The Wicked Messenger

Man learns a lesson:
They *do* shoot the messenger.
He gets a new job.

"Wicked Messenger," from the 1967 album "John Wesley Harding," is one of the greatest songs that Bob Dylan produced, all the more so for being so short and direct. The trouble I had with it was that I had no idea what it was about. Not anymore. I've read some interpretations, and the one I like best is that the messenger is Bob, who discovers through his abrasiveness that there is more to delivering messages than making them harsh, blunt and mean, and in fact, these bitter truths are a way of concealing the message by making people close their ears instead of opening them.

Words that opened up my heart:

There was a wicked messenger
 -- Bob Dylan, protest singer, scourge of the bourgeoisie and the squares and &c. Via Proverbs 13:17: "A wicked messenger falleth into mischief: but a faithful ambassador is health."

From Eli he did come
 -- High Priest of Shiloh. Sent a message to Hannah that she would get pregnant by her husband, despite previous infertility and subsequent mocking by her husband's other wife. Trains Samuel on how to be a religious judge. His own sons are wicked: they take prime cuts of meat from sacrifices and fuck the women who serve at the sanctuary. God tells Samuel to tell Eli that his sons will die on the same day. Samuel tries to hold back specifics of the bad news, but Eli insists on getting the whole story.

With a mind that multiplied the smallest matter
 -- "Positively 4th Street," anyone?

When questioned who had sent for him
He answered with his thumb
For his tongue it could not speak, but only flatter
 -- His very body disobeys him because it disavows his bitter truths.

He stayed behind the assembly hall
It was there he made his bed
 -- Stage performer

Oftentimes he could be seen returning
Until one day he just appeared
With a note in his hand which read
“The soles of my feet, I swear they’re burning”
 -- From the Book of Malachi: And ye shall tread down the wicked; for they shall be ashes under the soles of your feet in the day that I shall do this, saith the LORD of hosts. Either the messenger or someone else is getting that old-time feeling of exalted ecstasy. 
 -- And, especially given the next verse of the Dylan song, consider this line from the Book of Habbakuk, in which God get pissed off, having a proper "don't make me come down there" moment:
    God came from Teman, and the Holy One from mount Paran. Selah. His glory covered the heavens, and the earth was full of his praise. And his brightness was as the light; he had horns coming out of his hand: and there was the hiding of his power. Before him went the pestilence, and burning coals went forth at his feet.

Oh, the leaves began to fallin’
And the seas began to part
And the people that confronted him were many
And he was told but these few words
Which opened up his heart
“If ye cannot bring good news, then don’t bring any”
 -- Enlightenment is hard. Or to quote Carl Jung: "There is no coming to consciousness without pain. People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own Soul. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”

By the way, the song rocks, especially the bass.

John Wesley Harding

He's a wanted man,
Armed too. But poor folks love him,
And he’s innocent.

The real John Wesley Hardin (no "g" at the end) was a lawbreaker in many ways. Murder, horse theft, helping prisoners escape, and so on... but Dylan's character is more of a Robin Hood who is wanted for crimes that he did not commit. "John Wesley Harding" is the first song of the album of the same name that Dylan released in 1967, and sets the tone for the rest of the album, with its meanderings through the Old West, Appalachia and other dark, lonely and highly allegorical corners of the old, rural, wild America. Dylan's Harding is the idealized lawbreaker in that he's just, prefers easy solutions to sticky situations, and earns the respect of the people even as he lives outside the law. It's no surprise that some Dylan scholars have noted that JWH is a lot like the Hebrew "Yahweh."

