bob dylan

o VAPODN#5, hoje, às 22h, “especial bob dylan com peninha”…


roNca roNca cravado a fogo em nossos corações, em 30dezembro… colocando a tampa, inoxidavelmente, em 2014, com a caixa “the basement tapes complete / the bootleg series vol11”… contendo seis cds!

mas nada disso teria relevância se não fosse a MEGA descabelada presença a bordo do maior entendido em bob dylan no cone sul: eduardo bueno, o peninha!

CASCA… hoje, aqui mesmo, às 22h

sabe quando você ouve a mesma música umas trocentas vezes seguidas?


You speak to me in sign language
As I’m eating a sandwich in a small cafe
At a quarter to three

But I can’t respond to your sign language
You’re taking advantage, bringing me down
Can’t you make any sound?

It was there by the bakery, surrounded by fakery
This is my story, still I’m still there
Does she know I still care?

Link Wray was playing on a jukebox, I was paying
For the words I was saying, so misunderstood
He didn’t do me no good

You speak to me in sign language
As I’m eating a sandwich in a small cafe
At a quarter to three

But I can’t respond to your sign language
You’re taking advantage, bringing me down
Can’t you make any sound?

(Bob Dylan)

ornette & bob…

Bill Flanagan: A few years ago I went to one of your concerts and found myself sitting next to Ornette Coleman. After the show I went backstage and there were some very famous rock musicians and actors waiting around, but the only person you invited into your dressing room was Ornette. Do you feel a connection with those jazz guys?

Bob Dylan: Yeah, I always have. I knew Ornette a little bit and we did have a few things in common. He faced a lot of adversity, the critics were against him, other jazz players that were jealous. He was doing something so new, so groundbreaking, they didn’t understand it. It wasn’t unlike the abuse that was thrown at me for doing some of the same kind of things, although with different forms of music.



vazou (2)…


Bob Dylan’s Most Mysterious Recording

In a West Saugerties, New York, house dubbed by its tenants “Big Pink,” Bob Dylan and a band who later named themselves The Band gathered daily for six months in 1967 to mess around with American music, and recorded the results. Dylan was recuperating from a motorcycle crash, and the Big Pink basement was his recovery room. Among the many songs generated down there are some of Dylan’s deepest: “Tears of Rage,” “This Wheel’s on Fire,” “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” and the title song of Todd Haynes’ I’m Not There — a track that, until now, has never been officially released.

Perhaps the most mythical of all Dylan’s unreleased gems, “I’m Not There” is an absolute mystery. A long, extended meditation built around a four-chord acoustic-guitar strum, it was recorded only once by Dylan and never finished or revisited. Lyrics and lines float by, some discernible, others elusive. Among Dylan fanatics, it’s a kind of Rosetta stone because it seems to capture the artist in the midst of his creative process. The magic of “I’m Not There” is its lack of definition. Critic Greil Marcus devotes five pages of The Old, Weird America to the song, writing that “?‘I’m Not There’ is barely written at all. Words are floated together in a dyslexia that is music itself, a dyslexia that seems meant to prove the claims of music over words, to see just how little words can do.”

True, but what’s most engaging about the song is the revelation it provides about Dylan’s creative process. Unlike many outtakes and bootlegged tracks, “I’m Not There” feels like someone channeling, speaking in tongues, handling snakes, conjuring out of the mist the blueprint of a song. In The Old, Weird America, Marcus quotes Band guitarist Robbie Robertson’s wonder at Dylan’s method: “He would pull these songs out of nowhere. We didn’t know if he wrote them or if he remembered them. When he sang them, you couldn’t tell.” No recording better illustrates Robertson’s point than “I’m Not There.” There’s something going on inside the song, but you’re not sure what it is. The narrator might be dead, and contemplating his relationship with an unnamed lover. He might have abandoned her. He seems sorry for something. Or angry.

