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LAIC A ROLIN STON (or: Highway 61 revisited 2006).
This time the guys from B.M.A.B.M. went all out.
The day before yesterday, they called me to the Central Committee (B.M.A.B.M. stands for "Bad Manners Against Bad Music") and the Iron General entrusted me with this case: damn, my first overseas mission.
I can't believe it.
Since the name is illustrious and the person to catch is one of those "who matters," they decide to pair me with a "travel companion" who will ensure the success of the American mission.
Damn it, I think, these bastards don't trust me.
I try to express my disagreement, but the General is terse: "You are in the hands of EneaTheDevil, one of our best men."
"Are you in a hurry, general?"
"It's an important mission, Punny, perhaps the most important undertaken so far, and we'll be under the scrutiny of DeBaser's entire populace, and they'll throw dirt everywhere, are you aware of the risks, Punny?!"
"My name is Punisher, general"
"EneaTheDevil will handle the logistical and highly critical part, you, Punisher, will do the rest of the job... the dirty one"
"Are my criticisms getting on your nerves, general?"
"Go, Punny, finish the job properly and leave no traces."
Today, I'm speeding along the Californian Highway heading to Death Valley in a big Toyota SUV, accompanied by this strange individual assigned to me for the mission.
I take cancerous puffs from my Marlboro while the guy has been on the sidelines for more than two hours taking notes and listening to Bob Dylan's latest original work, "Love And Theft" from 2001, on headphones.
"How is it?!" I ask distractedly to break the ice, even if I've already drawn my conclusions.
And he, in a low voice: "Embarrassing. I can't find a word that defines it better. A parade of dance hall songs placed there to snag a few applause, a worn and completely avoidable commercial operation by someone who evidently believes that the mere fame of his name is enough for years to come. If only for a moment I try to understand what's beyond one of these pieces, beyond the predictable swing execution of a "Mississippi" or a "Summer Days," I can't find anything. Nothing. But above all, I can't find Dylan.".
"What do you mean?!", I say shielding myself from the sun with a pair of démodé Ray-Bans.
"Where have the golden times of protest gone "Freewheelin'," the introspections of the '70s, the religious torment of the eighties. Bob always had something to say, for better or worse, he always had an idea, a feeling. Now I only hear a jumble of pieces without strength, without nerve."
"Ah, ah," I say, ignoring everything he's telling me.
Unfazed by me, he continues his monologue: "...I don't understand why he persists if he knows perfectly well that he has nothing more to say. Rock as a whole, in its country, blues, and folk shades, owes him much, if not everything. But enough now. Contemporary popular music wants to pay tribute to the Dylan of "Blowin' In The Wind," of "Maggie's Farm," of "Just Like A Woman," of the ballads that made him famous, not to a sedate gentleman humming some saloon ditty. I know, I'm stating the obvious, but evidently, many still don't get the concept... yet."
"Mh Mh," I agree with the minimum union effort.
"And that voice, that "his" voice.
Unbearable.
I'm not an aesthete, I steer clear from claiming that, but if once upon a time that sharp, hoarse voice of his added value to his anguished lyrics, now, even more hoarse and worn out, it seems like the wheeze of someone who has nothing more to say. And if he has something to say, he doesn't know how to say it. I can't stand 'this' Dylan anymore..."
"Well, if you say so..." and I truncate this sharp and biting review of his. A headache comes on. And every time it happens, it means the intellectual level is too high for me. Damn Enea. The guy is pretty good, I think.
One more reason to get on my nerves.
Anyway, the hardest part is done... now it's downhill all the way. It only took half an hour to take out the bodyguards, extract old Bob from the San Diego concert stage, and lock him up securely in the trunk. These RX300s could even fit the singer of Banco.
Enea and I constantly glance at each other from the corners of our eyes and likely get on each other's nerves, but so be it: a good punisher must also know how to engage with colleagues democratically and constructively. Even those better than him. Damn it.
The "National Park - California" sign suddenly appears, and I'm forced to swerve sharply right to take the flashing exit.
We reach the summit of Death Valley and slam on the brakes, raising a dust cloud worse than my spring cleaning at home. A fierce wind blows across the valley, scattering my companion's notes everywhere. I open the trunk and pull Bob out tied up like a Citterio, removing the tape from his mouth with a swift yank.
"So?! Anything to say in your defense?"
He spits incomprehensible fiery words with that acidic and scornful voice, the result of years of gargling with turpentine and quick breakfasts of nails and sandpaper. He spits worse than an angry llama confined in a zoo without windows, with that icy glare and in that damned slang filled with "fak" and words elastic and bitter like a Big Bubble chewed by a leprous HIV-infected person.
Using the excuse of not understanding a damn thing about English, I turn to my lanky companion, who by appearance should know more than me: "Hey mortuary, do you want to tell him something else?"
