most people don’t know that i have a huge soft spot in my heart for folk music. real acoustic hippie-dippy stuff. my dad raised me on storyteller guitar melodies. i was weaned on peter, paul and mary, and spoon-fed joan baez. as a kid, I would borrow judy collins records from the public library. i knew pete seeger songs before I knew the alphabet.

it’s a strange sort of sonic thread running through my life. joni mitchell, bob dylan, and simon and garfunkle pop up in the unlikeliest places. there have been many points in my life when I’ve been estranged from my father, but even when my dad and i aren’t speaking, it’s a way I feel close to him. and sometimes there’s just nothing else to put you right but a good guitar and a clear strong voice with a lyric hook under your solar plexus.

So the past two nights, J and I have been watching “no direction home”, scorsese’s movie about bob dylan’s early years. a fascinating look at how he became a political figure against his will, and was then crucified for failing to live up to everyone else’s expectations. he was held up, then chopped down simply for making the music he wanted to make. he’s been called a poet, a prophet, a singer/wongwriter, and a sellout.

i haven’t owned any dylan for a while. I used to have a lot of stuff on tape, but they all got lost in travels along the way, and I never got around to replacing them on cd. and while watching this documentary i was lamenting the fact that i’ve never had a chance to see him play. i mean, dylan is an icon – one of those rare figures you’ll tell your grandchildren about. he played at the march on washington, he introduced the beatles to marijuana, he’s played for the pope, been nominated for the nobel prize five times, and won an oscar. love him or hate him, he’s a force to be reckoned with.

and today, j surprised me with tickets to go see him in manchester.

Like this post

Unlike