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Books by Kalamu ya
Salaam
The Magic of JuJu: An Appreciation of the Black Arts
Movement /
360:
A Revolution of Black Poets
Everywhere Is Someplace Else: A Literary Anthology
/
From A Bend in the River: 100 New Orleans Poets
Our Music Is No Accident /
What Is Life: Reclaiming the Black Blues Self
My Story My Song (CD) /
Men We Love, Men We Hate /
Ways of
Laughing
* * *
* *
Jimi Hendrix—"Like
A Rolling Stone”
Breath
of Life Music
Commentary by Mtume ya Salaam & Kalamu
ya Salaam
Bob Dylan’s 1965 recording of “Like
A Rolling Stone” has been called the best song of his
illustrious career. Rolling Stone magazine even called
it the greatest recording of all time, period. As for
me, I find it difficult to even listen to it all the way
through.
It’s not the song itself. I agree with everyone else -
by any measure, “Like A Rolling Stone” is a great song.
There’s so much to like about it: the unusual length of
each line coupled with all of the internal rhyming; the
powerful, memorable hook of the chorus; and, of course,
the complex yet entrancing lyrics (which are ostensibly
written about a young lady of Dylan’s acquaintance but
may very well be about Dylan himself as he dealt with
the fallout following his move from acoustic folkie to
electric rock star). The problem is, Dylan plain can’t
sing.
In 1967, when Jimi Hendrix performed at the Monterey Pop
Festival, it was his first time back in the U.S. since
defecting to the U.K. several years earlier. He left as
a promising but unknown session and back-up guitar
player, he was coming back a star. The playlist that day
included several of Jimi’s original numbers (“Purple
Haze,” “Wind Cries Mary,” etc.), some blues covers
(“Rock Me Baby,” “Killing Floor”) and a cover of Dylan’s
“Like A Rolling Stone.” Hendrix loved Dylan’s work. He
would later record a blistering cover of Dylan’s “All
Along The Watchtower” for his Electric Ladyland LP and
he was also known to perform other Dylan songs such as
“Drifter’s Escape” and “Could You Please Crawl Out Your
Window.” In addition to the covers, the surreal imagery
and tangled metaphors of Hendrix’ own lyric-writing
sometimes seems to take a page out of the Bob Dylan
songbook.
The truth of it is, Jimi can barely sing himself. He can
at least hold note though – something Dylan proved over
and over that he couldn’t do – and that’s one of the
reasons I love Hendrix’ cover of “Like A Rolling Stone”
even while I can barely stand the original. I also like
the roaring power of Hendrix’ guitar, the way he adds
heft to the hook. Hendrix pauses and sometimes shifts
the tempo in the same places Dylan rushes straight
through. On the negative side, Hendrix skips an entire
stanza of the song (“Yes, I know I missed a verse, don’t
worry”), probably due to nervousness. Plus the sound mix
isn’t the best. But hey, it was 1967. The sound engineer
was probably high on acid and we’re probably lucky the
recording sounds as good as it does. "Like A Rolling
Stone" is available on
Live at Monterey.
A year after Monterey, Hendrix
returned to the Dylan songbook, recording a cover of
Dylan’s enigmatic and apocalyptic tune “All Along The
Watcher.” With its Biblical references, multiple
characters and changes in tense, it’s hard to understand
what the song is supposed to mean no matter who’s
singing it. Despite all of that, the Hendrix
version—which Hendrix obsessed over, recording and
re-recording the guitar and bass until the last possible
moment—was a revelation, not just to Hendrix fans but to
Dylan fans as well and even to Dylan himself. "It
overwhelmed me, really,” Dylan said about Hendrix’ cover
of “All Along The Watchtower.” “He had such talent, he
could find things inside a song and vigorously develop
them. He found things that other people wouldn’t think
of finding in there. He probably improved upon it by the
spaces he was using. I took license with the song from
his version, actually, and continue to do it to this
day" (Wikipedia).
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How’s that for strange? Jimi redid Dylan’s song so well
that when Dylan plays it now, it’s almost as though he’s
covering Hendrix instead of the other way around.
