Mi Vida (My Life’s Love)

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Manu Chao is a fascinating personality in the spanish music world. He was born in Paris in 1961 from a family of Spanish immigrants, refugees of the Spanish Civil War. Started his career as a street musician, playing in the underground. He even joined some bands such as Hot Pants and Los Carayos while still being very young. At a certain point, besides his brother Antoine and a few friends of him, he founded the Hip Hop band, Mano Negra. They finally obtained a noticeable success, especially when they signed with Virgin Records to make the album called “Puta’s Fever” which included their widely recognized global hit, “King Kong Five.”

After quite different vicissitudes, once he already left the band, he publishes his second solo album, “Próxima Estación, Esperanza (Next Stop, Hopeness)” which gains him a lot of prestige. The album includes excellent songs, such as “Mr. Bobby,” dedicated to Bob Marley, “Me Gustas Tú” or the one I’m sharing here, which is a favorite of mine, “Mi Vida.” This is a live version at The Henry Rollins Show:

Mi Vida

Mi vida, lucerito sin vela
Mi sangre de la herida
No me hagas sufrir más
Mi vida, bala perdida
Por la Gran Vía,
Charquito de arrabal
No quiero que te vayas
No quiero que te alejes
Cada día más y más

Mi vida, lucerito sin vela
Mi sangre de la herida
No me hagas sufrir más
Ioeeeeeeh uooooh uooooh ioeeeeeh [bis]

Mi vida, charquito d’agua turbia
Burbuja de jabón
Mi último refugio,
Mi última ilusión
No quiero que te vayas
Cada día más y más

Ioeeeeeeh uooooh uooooh ioeeeeeh (“sube mi puebloo!”)

Mi vida, lucerito sin vela
Mi sangre de la herida
No me hagas sufrir más
Mi vida, bala perdida
Por la gran vía,
Charquito de arrabal

Ioeeeeeeh uooooh uooooh ioeeeeeh [bis]

ManuChao+guitar

My Life’s Love

My life’s love, small bright flame without a candle
Blood from my bleeding wound
Don’t make me suffer anymore
My life’s love, lost bullet
on Main Street (1)*,
Small puddle of suburban neighborhood
Don’t want you to walk away
I don’t want you to walk away from me
More and more each day

My life’s love, small bright flame without a candle
Blood from my bleeding wound
Don’t make me suffer anymore
Ioeeeeeeh uooooh uooooh ioeeeeeh [bis]

My life’s love, small muddy water’s puddle (2)*
Soap bubble (3)*
My last refuge,
My last illusion
I don’t want you to walk away
More and more each day

Ioeeeeeeh uooooh uooooh ioeeeeeh (“come up my people!”)

My life’s love, small bright flame without a candle
Blood from my bleeding wound
Don’t make me suffer anymore
My life’s love, lost bullet
on Main Street (1)*,
Small puddle of suburban neighborhood.

Ioeeeeeeh uooooh uooooh ioeeeeeh [bis]

(*) Translator notes:

  • (1) he says she’s a lost soul making the streets in Gran Via de Madrid.
  • (2) he says she’s like a small puddle of muddy water.
  • (3) I guess he means she’s as soft and fragil as a bubble, beautiful and unstable, something you may love but can not touch, because it becomes instantly broken or lost.

Here you can find an acoustic version of the same song; much slower than the TV show version shown above. I love the way he does it here, so slow, so heartbreaking:

The song talks about broken dreams; the kind of loss one can feel when the last hour comes. It is for me about something you know you are missing that you will never have a chance to retrieve anymore.

I also want to share another acoustic version of this song, performed live in Radio Nikosia, Barcelona, on March 13, 2013. Quite intimate:

Still oddly stirring the album version, in which we can listen to a repetitive voiceover telling “Aqui no pegamos a los ojos (We don’t hit to the eyes here).” This is doubtlessly evocative, suggesting something bigger, as if the character were facing an oppressive situation, torture or something similar, while reminding the one he loves:

A song about missing that lost soul that you thought was your twin. It might have nothing to do with it, but for some reason it reminds me of a Bob Dylan line that says: “I been in trouble ever since I set my suitcase down;” Maybe because it makes reference to that moment in life in which one realizes that you can not go ahead with a suitcase full of broken dreams.

