By Tony Attwood
This song, which pairs with Watching the River Flow, in terms of its consideration of artistic process, comes from 1971, and gives us a problem, in that it has changed quite a few times. Rather like the masterpiece painting where x ray examination can reveal the changes that the genius painter made as he went along – not always (from our viewpoint) for the better, so here we can see the songwriter playing with his work, seeing where it might go.
However the notion of changing a work, even after it is finished for the first time, is one that many commentators find difficult. In our society we are used to a final finished piece. Surely, they seem to argue, the work should be the work, finished off in some complete form, like a TV show, a movie, a car or a table lamp. You design it, you make it, it is.
But in works of art that is never right, and Dylan is the absolute supreme re-worker of his own material, as the live shows endlessly show.
So should we worry that on one occasion the streets of Rome are full of trouble, and another they are full of rubble? Probably not, although there are one or two changes that are interesting to say the least, and one that is utterly fascinating.
The fact is that Dylan’s images can relate to real things he’s seeing and hearing, and other things that just pop into his mind at the moment. Indeed part of the mark of a genius is what he observes, and part is this odd stuff that pops into the mind. Part is the ability to re-work and find ever more interesting bits.
If we take the two opening lines – “filled with rubble” and “filled with trouble” both work. The rubble of the fallen monuments of the Republic and the Empire, the trouble from the uprisings of greedy and self-centred men who would put themselves before the extraordinary achievements of the Republic, to the collapse of the Empire as the Goths came knocking on the door.
Both words (rubble and trouble) can lead onto the ancient footprints being everywhere.
So we have in the first verse a masterpiece of reference and change…
Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble
Ancient footprints are everywhere
You can almost think that you’re seein’ double
On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs
Got to hurry on back to my hotel room
Where I’ve got me a date with Botticelli’s niece
She promised that she’d be right there with me
When I paint my masterpiece
The Scalinata di Trinità dei Monti (Spanish Steps, Dylan calls the “stairs”) take you (if you have the energy) up the steep hill from the Paizza di Spagna to Trinità dei Monti. 135 steps, not really a climb to do on a cold dark night unless you are chasing shadows and ghosts – which is fun in itself. But most of the time there are not cold dark nights in Rome.
But that’s only the start of the fun, because then we had originally a pretty little girl from Greece who became Botticelli’s niece. Just a phrase that popped into his head? Maybe, maybe. But (and you are going to have to stay with me for a moment if you want to get to grips with this idea) here is another explanation.
I doubt that Dylan just looked at the Coliseum, and the Spanish Stairs and said, “hey that’s nice” and walked on. I don’t mean I think he stayed with a guide book, but this is a guy who knows and enjoys his history and his literature, I suspect he knows a lot about art too.
And so I suspect the real origins of Botticelli’s niece come from his painting The Birth of Venus, which was commissioned by the Medici family. As the guidebooks and histories point out Pliny the Elder (the great writer, scientist and philosopher who died while recording his scientific observations on the eruption of Vesuvius) suggested Alexander the Great offered his mistress as the model for the nude Venus to be painted by Apelles. But then noting that Apelles had fallen in love with the girl, gave her to the artist.
Botticelli, in painting his version of the Birth of Venus, was seen as recreating the earlier lost masterpiece and in 1488 Ugolino Verino wrote a poem describing Botticelli as a born-again Apelles.
The actual model for Botticelli’s Birth of Venus was not his niece but Simonetta Cattaneo Vespucci, who it seems had a “relationship” with two of the Medicis. Linking Birth of Venus with the great days of the Republic makes the model in the picture a symbol of the continuity of the Republic, the Empire and the Eternal City.
It’s a famous tale for anyone interested in the art of the Republic and the Empire and I think turning Botticelli’s Venus into Botticelli’s niece is a nice piece of fun for Dylan, which gives him a handy rhyme. And why not?
We are very much in the world of Dylan the Tourist. He won’t have seen Birth of Venus in a trip to Rome, but Dylan had Italian connections all the back from his time with Suze Rotolo and his trip to Italy looking for her. Indeed the stories around Freewheelin are full of Italy. And besides “Masterpiece” does have the line Train wheels runnin’ through the back of my memory.
But I’m getting ahead of myself…
Oh, the hours I’ve spent inside the Coliseum
Dodging lions and wastin’ time
Oh, those mighty kings of the jungle, I could hardly stand to see ’em
Yes, it sure has been a long, hard climb
I’ve always wondered with that line of the long hard climb, if we are not back to the Spanish Steps! Surely we are.
