Every song Bob Dylan wrote or performed can be distilled in a haiku. NOTE FOR READERS: All posts from 2010 to 2014 should be considered out of date. Please disregard them. There are, or will be, new versions of each haiku.
Showing posts with label The 50th Anniversary Collection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The 50th Anniversary Collection. Show all posts
Dylan fans will recognize the tune that formed the basis of “I Pity the Poor Immigrant” six years after he performed this song. “The Ballad of Donald White” is a song of societal ills too, but in a different vein. Ol’ Donald sings the sad story of his life just before he hangs for murder. He came from Kansas, ended up in Seattle and everywhere he went he was an anti-social loser who couldn’t fit in. He had no education and stole to support himself. He wound up in jail where, rather like some of Jean Genet’s homosexual criminals, he found his real home. Trouble is, the jails and institutions were too crowded so he was set free. He begged to go back where he felt he belonged, but no one would incarcerate him without reason so he killed a man on Christmas Eve 1959. Naturally, they took him back, but only for a short stay. Then they hanged him. Don’s last question was whether “boys that come down the road like me, Are they enemies or victims of your society?”
Son leaves Wichita.
Dad says, "You might catch TB."
Son runs out of cash.
"Wichita Blues," also known as "Goin' to Louisiana," is a song that Bob Dylan recorded during the sessions for the 1963 album "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan," but the song didn't make the final cut. It appears on the first of the "50th Anniversary Collection" copyright extension albums, which was released, as the title indicates, 50 years after the 1962 sessions for the album. And when I left Wichita the weather was blowin' free And when I left Wichita the wind was blowing free Well, my poppa said, "Son, Watch out, you might catch that old T.B" When I landed in West Memphis, Lord, I never had a dime. When I landed in West Memphis, Lord, I never had a dime. Operator said, "Son, you ain't no friend of mine." Operator, operator Let a poor boy ride. Operator, operator, oh Let a poor boy ride. Can't you see my standing here, how tears are running down my eyes. [...] let me ride your train [...] let me ride your train Lord, I'm standing in the weather, Lord, clouds look like it will rain. Going down to Louisiana where that green river runs Going down to Louisiana where that green river runs Lord, I just went out, my ramblin' is just begun. And when I left Wichita the weather was blowin' free And when I left Wichita the wind was blowing free Well, my poppa said, "Son, Watch out, you might catch that old T.B" Slightly different lyrics here:
Mom doesn't approve
Of son's girl. He doesn't care,
Even if she's bad.
This song, made popular by Elvis Presley in the 50s, got the Dylan treatment in 1962, but wasn't released until the rare "50th Anniversary Collection" copyright extension came out in 2012. The haiku gets straight to the point, as does the song: (Hail hail Arthur Crudup!) Well, that's all right, mama That's all right for you That's all right mama, just anyway you do Well, that's all right, that's all right. That's all right now mama, anyway you do Mama she done told me, Papa done told me too 'Son, that gal your foolin' with, She ain't no good for you' But, that's all right, that's all right. That's all right now mama, anyway you do I'm leaving town, baby I'm leaving town for sure Well, then you won't be bothered with Me hanging 'round your door Well, that's all right, that's all right. That's all right now mama, anyway you do
How to build a road.
This lesson followed by: how
To find my girlfriend.
Bob Dylan recorded "Rocks and Gravel" during the 1962 sessions for "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan," but the song remained unreleased other than a live performance from that year (This is not entirely true. See below for why). The studio take appeared on the rare "50th Anniversary Collection" for copyright extensions in 2012. It also appeared on the TV show "True Detective" in the first season. It's a short song, and it contains the following pieces: 1. To build a solid road: you need rocks and gravel. 2. To satisfy my soul: you need a good woman. 3. By the way: have you ever been down on the Mobile and K.C. line? If so, have you seen my girlfriend? 4. And here is a refrain that he took and altered for the song "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry" -- "Don't the clouds look lonesome shining across the sea? Don't my gal look good when she's coming after me?" The version of this song that I've presented here is incredibly rare. Here's why.
Angry man rambles.
He hates to leave his woman,
But she is unkind.