The Hypnotist Collector

 

 

 

 

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Green Day Bloody Holiday

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The other day, on July 7th, an acrobat died after plunging 100ft to his death in front of the crowd at MAD COOL music festival in Madrid, Spain.

The frightening accident happened just few minutes before headliners Green Day were due to come on stage. The organizers, however, chose to go on with the show and not suspend the event. A statement later issued by Mad Cool Festival organizers alleged security reasons to make such an arguable decision. This is the NOTE from the organization:

“Mad Cool Festival regrets the terrible accident that the aerial dancer suffered during the second day of the festival.
For security reasons, the festival decided to continue with its programming.
We send our most sincere condolences to all his family.
Tomorrow Saturday 8, during the festival, we will render a heartfelt tribute to the artist.”

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Green Day

The band has also been largely criticized for performing after the tragic incident. The leader of the band, Billy Joe Armstrong, declared they didn’t know what have happened before they began playing. A tweet from the band’s official account later implied the same. This is what can be read there:

8 Jul

Green Day

@GreenDay
We just got off stage at Mad Cool Festival to disturbing news. A very brave artist named Pedro lost his life tonight in a tragic accident
*Follow*

Green Day

@GreenDay
Our thoughts and prayers go out to his family and friends
3:17 AM – 8 Jul 2017
2,256
2,256 Retweets
7,764
7,764 likes
Twitter Ads info and privacy

So they fully apologized for playing shortly after the horrific death of the acrobat, Pedro Aunion Monroy; and stated they were completely ignorant of the facts until after their performance, when they left the stage.

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Green Day defends performance following acrobat’s death at Madrid music festival:

Green Day, as many would know, is an excellent punk rock band of deserved cult. They were always faithful to their own style and artistic commitment, and I always respected them for what they do. Not in vain did they worthily cover the immortal song by Bob Dylan, Like A Rolling Stone:

 

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Here you can hear and watch them performing live. This is their remarkable hit, “Holiday,” sadly bathed in pain now by the last week events in Madrid Mad Cool Festival:

 

Holiday

Hear the sound of the falling rain
Coming down like an Armageddon flame (hey!)
A shame
The ones who died without a name
Hear the dogs howlin’ out of key
To a hymn called faith and misery (hey!)
And bleed, the company lost the war today
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
On holiday

Hear the drum pounding out of time
Another protester has crossed the line (hey!)
To find, the money’s on the other side
Can I get another Amen (Amen!)
There’s a flag wrapped around a score of men (hey!)
A gag, A plastic bag on a monument
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
On holiday

“The representative from California has the floor”
Sieg Heil to the president gasman
Bombs away is your punishment
Pulverize the Eiffel towers
Who criticize your government
Bang bang goes the broken glass and
Kill all the fags that don’t agree
Trials by fire setting fire
Is not a way that’s meant for me
Just cause
Just cause
Because we’re outlaws yeah!

I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
This is our lives on Holiday

Songwriters
MICHAEL PRITCHARD, FRANK E., III WRIGHT, BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG

Published by
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., IMAGEM MUSIC INC

Read more: Green Day – Holiday Lyrics | MetroLyrics

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The Hypnotist Collector

Pennyroyal Tea

Today they celebrated Independence Day in the USA, and that’s a good thing, so I wish a happy 4th of July to everyone of my American friends and followers. Nevertheless, for me, sadly, it is the 4th Anniversary of one of my best friends passing away. In fact I should say, most likely the best one ever. My stirring feeling here, regarding such a loss, is comparable to the one the performer could feel while singing this song that I was wishing I could be bringing up to you now. I believe it is one of the most stirring performances I have ever seen, so I wanted to share it here with you all in memory of my beloved friend, who will always be missed.

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The show was live recorded and broadcast for MTV in Sony Music studios in New York, on November 18th 1993. Kurt Cobain destilling all the life that was indide of him. That happened not even five months before they found him dead at his home in Seattle, three days after his suicide. Apparently he took his life shooting himself in the head. The show was released as a live album later in 1994, after his death in early April.

The way Kurt Cobain performed this show was certainly a premonition of what would happen in a few months.

