Bob Dylan's words, and my Dad--

But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall...

Bob Dylan, A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

I went to see A Complete Unknown for the 12:45 show in St. J; I was intentionally avoiding all social media and television, and I really wanted to see the movie. I'm glad I went. I mean, I was blinking back tears several times while I was watching it: where the hell has our country gone? This movie recounted a part of my childhood-- granted, it was set a few years before I came along, but my father made damned sure I knew all about folk music, Dylan and Baez and so many others. I want so much to be able to talk about this film with him, but since he's not with me on this plane of existence anymore, I have to puzzle it all out by myself. Yes, I know that the film-maker took some creative license with the facts, but the Truth shines through. And yes, Dylan was a bit of a jackass sometimes. Timothee Chalamet portrayed the difficult personality well; at times, larger than life, and others so deeply driven and searching. 

One thing I heard, loud and clear was when Dylan said to his erstwhile girlfriend something along the lines of "when they ask 'where do those songs come from,' they really mean 'why didn't those songs come from me?'" To have talent is great; to be pushed and exploited is unfair and soul-damaging. To be driven to write, to play music, to push boundaries is both a gift and a curse. I sit back and admire the artistry; I know I'm never going to write anything that meaningful. At least, I suspect I'm not. And I'm not jealous one bit; I stand in awe of minds that can plunge into that cold water time and again and come up from the well with brilliance. I'm just glad to know of them, and, in some rare and special cases, know them personally.

The film also reminded me of a few truths, some comforting and others pretty hard. Some people will only love you when you are giving them what they want. Some people don't want you to grow and change, because it threatens their own sense of self, in relation to you. And also, some people are there for you, even when you aren't even really there for yourself. 

My dad was always there for me, and I miss him. I miss talking about music with him, about politics, about just anything and everything. He was an interesting man with a wide-ranging set of hobbies and things that he was curious about. Yes, he was also sometimes pretty damned cranky, and as the dementia set in, he lost more and more of himself. That was harder for me to accept than his ultimate passing. My mother never really let Dad and me just talk; she always either had some chore for one of us, or she shifted the conversation to something she felt was more important (to her, anyhow). It was only really in the few years after she died that Dad and I got to really talk, and I'm grateful for that little bit of time. But I wish I could ask him more about the music, the singers, and so on. It was so important to him that I understood the lyrics, and I think I know why-- we are living it now. We have to believe that there can be something better, and what it might cost us.

One of the first songs I remember Dad sitting me down to listen to was "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall." I was maybe four or five years old, and he put the record on the turntable, and had me sit in front of the speaker-- the stereo was one that he'd made himself, hollowing out an old dry sink, and putting in the receiver, the turntable, and so on-- I remember the smell of the tubes, a little ozone puff when one would blow. He'd lift the lid, put the record on, and gently lower the arm, fitting the needle exactly right. This time, he wanted me to listen carefully and quietly, and he explained what the lyrics meant, at least as much as he felt I could comprehend. To little me, it was all a mystery, but I remember it so clearly. He did the same with Joan Baez's music, and some others as well. But I remember this one song so clearly. I wanted to please my dad, so I listened intently. I think he just wanted someone to talk to about what was important to him, and he was going to guide me into being that person. I'm glad I listened.

I think Dad would be pleased with what I can do with words. I got that from him. My first book will be in my hands next month, and I dedicated it to my dad, first and foremost, then to G and Meg. But my dad gave me words, gave me music, and most importantly, gave me his undivided attention. 

I miss him, and now, it seems I have found a way to talk about him a bit, too. 

C

Recommendations:

Album: Rough and Rowdy Ways, with the bonus paean to President Kennedy, "Murder Most Foul"

Book: Why Bob Dylan Matters by Richard F. Thomas; this includes the text of Dylan's Nobel address as well