Enea approaches the curly sacred monster, scrutinizes him closely, lifting his glasses, and standing legs spread 20 cm away.
What the hell he has to look at, I wonder, only God knows.
Enea whispers to him in perfect American: "Time passes slowly and fades away..."
It's the last thing the great Bob Dylan hears. The most cited songwriter of the 20th century, the minstrel who forged the critical conscience of multiple generations, and damn it.
For me, a firm pat on the back is enough.
Just one, strong and decisive, like those exchanged between old friends not seen for 20 years, and the singer plunges off the cliff bouncing like the crazy ball of a pinball between score-marker boulders.
I look down the cliff edge and sing to myself "Like A Rolling Stone..."
That damned wind muffles all sounds: not a scream, not a thud, not even a comment from Enea.
My companion, silent as a shadow, adjusts his round John Lennon glasses, wrinkles his nose, smooths his hair with a pocket comb, and sits back in the RX, polishing his shoes bright as pitch.
"Are we sure?" he asks, lifting the collar of his coat.
"What do you think: have you ever seen someone survive a 300-meter fall? If you find one, send them my way, and I'll register him with NASA and sell the rights to Mattel."
He doesn't smile, says nothing, Christ, they say I'm heartless, but he beats them all!
We resume the return journey. I turn on the dashboard radio and hear "...Live from San Diego, an interview with the minstrel Bob Dylan, directly from backstage... Excuse me, Mr. Dylan, what does it feel like to still see all these people at your concerts?"
Enea and I turn simultaneously, eyes wide open.
"Oh, well, it's great... I like it."
"Damn," I say, "it's really him! No one else gives such slow, rambling interviews!"
I brake hard and turn 180° to head back down the valley.
"Damn it," I keep repeating, "you see that..." and the needle hovers around 180 km/h while Enea clings with his nails to the Toyota's human leather seat.
We reach the valley floor and see, behind a boulder, what's left of the songwriter's body, still warm.
I approach, lift his arm, unbutton the plaid shirt cuff, and see on the wrist what I feared.
I read a tattooed code:
CLF14 / 61WRL / REVISITED 2006
The code number stands for California 14: meaning there are 14 clones of Bob Dylan in California alone, sharing the territory, while there are 61 clones worldwide (World indeed) that endlessly and simultaneously travel on the infamous "Neverending Tour." Additionally, this clone has just been overhauled (2006).
It was predictable, why hadn't anyone thought of it before?
Enea looks at me with panic on his face, he understood everything.
"And now?"
"Now we have 60 more pieces to eliminate... for the expenses we incur: will you tell the general!?"
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum (04:46)
Tweedle-dee Dum and Tweedle-dee Dee
They're throwing knives into the tree
Two big bags of dead man's bones
Got their noses to the grindstones
Living in the Land of Nod
Trustin' their fate to the Hands of God
They pass by so silently
Tweedle-dee Dum and Tweedle-dee Dee
Well, they're going to the country, they're gonna retire
They're taking a streetcar named Desire
Looking in the window at the pecan pie
Lot of things they'd like they would never buy
Neither one gonna turn and run
They're making a voyage to the sun
"His Master's voice is calling me,"
Says Tweedle-dee Dum to Tweedle-dee Dee
Tweedle-dee Dee and Tweedle-dee Dum
All that and more and then some
They walk among the stately trees
They know the secrets of the breeze
Tweedle-dee Dum said to Tweedle-dee Dee
"Your presence is obnoxious to me."
They're like babies sittin' on a woman's knee
Tweedle-dee Dum and Tweedle-dee Dee
Well, the rain beating down on my windowpane
I got love for you and it's all in vain
Brains in the pot, they're beginning to boil
They're dripping with garlic and olive oil
Tweedle-dee Dee - he's on his hands and his knees
Saying, "Throw me somethin', Mister, please."
