Cipherdom (deprecated)

What, me lucky?

I guess we've all been let down by a relationship that seems, at least for a moment, not to have been worth the trouble. In some cases, time passes and we realize they were worth it. Others . . .

IDIOT WIND, by Bob Dylan. Album: Blood on the Tracks

Someone's got it in for me,
they're planting stories in the press
Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it out,
but when they will I can only guess.

Self-explanatory. Presumably autobiographical paranoia.

They say I shot a man named Gray
and took his wife to Italy,
She inherited a million bucks
and when she died it came to me.
I can't help it if I'm lucky.

Adopts a character to cover his tracks after the first two lines' candid admission that It Sucks Being a Rock Star. Dylan's recent albums are full of comic one-liners like this.

People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act
Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts.
Even you, yesterday you had to ask me where it was at,
I couldn't believe after all these years, you didn't know me
better than that, sweet lady.

Wow. The _most_ devastating explanation of why it really does suck being a rock star. Fans stalk you, stammer when they meet you, project their dreams and frustrations on you, and maybe even sort through your trash. Even loved ones get caught up in it. But his understatement is beautiful: "People can't remember how to act." That lines pops into my head as much as any he's written, which is saying a lot.

Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth,
Blowing down the backroads headin' south.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

If that's really directed at his loved one, it would take a better song than "Sara" (off Desire, the fwp to BOTT) to make it up to her.

I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike
I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like.
There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door,
You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done,
in the final end he won the war
After losin' every battle.

Casually brilliant imagery, equal parts self-pitying, messianic and apocalyptic.

I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are
Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars.

Some people connected this to Roger McGuinn, who wrote a song called "Chestnut Mare." Doesn't make sense to me, but who knows? Those sound to me like the only two throw-away lines in the song.

You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies.
One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes,
Blood on your saddle.

I don't know if Dylan ever copped to it, but some of his biggest putdowns seem directed at himself, in a veiled way. Costello has certainly admitted doing it -- quite a useful device. "You hurt the ones that I love best" sounds confessional to me. Maybe his evil twin will be in the ditch w/ flies. Eewww.

Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb,
Blowing through the curtains in your room.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

Did he really rhyme "teeth" and "breathe" again? Who cares -- he's rolling now.

It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart

The sneer on "apa-rrrrt" is priceless.

You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my heart.

OK, make that three throw-aways.

Now everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped,
What's good is bad, what's bad is good,you'll find out when you reach the top
You're on the bottom.

Did I mention that it sucks to be a rock star?

I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind
I can't remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed, your eyes don't look into mine.
The priest wore black on the seventh day
and sat stone-faced while the building burned.
I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees,
while the springtime turned
Slowly into autumn.

Rock n Roll isn't supposed to be poetry, but these lines come pretty close. Powerful images that probably aren't to be taken very literally. Religious overtones mixed with outlaw sentiments: "Waited for you on the running boards," as in making a getaway.

Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull,
From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

References to Woody Guthrie's "Grand Coulee Dam" and Charlie Poole's "White House Blues" (inspired by the McKinley assassination - - "from Buffalo to Washington"). The political allusion works for me but could seem out of place in such a personal song. By the third time, I'm guessing the teeth/breathe thing didn't bother him.

I can't feel you anymore, I can't even touch the books you've read
Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishin' I was somebody else instead.

Back to the failed relationship. An admission of inadequacy, shame and/or guilt.

Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy,
I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory
And all your ragin' glory.

The admiration and love that he pours into that last line redeems all the vituperation that surrounds it.

I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I'm finally free,
I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me.

More doppelganger stuff, IMO. His evil twin won't come between him and his loved one anymore, though it may be too late to make a difference.

You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above,
And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love,
And it makes me feel so sorry.

These lines and the way he sings "raging glory" elevate the song way above its closest antecedent, which I'd say is "Positively 4th Street." P4S is a terrific rant, but it doesn't have any of this song's empathy or remorse.

Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats,
Blowing through the letters that we wrote.
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves,
We're idiots, babe.
It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves.

The change in pronouns from "you" to "we" is significant. Overall, I think the chorus doesn't quite do justice to the verses. Dylan's singing is some of his best, and that performance really carries the song.

Posted by Vernam at May 10, 2004 08:20 PM | TrackBack