According to Wikipedia, in the booklet to Dylan’s
Biograph collection, Dylan says: “I liked Jimi Hendrix’s
record of this [‘All Along The Watchtower’] and ever
since he died I’ve been doing it that way… Strange how
when I sing it, I always feel it’s a tribute to him in
some kind of way."
I also want to throw in an early
recording by the Wailers. They’re covering “Like A
Rolling Stone,” supposedly, but the only thing that
remains the same are the lyrics and melody of the
chorus. The verses are much shorter, as is the song
itself, and the words bear no resemblance to Dylan’s
original lyrics. This version is taken from
One Love – At Studio One, a collection of early
Wailers sides.
—Mtume ya Salaam
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* *
* * *
Keep On Rolling
I wish Jimi had covered many more Dylan songs. He
didn’t. That’s me just being greedy to hear more of
Jimi’s magical ability to create platinum and uranium
out of gold. Jimi Hendrix.
So anyway, the feature is “Like A Rolling Stone” and as
is my usual wont I have a favorite Jimi version: Live at
Winterland +3 (which unfortunately is out of print).
It’s in the jukebox and discussed a little more in the
Covers section.
Apropos of my personal inclinations: Obama, keep on
rolling!
—Kalamu ya Salaam
* *
* * *
Jimi
Hendrix “Like A Rolling
Stone”
September of 1964 I was going to
school at Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota (but
only for a hot minute—by April ’65 I was gone). Little
Bobby Zimmerman is from Minnesota. Folk singing was
happening. I ran into a good number of folkies at
Carleton. I was a blues neophyte. At that time I liked
John Lee Hooker and Lightnin’ Hopkins, Mississippi John
Hurt and even a little Skip James, and, of course, Taj
Mahal.
Taj Mahal was the only young man among the bunch of
blues references. The only one who was college educated.
The only one who even remotely seem to have any
commonalities with the folk singers at Carleton who
were, to a man, young, white and of questionable singing
abilities, except for one guy who was a senior and had
that weather-beaten look and laconic terseness we
associate with Texas songsters. Think Willie Nelson. All
of the singers of note seemed to be male although there
was a gaggle of female camp followers and even a few had
that plaintive, long-haired, hang-dog looking, Joan Baez
air about themselves. Come to think of it, there was
even one who had the Janis Joplin thing going.
Of course I’m relying on hazy memory that is probably as
reliable as a George Bush speech. I believe what I’m
saying but I’m also confident that some (maybe even a
lot) of the details don’t exactly match up. But anyway,
my point is, I was around when Bob Dylan was “the”
musical icon for white youth.
I was influenced by Bob Dylan even though I was a
Minnesota collegiate for far less than a year. (I made
my getaway as soon as the weather broke, which was not
until late, late March, might-as-well-say April.) How
influenced? Well, I remember owning—I believe—two of his
albums. I never could listen to either one all the way
through although as a then budding poet and prose
writer, I really did enjoy reading the lyrics on the
back of the record covers. But you know then came Black
Power, Jimi Hendrix, P-Funk, Soul, Stax (especially
WattStax), full out soul music, James Brown, a military
stint in Korea and Texas, etc. etc. Plus, most important
of all, a life sustaining (and life sustained) love of
jazz.
As Mtume noted: Bob Dylan can’t sing. By the time I was
back in the world there was no earthly reason for me to
listen to Bob Dylan mumble, stumble and scowl his way
through songs, not even songs as beautifully written as
many of his were.
This preamble/ramble sets up my 17-deep mixtape of Bob
Dylan covers. The one odd fact is that I did not include
any jazz covers (and yes there were some). I decided to
concentrate on vocalists. Ok? So here goes.
We open with Stevie Wonder doing “Blowin’ in the Wind”
taken from Bob Dylan The 30th Anniversary Concert
Celebration. Stevie’s spoken introduction insightfully
contextualizes the song. Back in the day Dylan was known
as a “protest” singer/songwriter. Stevie had a minor hit
with this one as a young teenager. At six seconds shy of
nine minutes it’s an understatement to say this is a
long version of a short song but Stevie pulls it off.