This is an old, well known Robert Johnson blues song that Bob Dylan recorded in 1962. It's available on the rare "50th Anniversary Collection" album, which was released in 2012 as a way to extend copyrights on a number of songs that Dylan recorded at the time. I got ramblin', I got ramblin' on my mind I got ramblin', I got ramblin' all on my mind Hate to leave my baby but you treat me so unkind I got mean things, I got mean things all on my mind Little girl, little girl, I got mean things all on my mind Hate to leave you here, babe, but you treat me so unkind Runnin' down to the station, catch the first mail train I see I think I hear her comin' now Runnin' down to the station, catch the old first mail train I see I got the blues about Miss So-and-So and the child got the blues about me And I'm leavin' this mornin' with my arm' fold' up and cryin' And I'm leavin' this mornin' with my arm' fold' up and cryin' I hate to leave my baby but she treats me so unkind I got mean things, I've got mean things on my mind I got mean things, I've got mean things all on my mind I got to leave my baby, well, she treats me so unkind
Muleskinner likes work.
He finally finds some, then spends
Payday cash on girls.
Bob Dylan performed this old Jimmie Rodgers song in 1962 at the Finjan Club in Montreal. Its only authorized release that I'm aware of is on the ultra-rare "50th Anniversary Collection" album that extends the copyright on a bunch of material that Dylan recorded in 1962. It's a yodel about a mule skinner, as you might expect. I can't find the Dylan recording online so I'll share Dolly Parton's version. A muleskinner is a mule driver. Good morning captain, Good morning son. Good morning captain, Good morning son. You don't need another mule skinner Out on your new road line. Yodle-aa-heeee! Yodle-aa-heeee! Yodle-aa-heeee! I can't do that one. Well I like to work, I'm rolling all the time. Well I like to work, I'm rolling all the time. I can pop my initials Right on the mules behind. Well it's hey little waterboy, Bring your water round. Well it's hey little waterboy, Bring your water round. If you don't like your job, Set that waterbucket down. I'm a-working on the new road At a dollar and a dime a day. I'm a-working on the new road At a dollar and a dime a day. I got three women waiting on a saturday night just to draw my pay
The milk cow's missing.
If you see her, send her home.
Someone needs a suck.
An old Sleepy John Estes song became a famous Robert Johnson song and eventually reached its way to Bob Dylan, who recorded several takes of it for "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" album during 1962. It didn't make the album. This is a standard blues, combining sickness, sex and cheating. The metaphors barely hide the subject matter (though to explain the blue milk: this is a fungal spread): Tell me, milkcow, what on earth is wrong with you? Ooh, milkcow, what on earth is wrong with you? Now, you have a little calf, hoo hoo, and your milk is turnin' blue Oh, your calf is hungry, I believe he needs a suck Now, your calf is hungry, I believe he needs a suck But your milk is turnin' blue, hoo hoo, I believe he's outta luck Now, I feel like milkin' and my cow won't come I feel like churnin' it and my milk won't turn I'm cryin', please, please, don't do me wrong If you see my milk cow, baby, now how, please, drive her home But my milkcow been ramblin', hoo hee, for miles around But my milkcow been ramblin', hoo hoo, for miles around Well, now how can you suck on some other man's bull cow? Hoo hoo, in this strange man's town
His "kind-hearted" gal
Packs a .32, but he
Thinks he might shoot first.
"Kind-Hearted Woman" is another song in the long series of woman-hating songs by blues artists. This one, which Bob Dylan performed at the Gaslight Cafe in 1962, is based on blues master Robert Johnson's first studio recording from 1936. His song was in turn based on several other blues hits by other people from that time. The last three lines are lifted from the "James Alley Blues" by Richard "Rabbit" Brown. The song is available on the hard-to-find "50th Anniversary Collection," first volume. I got a kind-hearted woman studies evil all the time. I got a kind-hearted woman studies evil all the time. She would kill me just to have it on her mind She got a .32 special, built on a cross of wood She got a .32 special, built on a cross of wood I got a 38-20, man, that's twice as good. Sometime I'm thinking, you're too good to die Sometime I'm thinking, you're too good to die Other times I'm a-thinking you ought to be buried alive.
Man can't find a "friend,"
Like, "ladyfriend." He's dirty,
He'll need a bath first.
