Bob Dylan and images

[Karen Kraft]

CAVEAT: Okay, right off the bat, I have to admit that I am hesitant to criticize someone else's valiant efforts to present a visual accompaniment to Bob Dylan's epic song, Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands (c) 1966 Dwarf Music... indeed, it reflects a lot of work and some okay computer skills to match -- sort of.

That said, from what freaking planet do these people come?

- What does a "streetcar" look like? Plus, was the reference to "a streetcar," "a street car," or "Streetcar...." as in the Tennessee Williams play..... In any event, it's not a 1932 Dodge....

- Does an upper west side brownstone really look like a warehouse? Hello?

- Arabian drums? Oh please. Conga drums???? I'm going to puke.

I didn't leave a comment on this guy's Youtube because I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I wonder how people can listen to stuff about apples and picture oranges so vividly.

Yes, to the liberals out there, everything is equally correct and if a 1932 Dodge is what a "streetcar" looks like to this guy, it is just wonderful -- nothing is ever "wrong" when it comes to art, right? Wrong.

So anyway, look at this and tell me there still is hope for humanity (or not):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1hqgQLCz_Q

Lyrics (in case you aren't familiar with Dylan-mumble-speak):

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times,
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes,
Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last,
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass,
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass,
Who among them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would happen like this,
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row,
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

[Karen Kraft]

It beats Jiffy-Pop popcorn balloon boy hoax.

[TurdFergeson]

Not my favorite Dylan song, and someone must have had a lot of spare time to make that.

:P

[Karen Kraft]

Originally Posted by TurdFergeson

Not my favorite Dylan song, and someone must have had a lot of spare time to make that.

:P

... and completely failed to understand any of the song's meaning.

[TurdFergeson]

Originally Posted by Karen Kraft

... and completely failed to understand any of the song's meaning.

I would like to see a video made for "It's Alright Ma, I'm Only Bleeding".

[rbijon]

The images he used were wanting. Who could possibly visually interpret a Dylan song and please anyone. I personally was not pleased with the totality of this piece, it seem sophomoric to me.

If you want an artful interpretation of any of Dylan's songs, try Mr. Tambourine Man, I dare ya!


Mr. Tambourine Man (1964)

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across the sun,
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind,
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seein' that he's chasing.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Copyright ©1964; renewed 1992 Special Rider Music

[Bert Notorius]

I am torn when it comes to Dylan; more suited to my older bro's generation. It's fun to joke about the mumbling, but Jesus, what a trip he took. One of my best friends put it best: "Sometimes you just have to let art flow over you."

World with or world without Dylan, which is better?

[Karen Kraft]

Originally Posted by Bert Notorius

I am torn when it comes to Dylan; more suited to my older bro's generation. It's fun to joke about the mumbling, but Jesus, what a trip he took. One of my best friends put it best: "Sometimes you just have to let art flow over you."

World with or world without Dylan, which is better?

With.

The idea that the presentation of his poetry needs to be clear and easily understood in reminiscent of the early attitude people had about art: if it isn't "picture perfect" it is nothing but a sick distortion == and clearly NOT art!

Dylan's work is landmark, with or without his presentation -- most of which is at least as valuable (on its own terms) as the content itself.

And, since I am always 100% right about this sort of shit, you can take that to the bank. No wait... banks aren't safe any more. Put it under your mattress.... nah, just take it to bed. That's what most people do...

Blink.

[Bert Notorius]

Originally Posted by Karen Kraft

With.

The idea that the presentation of his poetry needs to be clear and easily understood in reminiscent of the early attitude people had about art: if it isn't "picture perfect" it is nothing but a sick distortion == and clearly NOT art!

Dylan's work is landmark, with or without his presentation -- most of which is at least as valuable (on its own terms) as the content itself.

And, since I am always 100% right about this sort of shit, you can take that to the bank. No wait... banks aren't safe any more. Put it under your mattress.... nah, just take it to bed. That's what most people do...

Blink.

I put pics over an EastMountainSouth tune on the tube and they yanked it for copyright. And they're hardly legendary.