Reggae “Cool Ruler” Gregory Isaacs slides in with a
sensuous reading of “Mr. Tambourine Man” complete with
harmonica flourishes. I have no idea of how Isaacs
connects to the lyrics but Isaacs makes it sound so
natural. Isaacs convinces that he feels the importance
of the poetic lyrics. As a concept, reggae versions of
Dylan songs would seem to be an odd fit but, hey, never
underestimate the ability of Jamaica to make everything
(anything) irie.
“Just Like Tom Thumb Blues” by Nina Simone in her folksy
bag is strikingly beautiful. Sotto-voiced, Simone
sensitively stretches syllables, injecting heavy emotion
into a reading that easily could have veered off into an
uninspired drone. In keeping with the narrative of the
lyrics, Ms. Simone sounds like she is writing her
memoirs, late at night with a chilled glass of wine and
a penchant for truth telling. When is a whisper louder
than a roar? When Nina gets down like this. In my mind I
am transfixed by her famously hypnotizing stare. Her
eyes wide open, peering without sentiment into a hard
past and ending the hypothetical tale with the painful
revelation:
The joke was on me
There was no one there even to bluff
I’m going back to New York City
I do believe I’ve had enough |
Mavis Staples, another
truth-teller, also singing in an understated manner,
follows Nina. Mavis runs the realist line: irrespective
of who you are or what you do, “You Gotta Serve
Somebody.” Mavis is a gritty, Mississippi-born,
Chicago-reared gospel-based neo-blues artist most often
presented as a Soul singer. But like an earlier
generation of street-singing gospel and blues bards,
Mavis really is a purveyor of life-based aphorisms and
morality tales. She tells it like it “T-I-Is” (i.e.,
old-school Black vernacular for unsentimental
declarations of social reality). It doesn’t hurt that
Dylan offers refreshingly frank mini-portraits of
diverse characters that span the range of social
characters. But ultimately it’s Mavis beautiful voice
and impeccable phrasing that makes the finger-snapping
interpretation so moving.
On the other hand, who consistently does romance better
than The Isley Brothers? That’s like asking how much is
one plus one. These cats have a lock on love songs. They
make seduction (Lay, lady lay / Lay across my big brass
bed) sound not only inviting and inevitable but also
sincerely spiritual. Or like the lyric says and the
Isley successful emote: “you can have your cake and eat
it too.” Wow. Who doesn’t want that? “Lay Lady Lay”
along with thirteen other equally effective soft songs
are contained on an Isley Brothers collection called
Beautiful Ballads.
Nina returns for a song that seems written for her. “The
Times Are-A-Changing” is uttered as though it were
Biblical prophecy. There is a rock-solid aura of
certainty girding Ms. Simone’s song-sermon. This version
even includes an organ interlude with church bells, just
in case you didn’t catch the import of the song.
Tracy Chapman follows with her rendition of the same
song. Ms. Chapman is the closest we come in recent years
to a genuine “folk singer.” Unlike most female folk
singers, Tracy has a super-thick sister voice, sort of
in the vein of Odetta. Accompanying herself on guitar,
Tracy Chpaman has a wonderfully subtle vibrato that
leavens what would otherwise be a voice of doom and
gloom.
It’s no secret I love Jimi Hendrix. Over in the Classic
section, Mtume picked an earlier Jimi Hendrix rendition
of “Like A Rolling Stone” but I really, really prefer
this stately version. First of all, the song is taken at
a slower pace but invested with more dynamics, more
turmoil. It’s both softer overall and louder in specific
parts. I guess you could say the dynamic range is wider.
Moreover, Jimi’s vocal work is more passionate, more
confident. He nails the hooks and paces himself with the
profound timing of a professional who is never tempted
to rush a good thing even when it gets ear-splittingly
loud. Check the churning and roiling intensity of the
out chorus; on a scale of one to ten, this is a twenty.