"What's good for you is good for me,"
Says Tweedle-dee Dum to Tweedle-dee Dee
Well, they're living in a happy harmony
Tweedle-dee Dum and Tweedle-dee Dee
They're one day older and a dollar short
They've got a parade permit and a police escort
They're lying low and they're makin' hay
They seem determined to go all the way
They run a brick and tile company
Tweedle-dee Dum and Tweedle-dee Dee
Well a childish dream is a deathless need
And a noble truth is a sacred creed
My pretty baby, she's lookin' around
She's wearin' a multi-thousand dollar gown
Tweedle-dee Dee is a lowdown, sorry old man
Tweedle-dee Dum, he'll stab you where you stand
"I've had too much of your company,"
Says, Tweedle-dee Dum to Tweedle-dee Dee
02 Mississippi (05:21)
Words and music by Bob Dylan
Every step of the way, we walk the line
Your days are numbered, so are mine
Time is piling up, we struggle and we stray
We're all boxed in, nowhere to escape
City's just a jungle, more games to play
Trapped in the heart of it, tryin' to get away
I was raised in the country, I been working in the town
I been in trouble ever since I set my suitcase down
Got nothing for you, I had nothing before
Don't even have anything for myself anymore
Sky full of fire, Pain pouring down
Nothing you can sell me, I'll see you around
All my powers of expression and thoughts so sublime
Could never do you justice in reason or rhyme
Only one thing I did wrong
Stayed in Mississippi a day too long
Well, the devil's in the alley, mule's in the stall
Say anything you wanna, I have heard it all
I was thinking about the things that Rosie said
I was dreaming I was sleeping in Rosie's bed
Walking through the leaves, falling from the trees
Feeling like a stranger nobody sees
So many things that we never will undo
I know you're sorry, I'm sorry too
Some people will offer you their hand and some won't
Last night I knew you, tonight I don't
I need something strong to distract my mind
I'm gonna look at you 'til my eyes go blind
Well I got here following the southern star
I crossed that river just to be where you are
Only one thing I did wrong
Stayed in Mississippi a day too long
Well my ship's been split to splinters and it's sinking fast
I'm drowning in the poison, got no future, got no past
But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free
I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Everybody's moving, if they ain't already there
Everybody's got to move somewhere
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow
Things should start to get interesting right about now
My clothes are wet, tight on my skin
Not as tight as the corner that I painted myself in
I know that fortune is waiting to be kind
So give me your hand and say you'll be mine
Well, the emptiness is endless, cold as the clay
You can always come back, but you can't come back all the way
Only one thing I did wrong
Stayed in Mississippi a day too long
04 Bye and Bye (03:16)
Words and music by Bob Dylan
By and by, I'm breathin' a lover's sigh
While I'm sittin' on my watch so I can be on time
I'm singin' love's praises with sugar coated rhyme
By and by, on you I'm castin' my eye
I'm paintin' the town, swingin' my partner around
Well I know who I can depend on, I know who to trust
I'm watchin' the road, I'm studyin' the dust
I'm paintin' the town, makin' my last go-round
Well I'm scufflin' and I'm shufflin' and I'm walkin' on briars
I'm not even aquainted with my own desires
I'm rollin' slow, I'm doin' all I know
I'm tellin' myself I've found true happiness
That I still got a dream that hasn't been repossessed
I'm rollin' slow goin' where the wild roses grow
Well, the future for me is already a thing of the past
You were my first love and you will be my last
Papa gone mad, Mama she's feelin' sad
Well, I'm gonna baptize you in fire so you can sin no more
I wanna establish my rule through civil war
Gonna make you see just how loyal and true a man can be
06 Floater (Too Much to Ask) (04:59)
Words and music by Bob Dylan
Down over the window
From the dazzling sunlit place
Through the back alleys, through the blinds
Another one of the Memphis days
Honey bees are buzzing
Leaves begin to stir
I'm in love with my second cousin
I tell myself I could be happy forever with her
I keep listening for footsteps
But I ain't never hearing any
From the boat, I fish for bullheads
I catch a lot, sometimes too many
A summer breeze is blowin'
A squall is setting in
Sometimes it's just plain stupid
To get into any kind of wind
Well the old men 'round here
Sometimes they get on bad terms
With the younger men,
Old, young, age don't carry weight
It doesn't matter in the end
One of the boss' hangers-on
Sometimes comes to call
At times you least expect
Tryin' to bully you, strongarm you,
Inspire you with fear
It has the opposite effect
There's a new grove of trees on the outskirts of town
The other one is long gone
10 foot, 2 foot, 6 across
Burns with the bark still on
They say times are hard
If you don't believe it you can follow your nose
It don't bother me, times are hard anywhere
We'll just have to see how it goes
My old man, he's like some feudal lord
He's got more lives than a cat
I've never seen him quarrel with my mother even once
Things come alive or they fall flat
You can smell the pine wood burnin'
You can hear the school bell ring
Got to get up near the teacher, if you can
If you wanna learn anything
Romeo, he said to Juliet, you got a poor complexion
That don't give your appearance a very youthful touch
Juliet said back to Romeo,
Why don't you just shove off,
If it bothers you so much
They all got outta here any way they could
Cold rain can give you the shivers
They went down the Ohio, the Cumberland, the Tennessee,
All the rest of them rebel rivers
If you ever try to interfere with me
Or cross my path again,
You do so at the peril of your life
I'm not quite as cool, or forgiving as I sound
I've seen enough heartache and strife
My grandfather was a duck trapper,
He could do it with just dragnets and ropes
My grandmother could sew new dresses out of old cloth,
I don't know if they had any dreams or hopes
I had 'em once, though I suppose
To go along with all the ring dancing,
Christmas carols and all the Christmas eves
I left all my dreams and hopes
Buried under tobacco leaves
Not always easy kicking someone out
Got to wait awhile, it can be an unpleasant task
Sometimes somebody wants you to give something up
And tears or not, it's too much to ask
08 Moonlight (03:23)
Words and music by Bob Dylan
The seasons they are turning and my sad heart is yearning
To hear again the songbird's sweet melodious tone
Won't you meet me out in the moonlight alone
The dusky light the day is losing
Orchids, poppies, black eyed susan
The earth and sky that melts with flesh and bone
Won't you meet me out in the moonlight alone
The air is thick and heavy all along the levee
Where the geese into the countryside have flown
Won't you meet me out in the moonlight alone
Well, I'm preaching peace and harmony
The blessings of tranquility
Yet I know when the time is right to strike
I take you 'cross the river, dear
You've no need to linger here
I know the kinds of things you like
The clouds are turning crimson, the leaves fall from the limbs
The branches cast their shadows over stone
Won't you meet me out in the moonlight alone
The boulevards of cypress trees, the masquerade of birds and bees
The petals pink and white, the wind has blown
Won't you meet me out in the moonlight alone
The trailing moss in mystic glow, the purple blossom soft as snow
My tears keep flowing to the sea
Doctor, lawyer, indian chief, it takes a thief to catch a thief
For whom does the bell toll for, love?