1. Friend to poor
2. Gun in "every" hand
3. He was a thief
4. He didn't hurt anyone
5. In Cheney County
6. Had his lady with him
7. There was a confrontation, but everything got straightened out
8. He was always ready to help people
9. Police sent notices of him across the telegraph
10. No charge stuck
11. Nobody could catch him
12. He never made a foolish move

I Pity the Poor Immigrant

Bob pities people
Who live evil, selfish lives
Before they repent

I've never understood "I Pity the Poor Immigrant." It's a song that I feel more than comprehend. One of Bob Dylan's most gray, dense and confounding morality tales on the 1967 album "John Wesley Harding," it spends its short running time with the narrator expressing his pity for bad people who do bad things, and them pitying them all the more when everything they believe falls apart and, if I follow the song properly, discover happiness after the abandonment of what they THOUGHT would make them happy. Consider:

The immigrant:
- Wishes he would have stayed home
- Works hard to do evil
- Is always left alone
- Cheats
- Lies (constantly)
- Hates his life but fears dying
- Wastes his strength
- Heaven like Ironsides (the paraplegic detective from the TV show?? The USS Constitution?)
- Cries a lot
- Hears, but can't see
- Falls in love with wealth
- Ignores other people
- Tramples in the mud
- Laughs while building towns of blood

And then the apocalyptic final lines:

"Whose visions in the final end
Must shatter like the glass
I pity the poor immigrant
When his gladness comes to pass."

I forgive Dylan is redundancy on "final end."

I'll Be Your Baby Tonight

Bob promises you
He's gonna be your sweetheart
As soon as tonight.

"I'll Be Your Baby Tonight" is the last song on the 1967 album "John Wesley Harding." It and the song before it, "Down Along the Cove" sound like Dylan brought them in from another album, even though he recorded them with the same band. While the first 10 songs sound like a mini-Apocrypha that got separated from a mysterious Bible or obscure religious text, these two songs are about being in love and being loved in return. "Down Along the Cove" is the bright walk in the meadow near the water during the middle of a warm day. "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight" hovers on the intersection of sleep and canoodling.

Bedtime ritual:
- Close eyes
- Close door
- No worry no more
- Shut light
- Shut shade
- No be afraid
- Forget sail-away mockingbird
- Let be shine-like-spoon fat moon
- Kick off shoes
- No fear
- Bottle bring here

I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine

Augustine frees souls,
But people don't like that, so,
Of course, they kill him.

Another jack-in-the-box song from 1967's "John Wesley Harding" album, "I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine" stuffs plenty of material into a short song.

1. St. Augustine: alive, frenzied and miserable. He has his blanket (a wandering mendicant?) and a coat of gold (spiritual riches?). He's looking to save souls, but they've been sold.
2. He tells the rich: You have no martyr to make your saint, so keep doing your thing, but know that you're not alone. I'm assuming that he means he is prophesying his death at their hands.
3. Bob dreams that he's one of the people to put the saint to death. Bob wakes up, alone and terrified. He cries.

I could have written 20 haiku from different angles, but I settled on this one alone. Maybe another time I'll try again.

Separately:

The real St. Augustine of Hippo was born on November 13, 354 and died on August 28, 430. Seventy-six years old, and he wasn't martyred. The Chrstian theologian and philosopher died at the age of 76 during the Vandal siege of Hippo in Roman Africa. He asked the church library that his books be preserved. The Vandals must have had some idea of this. It is said that they lifted the siege, but later came back and burned the city to the ground -- except for his cathedral and library. As far as other notable Augustines, the first archbishop of Canterbury was named Augustine. He died in 604, and was not martyred. There was one martyred St. Augustine, however. The prior of Our Lady of Melwood in Epworth, Lincolnshire, was Augustine Webster. He and three other Carthusians were tried and executed for refusing to take the Oath of Supremacy under Thomas Cromwell -- hanged, beheaded and quartered. Pope Paul VI canonized him. (Cromwell got his later because of his various backroom machinations that eventually backfired. King Henry VIII had him beheaded in 1540 on the same day that he married Catherine Howard. His head was put on a spike and set on London Bridge for everyone to see. Henry later regretted the decision, saying that his ministers put him up to it by giving him slanted information)

I Am a Lonesome Hobo

Hobo warns people
Not to covet or distrust,
Lest they become him.