"I Rode Out One Morning" is an early Bob Dylan folk-blues pastiche, the usual story of someone who goes out wandering to find a friend, and then laments how hard it is to be lonely. It comes complete with mournful ostinato on the guitar, changing only its chords. I don't buy a bit of the sad boy attitude. I think he's in the mood and needs to find himself some female companionship. He notes that he rides out one morning, trying to make a friend, but can't find one in the city. He then notes that his hands are dirty and his hair is messed up. Finally, he says: It's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard ground to walk It's hard as the nail, it's hard as the rock, It's hard as the sail that stands to the wind But they're all not as hard as the love that I'm in. Hard. Love. Come on... You can find this song on the rare "50th Anniversary Collection" album.
Guy gets in trouble,
Leaves gal in Carolina,
Gets jailed in Georgia.
This is a Hank Williams song that Bob Dylan played a few times in the early 1960s in studio rehearsals and on the radio and, I'm assuming, in shows here and there. It can be found on the first volume of the "50th Anniversary Collection" series, as an outake from the sessions for "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" that he recorded in 1962. Verse 1: Knocks up girlfriend, has to hop a train. Verse 2: He was young and stupid. Whatever else he did, he also broke his girlfriend's heart. He also presumably committed a crime as he was sent to prison in Georgia. Verse 3: He's ashasmed, just a number, not a name. He listens to the lonesome train whistle as the train rolls by. Verse 4: He'll be in prison for life.
Despite alibi,
Firing squad shoots Hiram H.
Dead without a will.
I don't know much about "Hiram Hubbard," but was able to find one or two references online. It's a mountain murder ballad, most likely from eastern Kentucky, and coming from the days of the Civil War. Jean Ritchie, who performed the song before Bob Dylan, indicates that he was likely arrested and shot by rebel soldiers, though for what crime we don't know. Aiding the enemy, perhaps. Dylan's version doesn't clarify, though Ritchie's includes this verse: "While travelling through this country In sorrow and distress, While travelling through this country In sorrow and distress, The rebels overhauled him, In chains they bound him fast." In her version, they shoot him with 11 bullets, though Dylan's version uses "three," presumably the better to rhyme with "tree." Dylan performed his version at the Finjan Club in Montreal in 1962. See below: Hiram Hubbard wasn't guilty I've heard a great many say Hiram Hubbard wasn't guilty I've heard a great many say He was not in this county He was forty miles away. But they took him 'cross the mountain And they whomped him on the hill Yes, they took him on the mountain And they whomped him on the hill It was there that he pleaded Oh, please, let me make my will. But Hiram Hubbard wasn't guilty I've heard a great many say Hiram Hubbard wasn't guilty I've heard a great many say He was not in this county He was forty miles away. But they took him down to Danville And they throwed him in jail Yes, they took him down to Danville And they throwed him in jail And it was then nobody sought him Nobody could go his bail. But Hiram Hubbard wasn't guilty I've heard a great many say Hiram Hubbard wasn't guilty I've heard a great many say He was not in this county He was forty miles away. But they took him out at midnight And they strapped him to a tree Yes, they took him out at midnight And they strapped him to a tree It was there that they killed him With rifle bullets three. But Hiram Hubbard was not guilty Lord, I heard a great many say Hiram Hubbard wasn't guilty I heard a great many say He was not in this county He was forty miles away.
You want a hero?
Not me, try another guy.
Like Napoleon.
"Hero Blues" was recorded for the 1963 album "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" but left off the album. There are various versions available, the easiest of which to find is on the Witmark Demos, released on the ninth volume on the Bootleg Series. You also can find it on the "50th Anniversary Collection," volume 1, but it's not an easy-to-find collection or recommended for all but the completist. You can hear the seeds of "It Ain't Me, Babe" in the lyrics. Both songs are about a woman who wants her man to be things that he's not. Witness: - She wants him to be a hero so she can tell her friends. - She begged, cried and pleaded for him to go out and start a fight with a stranger. - She reads too many books and watches too many movies. - She needs a different kind of guy, perhaps Napoleon Bonaparte. - When he's dead, she's more than welcome to call him a hero while she stands over his grave.
You don't understand.
I'm going to New Orleans.
I have some troubles.