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He was probably feeling down, unable to overcome his loss. The grief is painfuly evident in the version of “Pennyroyal Tea” that I wanted to post here. Pitifully the MTV Unplugged version was not available anymore in YouTube due to copyright issues, so I thought I had to replace it by another one called “Where Did You Sleep Last Night.” But I could find it in Vimeo at last. There was doubtlessly a heartbreaking grief and an emotional breakdown, specially in “Pennyroyal Tea;” But one can still feel the sorrow in this other performance:

He most likely felt like he had lost everything, might be his faith in the human kind or maybe in himself. But, as Bob Dylan wrote, “when you think you have lost everything, you’ll find that you can always lose a little more.” And it’s true, he found it, unfortunately, and he lost his life.

The Hypnotist Collector

Gypsy

Looking for something else I just found this NPR Music Tiny Desk concert by Suzanne Vega, which I believe it’s worth watching and listening to:

I think it was in 1987 that I first discovered Suzanne Vega while listening to the radio at home, as I was working in Barcelona. I remember it was a great song from her first album, “Suzanne Vega” (1985) LP, that called my attention and made such a huge impact on me. The song was called “Straight Lines.” Next day I went to a vinyl records store (I guess the mythical Castello Records on Tallers Street) to buy the LP where “Straight Lines” was included.

SUZANNE

But I just couldn’t find it. I bought her second album instead, including her greatest hit “Luka,” which was usually blasting the waves on the radio at the time. I had to wait until next time I went back to Madrid to visit Discoplay and get her first released album “Suzanne Vega” at last. That’s how I managed to add the LP including “Straight Lines” to my own collection.

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However, the greatest song of hers in my opinion, the one I always loved the most, was one called “Gypsy” from his second album “Solitude Standing,” which I bought in first place. This is a beautiful song about a first summer romance, someone she knew when she was 18, who had to go back to Liverpool while she had to go home to New York City. It was released as a single in 1986 ahead of her second album “Solitude Standing,” in which it was included.

Gypsy

You come from far away
With pictures in your eyes
Of coffeeshops and morning streets
In the blue and silent sunrise
But night is the cathedral
Where we recognized the sign
We strangers know each other now
As part of the whole design

Refrain: Oh, hold me like a baby
That will not fall asleep
Curl me up inside you
And let me hear you through the heat

You are the jester of this courtyard
With a smile like a girl’s
Distracted by the women
With the dimples and the curls
By the pretty and the mischievous
By the timid and the blessed
By the blowing skirts of ladies
Who promise to gather you to their breast

Oh, hold me like a baby… (Refrain)

You have hands of raining water
And that earring in your ear
The wisdom on your face
Denies the number of your years
With the fingers of the potter
And the laughing tale of the fool
The arranger of disorder
With your strange and simple rules
Yes now I’ve met me another spinner
Of strange and gauzy threads
With a long and slender body
And a bump upon the head

Oh, hold me like a baby… (Refrain)

With a long and slender body
And the sweetest softest hands
And we’ll blow away forever soon
And go on to different lands
And please do not ever look for me
But with me you will stay
And you will hear yourself in song
Blowing by one day,

But now, hold me like a baby… (Refrain)

Composer: SUZANNE VEGA

© Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

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This time we are going to make a contest as I will provide another version of the same song, a live version performed at the Songwriters Circle accompained by the acclaimed British guitarist Richard Thompson, who played with Bob Dylan in Seville, Spain at the Guitar Legends Festival in 1991. You will have to choose the version you like the most between these two, the official release on the video above and the one below performed at the Songwriter’s Circle. I will send a Cd-R with a live recording of hers, or a DVD, to the winner of the contest among those of you whose choice becomes the most voted of both versions.

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The procedure for the contest will be as follows: Leave a comment saying that you will take part in the contest, then contact me in a private message and include your vote; # 1 for the official video version and # 2 for the Songwriters Circle version. Remember that your choice should remain unknown to the rest, except for myself, until the game is over. I will assign numbers to each one of the participants whose choice was the most voted version, according to the order in which their comments were listed on my blog. The winner will be the one whose number matches a particular number obtained using a verifiable system of pregenerated randomization through a random sequence generator  at random.org site  on the date my post reaches 45 viewers. Let’s see how it works. Here comes the Songwriter’s Circle version:

I was lucky to see her once live in Bergen, Norway, as she was the supporting act to the Dylan concert I attended there in 2011. She was brilliant. Of course she did “Gypsy,” in a stirring performance. A very dignified opening act for the old troubadour who offered a splendid concert in which the sun enlightened the stage at dusk before sinking beyond the horizon after a rainy afternoon.