"I Am a Lonesome Hobo" is another Old Testament-style morality tale filtered through the shadows of the lonely Appalachians. It appears on the 1967 album "John Wesley Harding."

1. Hobo has no family or friends. He has bribed, blackmailed and deceived. He's done time for everything except begging.
2. He used to be rich, but he was poor in trust toward his brother (which to me means "other people"). His accusations of others led him to doom and shame. You could argue that it was the money and its effect on his character that did it.
3. Lesson: "Stay free from petty jealousies, live by no man's code, and hold your judgment for yourself lest you wind up on this road."

Drifter's Escape

Drifter goes on trial.

He's probably not guilty

So God lets him go.

More people know Bob Dylan's epic songs. Not as many people have heard the crystalline pleasure of his short ones. "Drifter's Escape" is a minimal, perplexing AND amazing track from the 1967 album "John Wesley Harding." It's the story of a hobo who falls into the clutches of the law, and seems to be heading for some rough justice at their hands. God has other plans, and intervenes on behalf of the drifter. The music is simple, spare and intense.

- Authorities take drifter from the courtroom. He's going to be executed. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this.
- The judge seems to sympathize, despite his sentence. The crowd wants blood, as does the jury.
- An attendant and his nurse sympathize as well, and wish the jury would hush. Lightning strikes. The people in their religious gullibility kneel and pray. The drifter knows an exit when one presents itself.

Down Along the Cove

Bob meets his girlfriend
Down along the cove. And then
They take a short walk.

The 1967 album "John Wesley Harding" is the shortest, sparest, densest album in my collection. It's full of gnomic Biblical references, spooky American morality tales, the apocalyptic landscape of "All Along the Watchtower," and a variety of old, weird tales about gunslingers, co-dependent friends, Tom Paine, divine intervention, evil immigrants and wicked messengers and lonesome hobos. Then there are the last two songs, which are performed by the same musicians and apparently from the same sessions, but they seem like they arrived from another album. The first of the two is "Down Along the Cove," which is one of my favorite Bob songs. It's about exactly what you think: Bob and his girl go for a walk along the cove. They're obviously in love, and everybody knows it, and what's more, everybody understands why. That's called living the dream. Even better is the pedal steel guitar that spices up the song.

Here's a live version from 1999, apparently its debut in the Dylan touring repertory. Below it is the original, sparkling album cut.

Dear Landlord

It's a simple ask:

Don't raise my apartment rent.

I have commitments.

"Dear Landlord" comes from side two of the 1967 mystery album "John Wesley Harding." Like nearly every other song on the album, it's loaded with symbols and metaphors, and nothing is quite like it seems. That eeriness is raised to a higher degree by the simplicity of the recordings: mostly acoustic guitar, soft bass and drums and some piano. This sounds like a song that came out of another century that never existed. And here are some of Bob's complaints to his landlord:

1. Don't put a price on his soul. Burden heavy, dreams beyond control. He'll pay when the steamboat whistle blows, and he hopes you take the pay.

2. You're not the only one who has suffered. Sometimes we work too hard and spend time on things that aren't meaningful.

3. Please don't dismiss his case. He's not moving. He won't underestimate you if you don't underestimate him.

Here's Joe Cocker's version.

The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest

Frankie Lee wants what

Judas has. He scrounges, which

Proves his undoing.

This was recorded in 1967 for the "John Wesley Harding" album, that mysterious collection of cowboy tales, love songs and hardwood proverbs from the murky borderline between the western frontier and the Old Testament. This is one of the most haunting songs that Bob Dylan ever wrote, and the simple guitar-bass-drums-harmonica arrangement of the ballad give it the surreal quality of horror movies in which the scary stuff happens in the bright light of day.