I would pick this version as the feature but Mtume has
already picked Jimi’s Monterey take as the Classic
feature. But then, hey, what the heck, the song is out
of print. Maybe there are folks out there like me who
would really, really like to be able to play this one
loud, loud on a Friday night or a Sunday morning, not to
mention all day one lazy Saturday!
And now it’s back to Jamaica with Max Romeo doing “With
God On Our Side.” The song is basically a capsule
American history course and would seem to resist a
foreign interpretation but Romeo sounds downright homey
as a sings down the years. Mtume has already discussed
the song’s interior twists and u-turns. Dylan is always
good for a subversive riposte. In this case, Bob states
that if God is on our side then God will stop the next
war. I guess we’re on our own.
Here comes Nina again. This time accompanied folk-song
style solely by a guitar as she orates the sad story of
Hollis Brown who killed his wife, his five children and
himself. But it was not a spur of the moment act. The
song lays out how the economic hardships over the years
drove him up a cul de sac. Once he hit the wall, his
response was sacrifice himself and his family rather
than die the desolate death of starvation. The song ends
on a note that could be interpreted as either futility
or hope, depending on one’s belief system. Counting up
the deaths, the narrator tells us somewhere another
seven people are born. Typical of Dylan he gives no hint
of the conditions under which these new seven people
enter the world, nor does Dylan even hint at their
future. The Neville Brothers’ ghostly rendition of "The
Ballad of Hollis Brown" over in the Contemporary section
has the stillness of an abandoned farm after-the-fact;
Nina’s version reads more like the morning news. It’s
unsettling.
Folksinger Richie Haven kicks off five versions of “Just
Like A Woman,” one of Bob Dylan’s signature songs. I’ve
never been a fan of Richie Havens; in fact, I used to
make fun mimicking his style of singing. Very
passionate. Very flat. The rapturous response from the
audience undergirds Haven’s popularity as perhaps the
most famous male folk singer who happens to be Black. I
include Havens because he is so highly respected and
offers us a quintessential example of a folk approach to
Bob Dylan, which approach is after all the root of Bob
Dylan.
Back to Jamaica with Beres Hammond giving us a lovers
rock, sensual version. Note the way Beres caresses the
syllables, the ache in his voice like he’s begging even
though it’s not a begging song. Though it’s difficult to
resist Hammond down-on-one-knee plea, I really, really
dig the dub version. Check it out.
And now here is the last of four appearances by Nina
Simone. Nina opens with an abstract piano intro before
painting a portrait in blue that mixes third-person and
first-person narration, which rather than confusing us,
actually heightens the veracity of Nina’s telling of the
tale. The concluding chorus offers us a sense of Nina’s
internal vulnerability, a vulnerability that includes a
not usually apparent fragility.
Roberta Flack takes the opposite tack. Whereas Nina
Simone sounded like an experienced woman looking
backward over her life, Roberta voice floats with the
youthfulness of a twenty-something at the end of her
first major romantic affair. Another way to put it,
Nina’s version is the novel, Roberta offers us the
soundtrack to a Hollywood romance—we don’t know whether
Nina will love again, we’re confident that love will win
out for Roberta, or so it seems listening to the two
versions back to back.
Now here is the screwball of the set—the O’Jays with a
little known Dylan song that was the title of their 1991
comeback album, “Emotionally Yours,” although this live
version is from the Dylan 30th Anniversary album. The
voicing is typical O’Jays, the intertwining of
passionate tenor from gravelly-voiced Eddie Lavert with
the falsetto and backing voices of his cohorts Walter
Williams and Eric Grant. This is perhaps the least
recognizable as a Bob Dylan song.
We conclude with a personal favorite, Randy Crawford,
the direct heir to Esther Phillips. She has that blues
tone in spades, an unmistakable blues vibration
resonates through her voice that cuts with the pleasure
of a lover’s confident embrace: simultaneously strong
and tender, unyielding and yet totally giving. Hers is
one of the iconic examples of blues tonality; a tonality
that goes both ways, i.e. up and down, and side-to-side,
or at least that’s the way the blues people do it.