But then so much of this song is looking back
Train wheels runnin’ through the back of my memory
When I ran on the hilltop following a pack of wild geese
Someday, everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody
When I paint my masterpiece
The geese story is, I think, not quite understood in every review of this song. The story is that when the Republic of Rome was under attack from the Gauls in 390BC (which is to say in the fabled origins of the Republic, long before the days of the Empire) Rome seemed about to fall and the Romans were besieged. Despite low food supplies during the siege the Romans kept their sacred geese fed, and this turned out to be a shrewd idea, because as the Gauls attacked, the geese honked as they do, woke up the guards, who then resolutely defeated the attackers.
The Gauls gave up their attack and withdrew, Rome was rebuilt, and the sacred geese were remembered forever with an annual parade in which a golden goose is the heart of the celebration.
Dylan then is remembering the story, which of course is a central part of Roman mythology. You can’t read a guide book without finding it somewhere.
But then strangely he seems to dismiss it all…
Sailin’ round the world in a dirty gondola
Oh, to be back in the land of Coca-Cola!
Suddenly we are out of Rome – there are (just to be clear about this) no gondolas on the Tiber, that’s Venice. Indeed going for a sail along the Tiber is just plain dull and really not worth the effort. And besides, certainly for me, each time I’ve been to Venice there are not dirty gondolas; the competition to get the tourists into gondolas is very strong, and brightness and colour is part of the deal. (The water buses are cheaper though, and just as much fun).
So what is this about? Leaving the history, the romance, the beauty, the total story of the Republic and Empire, for sugar, colour, flavouring and water plus a mistake about where the canals are???
I think there is a good reason why the recording on Greatest Hits removes those lines – they have no real connection with the song. They are just Dylan having a laugh. And it is a real downer on Botticelli etc etc. My own view, for what it is worth, is that it was an attempt at irony, and as such it is a good couplet, but open to misinterpretation. So the version without it was used on the album.
And then he leaves and carries on with the tour of Europe. The final verse seems to be a reflection on the art of Italy. He has seen it, he knows he can create masterpieces in his chosen art form. Brussels, the newspapermen and the fans are just a distraction. And the women are nothing like the Venus he has been contemplating…
Clergymen in uniform and young girls pullin’ muscles
Everyone was there to greet me when I stepped inside
There is one other couplet that I really have always enjoyed…
Newspapermen eating candy
Had to be held down by big police
Dylan is having fun, but also saying he knows it doesn’t have to be like this
Someday, everything is gonna be diff’rent
When I paint my masterpiece
There was however a line that appears to have been cut from this ending, With a picture of a tall oak tree by my side – the reference to the Zen tradition of using one aspect of nature alone to understand everything. Cutting the pretty little girl from Greece was, to my mind (and of course all this ruminating is just my reaction to the song) was a good move (not that in any seriousness could I tell Dylan what was better or worse in his writing) but losing the oak tree was not so good, at least in my world. It is an image of a way of contemplating the world – the only thing that is wrong with it is that it is from a totally different culture. Not from Italy or Belgium, but from China.
And there is another cross reference that I had completely failed to see, until reminded of it through an excellent review on Expecting Rain, which if you are seriously interested in this song you really ought to read.
In ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ written in 1818 by Lord Byron, the poet (and here I quote from the Expecting Rain review) contemplates the ruins of ancient Rome and finds nothing but chaos – broken dreams and relics of ancient cruelty….
Byron perceives the city as a whole as a space strewn with fragments and debris, visible signs of decayed power testifying to the vanity of human aspirations
The Expecting Rain review, written by Christopher Rollason (whose blog is always worth a read) sees the song as coming from a narrator who “has come to Europe and Rome in search of artistic fulfilment, hoping that with ancient scenes around him he will achieve the vision that will enable him finally to ‘paint his masterpiece’.”
That’s a very interesting vision. I have approached the song seeing this as Dylan himself contemplating Rome and Italy, and the “paint my masterpiece” not being literally “paint” but a metaphor for his ultimate work of art – most likely of course his ultimate song or ultimate album as conveyed in the lines “Some day everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody When I paint my masterpiece”.
You can see it either way, just as you can see She promised that she’d be right there with me When I paint my masterpiece as a sexual phrase or as a phrase relating to the person who most artists or all genres have by their sides who support, put up with, and are a sounding board for their ideas.
So, a complex piece, with its own fun and some historical references too. Difficult to transcribe into music.
But Dylan does it, but in so doing uses a technique that I think is unique within the Dylan repetoire. He totally changes key between the second and third verse to reflect the change from Rome to Brussels.
We are clearly in A with A and E being the chords that the song for the first two verses, and then we slip backwards to the completely unrelated B flat. It’s a different world.
It is not a very subtle technique, but it makes the point of the change of emphasis. And the plane trip to Brussels wasn’t subtle.
As a final point…. This song was written in 1971. In the summer of 1974 Dylan wrote Idiot Wind. Maybe there was just something at the back of his mind that he knew was just a few years away from making its breakthrough.