The Hypnotist Collector

Winter

Before winter time is over I’d like to share this amazing performance of a fascinating artist, the one and only Tori Amos. She was unknown to me until 2013 when a friend of mine sent me a link to watch this “Live At Montreaux 91/92” video.

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In first place I thought she was the one who became supporting act to Bob Dylan and Merle Haggard shows during the spring tour in 2005, when it was actually Amos Lee, instead. I received back then from a trader of mine a good recording of Dylan’s Foxwoods show in Masantucket, CT. The tape included part of Amos Lee performances and I liked those tracks a lot. Nothing to do with Tori Amos voice, obviously, but you know, I mixed them up because of the coincidence between their first and last names. I was researching to talk about it as I started to think of this article when I realized my mistake, and I must admit I have been confused all of this time since I first listened to this performance I’m sharing here.

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Anyway, she’s so unique  that I’m still stunned of how could I have mixed her up with anybody else. Just listen to this beautiful song; her awesome delivery with that wonderful piano playing:

Winter

Talk: Mmm… This is my next song… this is… er… for my dad.

Snow can wait I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter
I put my hands in my father’s glove
I run off where the drifts get deeper

Sleeping Beauty it drips me with a frown
I hear a voice you must learn to stand up
For yourself cause I can’t always be around

He says, when you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Boys get discovered as winter melts
Flowers come pleading for the sun
Years go by and I’m here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was
Mirror mirror where’s the crystal palace
But I only can see myself

Skating around the truth who I am
But I know dad, the Ice is getting thin

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

winter

Hair is gray and the fire is underneath
So many dreams on the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses have gone ahead
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

And never change
All the white horses…

Songwriter:
TORI AMOS

Published by
Lyrics © SWORD AND STONE PUBLISHING CO.

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I can’t help but have a deep stirring feeling when I listen to her talk to her father the way she does in this song. It really touches me to the core when she says, “…And never change” just before the end. Her father may be a Methodist priest, but in spite of it I have to agree with Wikipedia description, telling she is considered one of the most relevant avant-garde female artists of the 1990s, for her lyrically opaque yet intensely emotional songs covering a wide range of topics including sexuality, feminism, politics and religion.

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It’s cold outside and the day is cloudy. I didn’t leave home yet today and I don’t feel like doing it anyhow. This “Winter” song makes me feel lonely, like withering myself at home where the river flows near the naked park and the empty street where I live. I feel glad, though, that I have this feeling and can some way relate myself to this heartbreaking lyrics. I know, miss Tori Amos, sometimes it is Winter in the heart. It’s hard to realize we have so many dreams on the shelf; find out there are always lies around; to know some things never change. It’s all so sad at times… but it’s just a wonder to find out someone can express this kind of feeling so well. And I feel grateful to you, miss Amos, for writing and singing this song the way you did in Montreux; the way you surely do every time you perform it live. God bless you, Tori Amos.

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The Hypnotist Collector

Singer/Songwriter Stick To Your Songs

If you had not enough with the debate about Bob Dylan literateur,
Ignacio Juliá opens a new one: Bob Dylan painter!

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I’m translating here the gorgeous article I received via email thanks to one of the good and admirable friends I got in the Dylanite community, the well known writer, traductor and articulist, Antonio J. Iriarte. Thanks to him for providing me the access to this priceless text and, of course, to Ignacio Juliá, author of the present writing about the pictorial work of the recent Nobel Prize for Literature. The original paper written in Spanish will be found through the following link here supplied:

http://abcdefghijklmn-pqrstuvwxyz.com/cantautor-tus-zapatos/

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Here’s my own translation:

Singer/Songwriter Stick To Your Songs

I have forbidden myself to make a comment, even if only on the fly, regarding the absurd controversy generated around the long-announced Nobel for Literature to Robert Allen Zimmerman. So much nonsense makes me mad as I imagined, deluded, that the imbecilic abyss between high and low culture was definitely forgotten. And I want to make clear that I take the guy by high culture. I will only allow myself an indisputable axiom: the word was prior to literature, it was prior to the invention of printing, and consequently telling stories should never be confined to the occlusive stop caps of a book. And one more thing, come on! How many voices of the last century were more verbally piercing, inspired, playful, socially cathartic, gleaming, fraudulent, in human terms, than those of the so-called Bob Dylan?