Randy captures our attention with her assay of Dylan’s
famous anti-war song “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.” Given
the state of the world today, it’s appropriate that we
end the Dylan covers with a song that suggests it’s
possible that we can end war in our lifetime. It’s time
to put our guns into the ground. What a great image.
—Kalamu ya Salaam
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* * *
Jimi Hendrix. "Like A Rolling Stone"
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* * *
Dylan is an awesome, awesome
lyricist
I liked some of these covers; but I
didn’t like most of them. Dylan’s lyrics are always so
strangely at odds with what one commonly hears in pop. I
don’t like when people perform Dylan’s lyrics without
seeming to understand what he’s talking about. (And with
Dylan, that’s pretty easy to do. As much as I like
Dylan, I have to admit I’m frequently confused by him
too.)
Let’s talk about some of the songs.
Max Romeo’s re-write of "With God On Our Side" is
interesting, but the performance itself is pedestrian.
Gregory Isaacs’ version of "Mr. Tambourine Man" is
hilarious. He’s singing all the words, but I’d bet half
a paycheck he has no idea what he’s singing about. (Not
that I know either. As I mentioned, Dylan is often
inscrutable and "Mr. Tambourine Man" is certainly one of
those times. I’m sure some institution of higher
learning somewhere has a class named Dylan Lyrics
Present and Past. I’d love to take it.)
Stevie is a great, great musician
and songwriter. One of the few who might legitimately be
called a genius of song. But here, Stevie was way into
that period where he played so carefully, so unwilling
to make mistakes, that it’s just boring. Stevie, circa
Fullingness’ First Finale or Talking Book often played
fat, funky, hot chords and sloppy, powerful rhythms,
stuff that makes your woofer cones do weird things,
stuff that makes you wonder (no pun) how he ever came up
with such strangeness in the first place. But by the
nineties, Stevie had become a walking, talking museum
piece. Boooooooring.
Nina Simone. What can I say? Sometimes, I embarrass
myself by liking Nina so much. Let me tell you how
skilled Nina is as an interpreter of song. When Nina
sings, "I’m going back to New York City / I do believe
I’ve had enough," I’m sitting there, thinking, "Yeah,
Nina. Go on back. You don’t have to put up with all this
madness. What are you doing in Mexico anyway?" And
frankly, I don’t know what the hell "Just Like Tom
Thumb’s Blues" blues is about. I don’t even know what
the title means. My point is, when Nina sings, you’re
drawn into the song, the characters, the situations. You
feel yourself drawn into the world of the song even if
you’re lost, a stranger in that world.
By contrast, as I listen to Mavis Staples sing "Gotta
Serve Somebody" or the O’Jays sing "Emotionally Yours,"
even though I like the lyrics, I don’t get into the
spirit of the song. It’s just people singing and
playing. Singing and playing very well, mind you. But
when Nina sings (and Jimi too, and both of those
Nevilles interpretations), you don’t just hear it, you
FEEL it.
Now, Ronald Isley is on some other shit. I’m convinced
the man is a pimp. Not in the literal sense of one of
those detestable scumbags who prostitutes women. I mean
it in the metaphorical ghetto sense of a man who has
such a way with women that they seem to virtually line
up to put themselves at is considerable disposal; a man
who talks so sweetly that the heart (not to mention
other things) cannot resist; a man who, in matters of
romance at least, can get a with murder.
I don’t know exactly what Dylan had
in mind when he penned "Lay, Lady, Lay," but Ronald
claims it and remolds it into the one thing he knows
best—a seduction theme. On the page, Dylan’s lyrics read
personally, specifically, even quietly. It reads like
one man talking to one woman. It reads like the sort of
thing that would be best spoken in a whisper. Ronald
gets hold of it and, as pretty as it is, he could be
singing it to any of his girls. The ‘lady’ in Ronald’s
interpretation is as general as the ‘lady’ in the
original is specific.
One other quick comment: I’m with Kalamu on the Beres
Hammond. The song itself is ok, but the dub is really
special. It’s a keeper.