It tolls for you and me
Old pulse's running through my palm, the sharp hills are rising from
Yellow fields with twisted oaks that grow
Won't you meet me out in the moonlight alone
09 Honest With Me (05:49)
Words and music by Bob Dylan
Well, I'm stranded in the city that never sleeps
Some of these women they just give me the creeps
I'm avoidin' the south side the best I can
These memories I got they can strangle a man
Well, I came ashore in the dead of the night
Lot of things can get in the way when you're tryin' to do what's right
You don't understand it, my feelin' for you
You'd be honest with me if you only knew
I'm not sorry for nothing I've done
I'm glad I fought, I only wish we'd won
The Siamese twins are comin' to town
People can't wait, they've gathered around
When I left my home the sky split open wide
I never wanted to go back there, I'd rather have died
You don't understand it, my feelin' for you
You'd be honest with me if only you knew
My woman got a face like a teddy bear
She's tossin' a baseball bat in the air
The meat is so tough you can't cut it with a sword
I'm crashin' my car trunk first into the board
They say that my eyes are pretty and my smile is nice
Well, I'd sell it to ya at a reduced price
You don't understand it, my feeling for you
You'd be honest with me if only you knew
Some things are too terrible to be true,
I won't come here no more if it's botherin' you
There's a Southern Pacific leaving at 9:45
I'm havin' a hard time, believin' some people would ever arrive
I'm stark naked but I don't care
I'm goin' off into the woods I'm hunt'n' bare
You don't understand it, my feeling for you
Well, you'd be honest with me if only you knew
I'm here to create the new imperial empire
I'm gonna do whatever circumstances require
I care so much for you, didn't think I could
I can't tell my heart that you're no good
Well, my parents, they warned me not to risk my years
And I still got their advice oozing out of my ears
You don't understand it, my feeling for you
Well, you'd be honest with me if only you knew
10 Po' Boy (03:05)
Words and music by Bob Dylan
Man came to the door, I say 'for whom were you lookin'?'
Says 'your wife', I say 'she's busy in the kitchen cookin''
Po' boy, where you been?
Already told you, won't tell you again
I say 'how much you want for that, I'll go into the store'
Man says 'three dollars' 'all right', I say, 'will you take four?'
Po' boy, never say die
Things will be all right, by and by
Workin' like in a main line, workin' like the devil
The game is the same it's just upon another level
Po' boy, dressed in black
Police at your back
Po' boy in a red hot town
Out beyond the twinklin' stars
Ridin' first class train
Makin' the rounds
Try to keep from fallin' between the cars
Othello told Desdemona "I'm cold, cover me with a blanket"
"By the way, what happened to that poisoned wine?"
She said "I gave it to you, you drank it"
Po' boy, layin' 'em straight
Pickin' up the cherries fallin' off the plate
Time and love has branded me with its claws
Had to go to Florida, dodgin' them Georgia laws
Po' boy in the hotel called the Palace of Gloom
Called down to room service, says 'send up a room'
My mother was the daughter of a wealthy farmer
My father was a traveling salesman, I never met him
When my mother died my uncle took me in to run a funeral parlor
He did a lot of nice things for me and I won't forget him
All I know is that I'm thrilled by your kiss
I don't know any more than this
Po' boy, pickin' up sticks
Build you a house out of mortar and bricks
Knockin' on the door, I say 'who is it, where you from?'
Man say 'Freddie', I say 'Freddie who?'
He say 'Freddie or not, here I come'
Po' boy 'neath the stars that shine
Washin' them dishes, feedin' them swine
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