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So, there was this friend of ours that we called Giorgio the Capitano Jackson.
He always lived in that borderline area of legality made of poverty, impulsive actions, odd jobs, and grand parties.
Never having felt shame or fear of anything, he has always inspired my deepest gratitude.
It's a point of honor for me to be considered his friend, especially since a slow marginalization process against him started by those lice-infested who dub themselves "the normals".
You know when Nello sings:
I mean was he a heavy doper
or was he just a loser?
He was a friend of yours.
What do you mean,
he had bullet holes
in his mirrors?
There you go.
If I ever had to think of a type of person who, besides Dylan, could be a credible interpreter of these songs, I can't think of anyone but him.
Of course, courage can only be born from poverty and marginalization.
Certain passions can only be lived as an outsider.
Certain envies can only be stirred by someone who has nothing.
Only someone who has been an outlaw can be an empathetic judge.
Anyway, just to avoid being accused of only talking about my own stuff, I will elaborate a bit on this album trying to be as didactic as possible.
It happens that in the early '90s even someone like Dylan got tired of producing crap.
It happens that at a certain point even the most prolific of artists realizes that they can no longer raise the bar of innovation.
In these cases, a lot of people go back home, taking refuge in those sweet reactionary pleasures that remind us of our childhood.
But not all these people go by the name of Bob Dylan.
Because you can say anything about him (and in fact, everything has been said, and this only attests to how boundless his talent is) except that he hasn't truly and sincerely loved his masters in a visceral way.
So in the early '90s, Bob undertakes this journey of returning home which constitutes to this day the latest expression of his art.
This "Good as I Been to You" is the first step of this journey.
It's a very simple voice and guitar album where he tackles a dozen timeless songs, most of which straddle the 19th and 20th centuries.
I personally am sometimes capable of being moved by this kind of songs.
They have that rustic simplicity that I only fleetingly glimpsed in my early years when I was being raised by timeless people, and my hands smelled of dirt. They exude a humanity now extinct and a will to live that only those who have to fight every day to survive could have known.
Absurd love stories ("Canadee-i-o"), fierce revenges ("Frankie & Albert," "Jim Jones"), poverty ("Hard Times," "Diamond Joe"), boasts as I've been told were once used ("Arthur McBride").
The never too celebrated desire to screw up one's life and escape towards a horizon of uncertainties ("Blackjack Davey").
A very sweet love song like "Tomorrow Night."
In this album and in its twin from the following year, Dylan cleans house.
And he prepares for that sensational masterpiece that will put him decisively back on the map.
Tracklist and Lyrics
02 Jim Jones (03:55)
1. Come and listen for a moment, lads,
And hear me tell my tale.
How across the sea from England
I was condemned to sail.
Now the jury found me guilty,
Then says the judge, says he,
"Oh, for life, Jim Jones, I'm sending you
Across the stormy sea.
But take a tip before you ship
To join the iron gang.
Don't get too gay in Botany Bay,
Or else you'll surely hang.
Or else you'll surely hang," says he.
"And after that, Jim Jones,
It's high above on the gallows tree
The crows will pick your bones."
2. And our ship was high upon the sea
Then pirates came along,
But the soldiers on our convict ship
Were full five hundred strong.
For they opened fire and somehow drove
That pirate ship away.
But I'd rather have joined that pirate ship
Than gone to Botany Bay.
With the storms ragin' round us,
And the winds a-blowin' gale,
I'd rather have drowned in misery
Than gone to New South Wales.
There's no time for mischief there they say,
Remember that says they
Oh they'll flog the potions out of you
Down there in Botany bay
3. Now it's day and night and the irons clang,
And like poor galley slaves
We toil and toil, and when we die
Must fill dishonored graves,
And it's by and by I'll slip my chains,
Well, into the bush I'll go
And I'll join the bravest rankers there,
Jack Donohue and co.
And some dark night, when everything
Is silent in the town
I'll shoot those tyrants one and all,
I'll gun the flogger down.
Oh, I'll give the land a little shock,
Remember what I say,
And they'll yet regret they've sent Jim Jones
In chains to Botany Bay.
10 Arthur McBride (06:22)
1. Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,
As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside,
Mark now what followed and what did betide,
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'
Now, for recreation, we went on a tramp,
And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp
And a little wee drummer intending to camp,
For the day bein' pleasant and charmin'.
2. "Good morning, good morning," the Sergeant he cried.
"And the same to you, gentlemen," we did reply,
Intending no harm but meant to pass by,
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'
"But," says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist,
Ten guineas in gold I'll stick to your fist,
And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust,
And drink the king's health in the morning.
3. "For a soldier, he leads a very fine life,
And he always is blessed with a charming young wife,
And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife,
And he always lives pleasant and charmin',
And a soldier, he always is decent and clean,
In the finest of clothing he's constantly seen.
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean,
And sup on thin gruel in the morning."
Instrumental
4. "But," says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes,
For you've only the lend of them, as I suppose,
But you dare not change them one night, for you know
If you do, you'll be flogged in the morning,
And although that we're single and free,
We take great delight in our own company,
We have no desire strange places to see,
Although that your offers are charming.
5. "And we have no desire to take your advance,
All hazards and dangers we barter on chance,
For you'd have no scruples for to send us to France,
Where we would get shot without warning,"
"Oh no," says the Sergeant. "I'll have no such chat,
And neither will I take it from snappy young brats,
For if you insult me with one other word,
I'll cut off your heads in the morning."
6. And Arthur and I, we soon drew our hogs,
And we scarce gave them time to draw their own blades
When a trusty shillelagh came over their head
And bid them take that as fair warning.
And their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides,
We flung them as far as we could in the tide,
"Now take them up, devils!" cried Arthur McBride,
"And temper their edge in the mornin'!"
7. And the little wee drummer, we flattened his bow,
And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow,
Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll,
And bade it a tedious returning,
And we havin' no money, paid them off in cracks.
We paid no respect to their two bloody backs,
And we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks,
And left them for dead in the morning.
8. And so, to conclude and to finish disputes,
We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits,
For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts
And bid them look sharp in the mornin'.
Instrumental
9. Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride,
As we went a-walkin' down by the seaside,
Mark now what followed and what did betide,
For it bein' on Christmas mornin'
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