Anyhow, no matter what either Kalamu or I thinks about
any of these interpretations, the one thing I think
anyone reading this should take away from this week’s
songs, is that Bob Dylan is an awesome, awesome lyricist
and craftsman of song. Other than the great Joan
Armatrading and maybe Bob Marley, I can’t think of any
modern lyricists who measure up to Dylan, no matter the
musical genre. If, like me, you can’t stand Dylan’s
singing, and you don’t have the time or resources to
track down a bunch of Dylan interpretations by other
artists, check out one of the books of his transcribed
lyrics. They read like poetry, and good poetry at that.
—Mtume ya Salaam
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Like
A Rolling Stone
Lyrics by Bob Dylan
Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime,
didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're
bound to fall"
You thought they all were kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next
meal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You've gone to the finest school all right,
Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in
it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live
on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to
get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And he says do you want to make a deal?
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone? You never turned around to see the frowns on
the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for
you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your
kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with
your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could
steal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
Princess on the steeple and all the pretty
people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it
made
Exchanging all precious gifts
But you'd better take your diamond ring,
you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he
used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't
refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to
lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to
conceal.
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone ?
album: "Highway 61
Revisited" (1965) |
Jimi Hendrix - Like A Rolling Stone @ Monterey Pop
* *
* * *
|
All
Along The Watchtower
Lyrics by Bob Dylan
"There must be some way out of here" said
the joker to the thief
"There's too much confusion", I can't get no
relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig
my earth
None of them along the line know what any of
it is worth.
"No reason to get excited," the thief he
kindly spoke
"There are many here among us who feel that
life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that, and
this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is
getting late."
All along the watchtower, princes kept the
view
While all the women came and went, barefoot
servants, too.
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began
to howl.
album: "John Wesley
Harding" (1967) |
All Along The Watchtower—Jimi Hendrix
* *
* * *
|
Blowin' In The Wind
Lyrics by Bob Dylan
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, how many times must the cannon balls
fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
Yes, how many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
Yes, how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky ?
Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry ?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he
knows
That too many people have died ?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
album: "The Freewheelin'
Bob Dylan" (1963) |
Stevie Wonder—Blowin' in the Wind
* *
* * *
|
Ballad Of Hollis Brown
Lyrics by Bob Dylan
Hollis Brown
He lived on the outside of town
Hollis Brown
He lived on the outside of town
With his wife and five children
And his cabin brokin' down.
You looked for work and money
And you walked a rugged mile
You looked for work and money
And you walked a rugged mile
Your children are so hungry
That they don't know how to smile.
Your baby's eyes look crazy
They're a-tuggin' at your sleeve
Your baby's eyes look crazy
They're a-tuggin' at your sleeve
You walk the floor and wonder why
With every breath you breathe.
The rats have got your flour
Bad blood it got your mare
The rats have got your flour
Bad blood it got your mare
If there's anyone that knows
Is there anyone that cares ?
You prayed to the Lord above
Oh please send you a friend
You prayed to the Lord above
Oh please send you a friend
Your empty pocket tell you
That you ain't a-got no friend.
Your babies are crying louder now
It's pounding on your brain
Your babies are crying louder now
It's pounding on your brain
Your wife's screams are stabbin' you
Like the dirty drivin' rain.
Your grass is turning black
There's no water in your well
Your grass is turning black
There's no water in your well
Your spent your last lone dollar
On seven shotgun shels.
Way out in the wilderness
A cold coyote calls
Way out in the wilderness
A cold coyote calls
Your eyes fix on the shortgun
That's hangin' on the wall.
Your brain is a-bleedin'
And your legs can't seem to stand
Your brain is a-bleedin'
And your legs can't seem to stand
Your eyes fix on the shortgun
That you're holdin' in your hand.
There's seven breezes a-blowin'
All around the cabin door
There's seven breezes a-blowin'
All around the cabin door
Seven shots ring out
Like the ocean's pounding roar.