It seems that I have always been behind something, anything in motion – a car, a bird, a leaf carried by the wind – anything that would take me to a better place, an unknown land downstream.” That’s what the elusive Nobel writes as an accurate self-portrait in the catalog of his pictorial exhibition The Beaten Path. What … how dares he? In addition to be an award-winning literateur, the simple musician, the rogue singer/songwriter … does he paint pictures? And still he sculpts, welder in hand, metal artefacts from recycled parts! I leave such imaginary comments, typical of the intellectual minds, as I cross the threshold of the exquisite Halcyon Gallery in London’s Mayfair. And I come across a monographic sample that is pure Dylan: pictures of ingenuous chromaticism capturing the secondary landscapes of his own America, the one he has been cruising tirelessly during the Never Ending Tour.

A certain America is visualized while strolling through the very noble rooms of the gallery, neat and empty except for the walls where they hang from large paintings to manageable sketches. It’s an America that the artist wanted to be as real as the one that survives in memory. “Your past begins the day you are born and not taking it into account is to deceive yourself about who you really are,” reflects Bob. Hence he decided, in that naturalistic appearance of his paintings, to hide what did not interest him, which is the modern and the advertising, that ugly commercial world. The framing of a hot dog stand on Coney Island completely omits skyscrapers that “litter the sky” just two blocks away. And the modest fishery in San Francisco’s Chinatown erases everything that came after that Victorian-style neighborhood was built. “These cold and gigantic structures are meaningless to me in the world that I see or choose to see, the world of which I am a part,” he confesses.

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The silent intention of he who spent two years sketching and painting these transitory natures was to contradict the modern world. Facing complex details that his hands could not reproduce the same way as his gaze transmitted to him, he applied the ‘dark camera’ method. He did it using an old Nikon with a wide-angle or else the screen of a small spoiled television. He paints with watercolors and acrylics because of its meager emotional load, although he does not see these materials as necessarily astringent in that sense. He represents reality without idealizing it, working with either universal or easily recognizable objects, framing them in a certain stability. It is necessary to depersonalize the portrayed subject, to strip it of any illusion, looking for common places located in a rationally defined space. Sometimes the focal point is centered, others it is placed in the distance. He longed to create images that could not be misinterpreted, that curse that still bears on him.

Those who accuse him of intrusism should know that he acted as painter and sculptor since the early sixties. There is the front cover of “Music from Big Pink”, debut of The Band, as first glance. The meaningful simplicity of these images – “roads, huts, jetties, cars, streets, marshes, railways, bridges, motels, bus stops, power lines, farms, theater marquees, churches, signs, etc.,” he enumerates – are the work of a curious and honest observer, still amazed by life, its truths and mysteries. What he sees connects with his inner vision of the big country, and it will be intuited by those who live immersed in his music. But what is important – another of his literary traits – is how these paintings neutralize reality, its strangeness. Endless Highway, his largest oil to date, finally symbolizes the endless road Dylan undertook.

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“Endless Highway,” painting by Bob Dylan

The Beaten Path represents a different theme from the everyday imagery of consumer culture,” he says. “There is nothing to suggest that these paintings have been inspired by the texts of Sigmund Freud or that are based on the mental images that happen in the dreams, there are no fantastic worlds, religious mysticisms or ambiguous thematic. It is not necessary for the viewer to ask himself in front of these pictures if they are real or imagined objects. If anyone visits the place where that image exists, he or she will see the same thing. This is what unites us.