Bootleg copies of the song have long been available, but until the arrival of the soundtrack to I’m Not There this month, it had remained undergound. For that reason alone, Dylan fans have reason to applaud Haynes and his music supervisors, Jim Dunbar and Randall Poster. With the release, a better picture of the circuitous route the song took from basement to film title is revealing itself. The widely bootlegged version has been tainted by engineers attempting — and failing — to liven the song. The true recording has been buried. “So it’s never been heard — except by a rarefied few folks, obviously — in its pure form, as it was straight to tape,” says Dunbar. “It’s like a field recording, almost.”

Among those rarefied few who heard the original recording was Neil Young, who, it turns out, possessed the most pristine and unadulterated copy of the so-called Basement Tapes, which he received from his longtime engineer Elliot Mazur. Mazur was assigned by Dylan’s manager, Albert Grossman, to transfer the original tapes for storage, and ended up dubbing a copy for himself. A few years later, Mazur duplicated them again with the intention of giving Young a copy, but accidentally gave him the original transfers, which sat in Young’s archives until they were unearthed a few years ago. With the song’s release on the fantastic I’m Not There soundtrack, those not exposed to the bootleg can finally attempt to discern meaning for themselves — if they dare.

Randall Poster would rather not. “I don’t approach it that literally, really,” he says. “To me it’s about a kinetic feeling, a song that brings me into the realm of ‘Positively Fourth Street.’ As a kid, the first time I heard that song, it taught me that there’s something that goes on between men and women that I hadn’t experienced yet, but that I was so hungry to experience. I sort of get that same feeling from ‘I’m Not There.’ In a sense, it speaks to a potential intimacy between people — it clearly exists in a sort of divine realm.”

“The song subtly builds,” adds Dunbar. “For me, it’s very intense. It starts off and you think, ‘Aw, there’s not much going on here.’ But by the end of it, it feels like an epic.” Asked what he thinks the song means, Dunbar pauses. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s, uh, definitely someone with . . . uh . . . uh . . . great regret.” Exactly.




– I’m Not There

She came all rightoned and she’s all too tight in my neighborhood
She cried both day and night
I know it because it was there.
It’s a milestone, but she’s down on her luck
And she daily salooning, but to me too hot to book
I would then.

I believe where she’d stop in if she wants time to care
I believe that she’d look upon beside him to care
And I go by the Lord and where she’s on my way, but I don’t belong there.
No I don’t belong to her, I don’t belong to every choir
She’s my prize forsaken angel, but she don’t hear me cry
She’s a long hearted mystic and she can’t carry on
When I’m there she’s alright, but when she’s not when I’m gone.
Heaven knows that the answers she’s don’t calling no one
She’s the way for sailing beautiful
She’s mine for the one
And I lost her attention by tempation as it runs
But she don’t bother me
But I’m not there I’m gone.

Now I’ve cried tonight like I cried the night before
And I’m leased on the high some
But I dream about the door
It’s so long she’s forsaken by a fate with the tale
It don’t hang approximation
She smiled Fare Thee Well.

Now when I’ll treat the way we all was born to love her
But she knows that the kingdom weighs so high above her
And I run but I wait
And it’s not too fast or slam
But I’ll not perceive her
I’m not there I’m gone.

Well it’s all about division
And I cry for a bail
I don’t need anybody now beside me to tell
And it’s all affirmation I received but it’s not
She’s a long haunting beauty
But she’s gone like the spark
And she’s gone.

Yes she’s gone like the rainbow that shined in yesterday
But now she’s home beside me
And I’d like to hear to stay
She’s a bone forsaking beauty and it don’t trust anyone
Now I wish I was beside her but I’m not there I’m gone.

Well it’s too hard to stake in
And I don’t far believe
It’s a bag full it’s amusing
That she’s hard too hard to lead.
It’s a load, it’s a crime
The way she mauled me around
Was she told for to hate me, but just don’t forethink in clown.

Yes I believe that it’s rightful
Oh I believe it in my mind
I been told like I said one night before
Carry on the grind.
And this song gypsy told her like I said carry on
I wish I was there to help her
But I’m not there I’m gone.

Songwriters: BOB DYLAN
I’m Not There lyrics © BOB DYLAN MUSIC CO