There's seven people dead
On a south Dakota farm
There's seven people dead
On a south Dakota farm
Somewhere in the distance
There's seven new people born.
album: "The Times They Are A-Changin'"
(1964) |
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|
Just
Like A Woman
Lyrics by Bob Dylan
Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as I stand inside the rain
Ev'rybody knows
That Baby's got new clothes
But lately I see her ribbons and her bows
Have fallen from her curls
She takes just like a woman, yes she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes she
does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.
Queen Mary, she's my friend
Yes, I believe I'll go see her again
Nobody has to guess
That Baby can't be blessed
Till she finally sees that she's like all
the rest
With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls
She takes just like a woman, yes she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes she
does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.
It's was raining from the first
And I was dying there of thirst
So I came in here
And your long-time curse hurts
But what's worse
Is this pain in here
I can't stay in here
Ain't it clear that.
I just can't fit
Yes, I believe it's time for us to quit
When we meet again
Introduced as friends
Please don't let on that you knew me when
I was hungry and it was your world
Ah, you fake just like a woman, yes you do
You make love just like a woman, yes you do
Then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little girl.
album: "Blonde On Blonde" (1966) |
Richie Havens—Tupelo Honey—Just Like A Woman
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|
The
Times They Are A-Changin'
Lyrics by Bob Dylan
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.
album: "The Times They Are A-Changin'"
(1964) |
Nina Simone—The times they are a changing
*
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|
The
Death of Emmett Till
Lyrics
by Bob Dylan
'Twas down in
Mississippi not so long ago,
When a young boy from Chicago town walked
through a
Southern door.
This boy's fateful tragedy you should all
remember well,
The color of his skin was black and his name
was Emmett Till.
Some men they dragged him to a barn and
there they beat him up.
They said they had a reason, but I
disremember what.
They tortured him and did some things too
evil to
repeat.
There was screaming sounds inside the barn,
there was
laughing sounds out on the street.
Then they rolled his body down a gulf amidst
a blood-red rain
And they threw him in the waters wide to
cease his
screaming pain.
The reason that they killed him there, and
I'm sure it
ain’t no lie,
He was a Black skin boy so he was born to
die
And then to stop the United States of
yelling for a trial,
Two brothers they confessed that they had
killed poor
Emmett Till.
But on the jury there were men who helped
the brothers
commit this awful crime,
And so this trial was a mockery, but nobody
seemed to mind.
I saw the morning papers but I could not
bear to see
The smiling brothers walkin' down the
courthouse stairs.
For the jury found them innocent and the
brothers they went free,
While Emmett's body still floats the foam of
a Jim Crow southern sea.
If you can't speak out against this kind of
thing, a crime
that's so unjust,
Your eyes are filled with dead men's dirt,
your mind is
filled with dust.
Your arms and legs they must be in shackles
and chains, and
your blood it must cease to flow,
For you let this human race fall down so
God-awful low!
This song is just a reminder to remind your
fellow man
That this kind of thing still lives today in
that
ghost-robed Ku Klux Klan.
But if all us folks that thinks alike, if we
gave all we
could give,
We could make this great land of ours a
greater place to live.
|
The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
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The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
Lyrics by Bob Dylan
William Zanzinger
killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his
diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'
And the cops were called in and his
weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the
station
And booked William Zanzinger for
first-degree murder
But you who philosophize disgrace and
criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears.
William Zanzinger who at twenty-four
years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide
and protect him
And high office relations in the
politics of Maryland
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his
shoulders
And swear words and sneering and his
tongue it was snarling
In a matter of minutes on bail was out
walking
But you who philosophize disgrace and
criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a maid in the kitchen
She was fifty-one years old and gave
birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the
garbage
And never sat once at the head of the
table
And didn't even talk to the people at
the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from
the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole
other level
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a
cane
That sailed through the air and came
down through the room
Doomed and determined to destroy all the
gentle
And she never done nothing to William
Zanzinger
And you who philosophize disgrace and
criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears.