We have forgotten that the true artist is such (an artist) in any project he may undertake. Dylan, who always seemed embarrassed by his abilities and therefore refused to discuss them with anyone or to charge them with presumption, is one of those chosen to transform a press conference into a fight half way between pugilist and Dadaist whose puns continue to be quoted half a century later; Make of a recital a kind of cosmic riddle in which one has to discover what he is really singing, questioning an entire industrial rock mythology; Or end folded to the order of a gallery owner to start painting pictures that redefine the canon of the Americana challenging with impressionist luminosity to the very Hopper.

It’s good that the good man did not heed the call of the Stockholm syndrome, that he “was not there,” as in the famous song. In the end, he did not even show up to pick it up. He must have had to be at work in his workshop. Fleeing forward. There is no other way.

Ignacio Juliá

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The Hypnotist Collector

Klas Burling Interview with Bob Dylan Stockholm 1966

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In 1966, Swedish Radio journalist Klas Burling interviewed Bob Dylan in a Stockholm hotel room.

Dylan – in the midst of the tour that would produce the recent Live 1966 – The “Royal Albert Hall” Concert – played Burling acetates of his upcoming album, Blonde on Blonde. The singer had been through a rough night, and as Burling remembers, “He was totally out of it. When he took his shades off, his eyes were like raisins. It was the worst interview of my life.”

Hotel Flamingo
Solna, Sweden
April 28, 1966

Klas Burling interview.

KB: Very nice to see you in Stockholm. Could you explain a bit more about yourself and your kind of songs? What do you think of the protest-song type?
BD: Um . . . er . . . God. No, I’m not going to sit here and do that. I’ve been up all night, I’ve taken some pills, and I’ve eaten bad food, and I’ve read the wrong things, and I’ve been out for 100-mph car rides, and let’s not sit here and talk about myself as a protest singer.

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KB: “The Times They Are A-Changin'” – that was supposed to be a protest song, no?
BD: Oh, God, how long ago was that?

KB: A year ago.
BD: Well, c’mon, a year ago? I’m not trying to be a bad fellow or anything, but I’d be a liar or a fool to go along with all this business. I just can’t help it if you’re a year behind, you know.

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Bob Dylan – photo by Jan Persson/Redferns

KB: Are you a poet? A singer? Or do you write poems and then put music to them?
BD: No. I don’t know. It’s so silly. You wouldn’t ask these questions of a carpenter, would you?

KB: It wouldn’t be interesting the same way.
BD: It’s interesting to me; it should be just as interesting to you. What do you think Mozart would say if you asked him these questions? “Tell me, Mr. Mozart, er…”

KB: Well, I wouldn’t interview him.
BD: Well, how come you do it to me?

KB: Because I’m interested in your records, and Swedish audiences are, also.
BD: Well, I’m interested in the Swedish audiences, too, but I’m sure they don’t want to know all these dumb things. Swedish people are smarter than that

KB: You know many Swedes?
BD: I know plenty. I happen to be a Swede myself.

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                 Bob Dylan on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine March 14, 1974 – issue 156                          illustration by Paul Davis

KB: Shall we listen to a song?
BD: You can try. This one happens to be a protest song. This specific one, “Rainy Day Women,” happens to deal with a minority of cripples and Orientals and the world in which they live. It’s sort of a Mexican kind of thing – very protesty. One of the protestiest things of all things I’ve ever protested against in the protest years.

This article is from the January 21st, 1999 issue of “Rolling Stone” magazine.

Rereleased on line as “Looking Back: Bob Dylan’s Disastrous 1966 Interview in Sweden”

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Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 (written by Bob Dylan)

Well, they’ll stone ya when you’re trying to be so good
They’ll stone ya just a-like they said they would
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to go home
Then they’ll stone ya when you’re there all alone
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ ’long the street
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to keep your seat
They’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ on the floor
They’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ to the door
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

They’ll stone ya when you’re at the breakfast table
They’ll stone ya when you are young and able
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to make a buck
They’ll stone ya and then they’ll say, “good luck”
Tell ya what, I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone you and say that it’s the end
Then they’ll stone you and then they’ll come back again
They’ll stone you when you’re riding in your car
They’ll stone you when you’re playing your guitar
Yes, but I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone you when you walk all alone
They’ll stone you when you are walking home
They’ll stone you and then say you are brave
They’ll stone you when you are set down in your grave
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Copyright © 1966 by Dwarf Music; renewed 1994 by Dwarf Music

The Hypnotist Collector