In short:
1. Frankie needs some money. Judas offers him a bunch of $10 bills and says take your pick.
2. Frankie's ready to take, but he doesn't like Judas watching him do it.
3. Judas winks and says, sure, fine, OK, I'll be down the road in "eternity," and they'll meet up in some time. Frankie says he doesn't believe in eternity.
4. Frankie's working on his money when a stranger says Judas is calling him from a house down the road.
5. Frankie sees the house and notes that there are 24 women in there, presumably hot ones.
6. He goes on a 17-day tear inside the house, then dies in Judas's arms.
7. They bury Frankie Lee, and a little "neighbor boy," unmentioned until now, says nothing is revealed.
8. Maybe that's not true because Bob has something to say:

Well, the moral of the story
The moral of this song
Is simply that one should never be
Where one does not belong
So when you see your neighbor carryin’ somethin’
Help him with his load
And don’t go mistaking Paradise

For that home across the road

As far as instructions for life that are nearly biblical in their simplicity and grace go, this is one that's worth learning, but hard to accept.

As I Went Out One Morning

Tom Paine says sorry

For letting daughter seduce

Bob with ideals.

It might be my imagination, but nearly every song on John Wesley Harding resembles a collapsed star. The area and volume are small compared to other stars, and their density is astounding. "As I Went Out One Morning" is just such a song, generating all sorts of ideas by Dylan fans for what it might "mean." The story is simple and over quickly:

Verse 1: Dylan goes out for a walk to "breathe the air around Tom Paine's." He meets a "damsel" in chains. She suggests in a sly tone that they should escape to the South.

Verse 2: Dylan isn't having it. Get away, he says. I don't want to, she says. I insist, he says.

Verse 3: Tom Paine arrives and tells the girl to knock it off. Then he apologizes to Dylan for what she did.

I don't know what it's about or if it's about anything. Before writing these haikus, I gave it some thought, but gave it up because I prefer to enjoy music more than I like to analyze it. But in the spirit of inquiry, I decided to return. Side note: the Robert Burns poem that this song appears to be based on, in which a man knocks up a young girl who, though she confesses to be underage, has a body that is anything but. At least there's no trouble understanding that story line.

All Along the Watchtower

The joker can’t cope.

Chill, says the thief, life’s a joke.

Princess waits, wind howls.

Two stories in one, making this a 2-1/2 minute epic of inscrutability:
1. The joker's sick of being exploited by businessmen and farmers, while the thief adjusts the joker's vantage point to the longest-term view that there is: when you're dead, you won't care. There's some cold comfort for your one more cup of coffee.
2. The princess walks along a watchtower, attended by women and barefoot servants. It's nasty outside: howling wind, cold weather, a growling wildcat and two unidentified people approaching, presumably on horseback. Enjoy the rest of your day.

As usual, the atmosphere is the key here, and like many of the other minimalist songs on 1967's "John Wesley Harding" album, it's Nashville country-and-western style doom and gloom. I've read the word "apocalypse" many times as a key association with this song, and it's not hard to see why. Chapter 1 opens with despair and fatalism, chapter 2 provides a peripatetic princess on a parapet, presumably in peril. Whatever the song might be "about," the foreboding tone is all too apparent, and the compact size of the song gives it an extra chill. The Jimi Hendrix big-ass-guitar version is the opposite, but no less effective or fun to listen to. As for the haiku, I couldn't ignore one half of the story for the other, so I went for the Cliff's Notes version of the joker and the thief, then I sacrificed the riders, the wildcat, the women and the servants. You gotta be cruel to be kind.

Here are the Jimi and Bob versions. I don't know if the links are working. They render for me, but I can't open them. If they fail for enough of you, I'll remove them.

And here is a version of Dylan doing the song in concert in Oslo, 2013.

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Dear Landlord

Bob's eloquent plea
To his landlord to please keep
His monthly rent down.

Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest

Frankie Lee scrounges.
Judas lets him -- to a point.
Then he's had enough.

As I Went out One Morning

Dylan is seduced
By the American dream.
Tom Paine rescues him.

All Along the Watchtower

Joker can't take life.
Thief says, "It is what it is...
Let others suffer."

I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine

Augustine frees souls,
But people don't like that, so,
Of course, they kill him.