In the courtroom of honor, the judge
pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the
courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't
pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly
handled
Once that the cops have chased after and
caught 'em
And that ladder of law has no top and no
bottom
Stared at the person who killed for no
reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way
witout warnin'
And he spoke through his cloak, most
deep and distinguished
And handed out strongly, for penalty and
repentance
William Zanzinger with a six-month
sentence
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace
and criticize all fears
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.
album: "The Times They Are A-Changin'"
(1964) |
* *
* * *
Rolling Stone
names Jimi Hendrix the ‘Greatest Guitarist of all Time,’—Jim
Farber—New
York Daily News—Jimi Hendrix has been proclaimed the
“Greatest Guitarist of All Time” by a panel of musicians
wrangled by Rolling Stone Magazine—Though dead for more
than 40 years, Hendrix’s fiery and distinct style
clearly continues to inspire, and intimidate, six-string
pluckers the world over. “His playing was effortless,”
wrote Rage Against The Machine axe man, and poll voter,
Tom Morello, in an appreciation of Hendrix’s
technique that will be printed in an issue of the
magazine out Friday. “There’s not one minute of his
recorded career that feels like he’s working hard at it
— it feels like it’s all flowing through him.” Other
guitarists in the vaunted list of Top 100 tip heavily
towards British players who rose during the ‘60s, eating
up the rest of the top five:
Eric Clapton (2),
Jimmy Page (3),
Keith Richards (4) and
Jeff Beck (5)— NYDailyNews
* * *
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|
The New Jim Crow
Mass Incarceration in the Age of
Colorblindness
By Michele Alexander
Contrary to the
rosy picture of race embodied in Barack
Obama's political success and Oprah
Winfrey's financial success, legal
scholar Alexander argues vigorously and
persuasively that [w]e have not ended
racial caste in America; we have merely
redesigned it. Jim Crow and legal racial
segregation has been replaced by mass
incarceration as a system of social
control (More African Americans are
under correctional control today... than
were enslaved in 1850). Alexander
reviews American racial history from the
colonies to the Clinton administration,
delineating its transformation into the
war on drugs. She offers an acute
analysis of the effect of this mass
incarceration upon former inmates who
will be discriminated against, legally,
for the rest of their lives, denied
employment, housing, education, and
public benefits. Most provocatively, she
reveals how both the move toward
colorblindness and affirmative action
may blur our vision of injustice: most
Americans know and don't know the truth
about mass incarceration—but her
carefully researched, deeply engaging,
and thoroughly readable book should
change that.—Publishers
Weekly |
 |
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 |
Blacks in Hispanic Literature: Critical Essays
Edited by
Miriam DeCosta-Willis
Blacks in Hispanic Literature is a
collection of fourteen essays by scholars and
creative writers from Africa and the Americas.
Called one of two significant critical works on
Afro-Hispanic literature to appear in the late
1970s, it includes the pioneering studies of
Carter G. Woodson and
Valaurez B. Spratlin, published in the 1930s, as
well as the essays of scholars whose interpretations
were shaped by the Black aesthetic. The early
essays, primarily of the Black-as-subject in Spanish
medieval and Golden Age literature, provide an
historical context for understanding 20th-century
creative works by African-descended, Hispanophone
writers, such as Cuban
Nicolás Guillén and Ecuadorean poet, novelist,
and scholar
Adalberto Ortiz, whose essay analyzes the
significance of Negritude in Latin America. This
collaborative text set the tone for later
conferences in which writers and scholars worked
together to promote, disseminate, and critique the
literature of Spanish-speaking people of African
descent. . . .
Cited by a
literary critic in 2004 as "the seminal study in the
field of Afro-Hispanic Literature . . . on which
most scholars in the field 'cut their teeth'."
|
* * * * *
The White Masters of the
World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
* *
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Ancient African Nations
* * * * *
If you like this page consider making a donation
* * * * *
Negro Digest /
Black World
Browse all issues
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1965
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Enjoy!
* * * * *
The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
/
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
/
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for
Slavery /
George Jackson /
Hurricane Carter
* *
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
/
January 1, 1804 -- The Founding of
Haiti
* * * * *
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posted 11 February 2008
|