[Karen Kraft]

Originally Posted by Bert Notorius

I put pics over an EastMountainSouth tune on the tube and they yanked it for copyright. And they're hardly legendary.

Why not just get permission when you want to do stuff? It's not that big a deal. I have a late 1950s LP of Vin Scully that I want to put on YouTube. Before spending a lot of time adding the pics, I'll send a couple of emails to the folks who own the rights. They will ask to see what I create before I publish it; if they don't object, I'll post it with credits as per their instructions. More often than not, they are thrilled something gets a fresh spin. That's what that fuckheads who Killed the Kitty never understood about p2p. It actually increases legit sales.

[Bert Notorius]

Originally Posted by Karen Kraft

Why not just get permission when you want to do stuff? It's not that big a deal. I have a late 1950s LP of Vin Scully that I want to put on YouTube. Before spending a lot of time adding the pics, I'll send a couple of emails to the folks who own the rights. They will ask to see what I create before I publish it; if they don't object, I'll post it with credits as per their instructions. More often than not, they are thrilled something gets a fresh spin. That's what that fuckheads who Killed the Kitty never understood about p2p. It actually increases legit sales.

I don't communicate good.

[Midnight_Man]

Dylan can't even interpret his songs, especially those from the 60's, he said so. He also said he has no clue as to how he came to write them. If he doesn't know, no one else is going to interpret them.

[Bert Notorius]

Originally Posted by Midnight_Man

Dylan can't even interpret his songs, especially those from the 60's, he said so. He also said he has no clue as to how he came to write them. If he doesn't know, no one else is going to interpret them.

The good songs allow you to apply your own interpretation. The thing that triggers the idea for a song can be nebulous, and forgettable. Sometimes, regrettably not.

[Karen Kraft]

Originally Posted by Midnight_Man

Dylan can't even interpret his songs, especially those from the 60's, he said so. He also said he has no clue as to how he came to write them. If he doesn't know, no one else is going to interpret them.

1. No.

2. Dylan says shit like that just as John Lennon did (and Jim Morrison).

3. One can interpret poetry without the condition precedent that the poet interpreted his/her work prior to your efforts. Otherwise, very little would be interpreted.

I'm sure Bob Dylan has NO CLUE what the meaning of this might be:

The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll

William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.

Copyright ©1964; renewed 1992 Special Rider Music

It must be a total mystery to the man what he had in mind when the words somehow (as if by magic) appeared on the pages of his notebook. I'm sure he has no clue what the import of the song might be. Is it about ducks? Bunnies? The People's Temple Agricultural Cooperative? The Battle of Troy?

Who knows.... a mere collection of words devoid of interpretation. Wow.

[Midnight_Man]

Originally Posted by Karen Kraft

1. No.

2. Dylan says shit like that just as John Lennon did (and Jim Morrison).

3. One can interpret poetry without the condition precedent that the poet interpreted his/her work prior to your efforts. Otherwise, very little would be interpreted.

I'm sure Bob Dylan has NO CLUE what the meaning of this might be:

The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll

William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.

Copyright ©1964; renewed 1992 Special Rider Music

It must be a total mystery to the man what he had in mind when the words somehow (as if by magic) appeared on the pages of his notebook. I'm sure he has no clue what the import of the song might be. Is it about ducks? Bunnies? The People's Temple Agricultural Cooperative? The Battle of Troy?

Who knows.... a mere collection of words devoid of interpretation. Wow.

Songs are in the air...you have to have the ability to catch one.....

[Karen Kraft]

Originally Posted by Midnight_Man

Songs are in the air...you have to have the ability to catch one.....

Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind....

[Midnight_Man]

Originally Posted by Karen Kraft

Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind....

cute...

[Karen Kraft]

Originally Posted by Midnight_Man

cute...

I do what I can.

[Karen Kraft]

Although at times it's run a bit to the C&W... what can I say?

http://video.google.com/videoplay?do...m+Karen&hl=en#

[Midnight_Man]

Originally Posted by Karen Kraft

Although at times it's run a bit to the C&W... what can I say?

http://video.google.com/videoplay?do...m+Karen&hl=en#

Hmmmm....are you the vocalist?