Bob Dylan's "Goin' down to New Orleans" is an early track, mostly a variation on Muddy Waters's "Louisiana Blues." Waters focuses more on getting a mojo bag that he'll use to impress the ladies. Dylan is more concerned with some unkown trouble that he's just found out is chasing him. He had a good idea after visiting the fortune teller, who tells him that he's all right, but he's cursed by bad luck. Of course, his wandering means leaving a woman. You can find Dylan's song on the super-rare "50th Anniversary Collection" compilation. The song: I'm goin' down to New Orleans, baby, behind the rising sun Goin' down to New Orleans, baby, behind the rising sun Lord, I've just found out, my trouble has just begun. Oh, went to see a gypsy woman, have my fortune told Went to see that gypsy woman, have my fortune told She said: "You're a good boy, Bobby. Man, you just got a bad luck soul." I got a 32 special built on a cross of wood I got a 32 special built on a cross of wood I got a 38-20, man, that's twice as good I'm goin' down to New Orleans with my hat (head?) in my hand Goin' down to New Orleans, mama, with my hat (head?) in my hand Now, I hate to leave you, but you just don't understand I'm goin' down to New Orleans, baby, behind the rising sun Goin' down to New Orleans, baby, behind the rising sun Lord, I've just found out, my trouble has just begun.
Two angry white men
Torture and murder Emmett.
They are acquitted.
Emmett Till was a black teenager, murdered by Roy Bryant and J.W. Milam in 1955 because they took offense when he spoke to Bryant's wife, 21-year-old Carolyn Bryant. They beat him in a barn, gouged out one of his eyes, shot him in the head and dumped him in the Tallahatchie River. The tied a 70-pound cotton gin fan around his neck with barbed wire. His mother insisted on an open casket at the funeral to bring attention to the brutality of the crime and to raise attention to racism in the United States. A jury acquitted Bryant and Milam, who later told Look magazine that they killed Till. Dylan's song, copyrighted in 1963, appears on the Witmark Demos in the Bootleg Series. It's one of his "journalism songs," as I call them, in the same vein as "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll" or "Who Killed Davey Moore?" Or, for that matter, "Hurricane." He lets his indignation show, and saves up some for the end when he more or less accuses his listeners of apathy. If the song suffers at all, it's more in delivery than in spirit. Some critics say the lyrics are earnest to the point of silliness, and I do think that they could have been stronger with more subtlety. But what can you do. If you can’t speak out against this kind of thing, a crime that’s so unjust Your eyes are filled with dead men’s dirt, your mind is filled with dust Your arms and legs they must be in shackles and chains, and your blood it must refuse to flow For you let this human race fall down so God-awful low! This song is just a reminder to remind your fellow man That this kind of thing still lives today in that ghost-robed Ku Klux Klan But if all of us folks that thinks alike, if we gave all we could give We could make this great land of ours a greater place to live
Here is a version of the song that he performed on WBAI radio with Cynthia Gooding in 1962. Don't miss his commentary before the song on how he stole the chords from another folksinger.
This part of Dallas,
Is thick with thieves. Your daddy
likes to hang out there.
Deep Ellum is a neighborhood in Dallas, not far from the Baylor University Medical Center. It's an arts and entertainment spot these days, but nearly a century ago it played host to more bawdy forms of the arts (theft, and so on) and entertainment (drugs, gambling, etc.). It was also a hot spot for blue musicians from Blind Lemon Jefferson to Robert Johnson to Bessie Smith. The song "Deep Elm Blues," or "Elem" or "Ellum," depending on how different people spelled it by its popular pronunciation, is an oft-performed ode to -- or warning about -- the fun, sinful side of town. Les Paul, Jerry Lee Lewis and the Grateful Dead all have performed versions of this song. Bob's version, which he performed live in New York in the early 1960s, contains advice and news, namely: 1. Keep your money in your shoes while in Deep Ellum. 2. Notice to pretty mama: your daddy has the Deep Ellum blues. 3. When Bob went to Deep Ellum, it was on a one-way track. He took his money and never gave it back. The song appears on the first volume of the limited-edition 50th Anniversary Collection. Here's a 1981 version by the Grateful Dead, which contains another verse about the preacher who discovered the Deep Ellum Blues, and now, of course, his preaching days are through.
Another of Bob's melancholy-go-lucky walking songs, "Bob Dylan's Blues" was recorded in 1962 for the 1963 album "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan." I focused on the first verse since problems tend to be what plague Dylan through many of the verses of many of his songs, and that seemed to capture the essence of this little rambler-gambler tune.
