive them away from potential happiness, and then insist “if only…” as their “sound” reasoning to chicken out.

Over the past couple of years, I have heard people I respect say some variation of “if only…” and it drives me bananas. They aren’t saying, “If only I was six foot six with a jump shot, I would be playing in the NBA…” They are saying, “If only things were a little easier for me, I would ask him/her/them out…” or “If only I understood this, that or the other I would have made a much different decision.” Calculated gambles are almost always worth at least thinking about.

These are ridiculous examples, but they are in service to trying to make a point.

“Johnny, take a walk with your sister the moon
Let her pale light in to fill up your room
You’ve been living underground, eating from a can
You’ve been running away from what you don’t understand, love”

— “Mysterious Ways”