For what it's worth, the other verses tackle different subjects, while his spoken introduction notes that this song was written in the United States, not Tin Pan Alley in New York City:
1. Someone must have told the Lone Ranger and Tonto that Bob was doing all right because they're fixing everyone's troubles but his.
2. Bob has a real gal, not a "five and 10-cent woman," and he advises those in the latter coterie to go away from his door and window.
3. He doesn't go to the racetrack because he doesn't have or need a sports car. He can walk around the block on his feet if he wishes.
4. The wind blows him in various directions. Don't step on him.
5. If you want to be like Bob, go commit armed robbery. Tell the judge later when you're on trial that Bob said it was OK.
Here's another version of the song, released on "The 50th Anniversary Collection."
"Black Cross" is the story of Hezekiah Jones, written by Joseph S. Newman in 1948 and performed by Richard "Lord" Buckley in 1959, according to bobdylanroots.com. Bob Dylan performed the song in 1962 at the Gaslight Cafe and it appears on "The 50th Anniversary Collection" copyright extension collection that was released in 2012. Hezekiah Jones is a black farmer who reads too much for his own good in a country full of bigots. White people resent his reading habit, and one day a priest comes around to his house to ask him if he really believes in God and the Church and so on. Jones, being a literate sort, sports with the priest, using humor and irony, and turns the priest's questions back on him. After this tete-a-tete, the white people hang Jones because, as they say, "the son-of-a-bitch never had no religion!" Haha.
Here are the lyrics:
This is the story of Hezekiah Jones...
Hezekiah Jones lived in a place... in Arkansas.
He never had too much, except he had some land,
An' he had a couple of hogs and things like that.
He never had much money
But he'd spend what he did make as fast as he made it,
So it never really mattered that he had much money.
But in a cupboard there, He kept in the cupboard... he kept in the cupboard books,
He called the books his "rainy season."
The white folks around the county there talked about Hezekiah...
They... said, "Well... old Hezekiah, he's harmless enough,
but the way I see it he better put down them goddam books,
Readin' ain't no good, for nigger is nigger."
One day the white man's preacher came around
Knockin' on doors, knockin' on all the doors in the county,
He knocked on Hezekiah's door.
He says, "Hezekiah, you believe in the Lord?"
Hezekiah says, "Well, I don't know, I never really SEEN the Lord,
I can't say, yes, I do..."
He says, "Hezekiah, you believe in the Church?"
Hezekiah says, "Well, the Church is divided, ain't they,
And... they can't make up their minds.
I'm just like them, I can't make up mine either."
He says, "Hezekiah, you believe that if a man is good Heaven is his last reward?"
Hezekiah says, "I'm good... good as my neighbor."
"You don't believe in nothin'," said the white man's preacher,
You don't believe in nothin'!"
"Oh yes, I do," says Hezekiah,
"I believe that a man should be indebted to his neighbors
Not for the reward of Heaven or fear of hellfire."
"But you don't understand," said the white man's preacher,
"There's a lot of good ways for a man to be wicked..."
Then they hung Hezekiah high as a pigeon.
White folks around there said, "Well... he had it comin'
The old blues song that everyone and their brother has done. Most of us know the version by Them featuring our young and pugnacious misanthropic friend Van Morrison on vocals. Bob's versions, two of them, appear on "The 50th Anniversary Collection" copyright extension album. It's rough, and Dylan's voice sounds more affected than authentic, but it's fun to listen to him try to growl like a grizzled blues singer.
As for the lyrics, the song generally concerns a prisoner who hopes that his lover won't leave him and go back to New Orleans before he gets out. In Dylan's performance, he's on the Parchman Farm, otherwise known as the Mississippi State Penitentiary in Parchman, Mississippi.
Here is Big Joe Williams doing the song. He popularized it in a 1935 recording.
This is a song from 1962 that was left off "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan." It surfaced in the "Biograph" anthology in 1985, and there are two takes on the hard-to-find "The 50th Anniversary Collection" copyright extension album. I don't know whether one of those two takes is the one on "Biograph."
The situation is pretty simple: There are a number of things that Bob finds himself in the mood for, but then again, as he says, sometimes he's in the mood for you.
Here is the unexpurgated list of things for which Bob is in the mood at one time or another:
