By Tony Attwood
So far I have selected as my Dylan song of the year ….
- 1961. “I was young when I left home”
- 1962: Tomorrow is a long time
- 1963: Seven Curses
- 1964: Gates of Eden
My idea of choosing a Dylan song of the year is one of those things that sounds fine at the time, and a bit of fun, when simply said. But it has to start from the beginning, and that means starting with the years when Dylan wrote and wrote and wrote. 36 songs in 1962, 31 songs in 1963, 20 songs in 1964. But just in case we got to thinking he was drying up, in 1965 he came back with another 29 songs.
And what songs they were, ranging from songs of farewell (Farewell Angelina) to questioning the issue of the artist in society (Subterranean Homesick Blues), from adoration (Love Minus Zero) to saying farewell (It’s all over now baby blue). And even a song saying I have had enough moving on (It takes a lot to laugh) and on to a song of utter and total disdain (Like a Rolling Stone)
But as we got to the end of another of Bob’s mega years of writing, a deep, dark negativity sank into the lyrics first with “Desolation Row” and then “Visions of Johanna” which portrayed a world of half-light, of mysticism and surrealism, verging on Dada.
A choice of song of the year from such a collection is of course going to be even more personal than it has been for other years, but for me, having discovered the music of Bob just before Freewheelin was released, and so having lived through those early years, there was one song that hit me full in the face then, and is still a central part of my world an amazing 61 years later. And just writing that sends shivers through me.
Indeed, as I write “61” I can’t believe the time that has passed, nor the fact that, as far as I can remember, I didn’t bore you stiff with article after article commemorating 60 years of Visions. (Although maybe I did and I have now forgotten. Old age can do that to you). But I have chosen the two recordings of the song with this life history in mind – I do hope you might find the time to play them both. One is above, one below.
Of course, thinking of these past times, “Desolation Row” has its amazing opening of the historically accurate scenario of the postcards, but “Visions” equally has that overwhelming image of lying awake at night listening to the wind or the rain, or maybe in an urban environment, the traffic or the late-night drunks staggering home.
Did I sit alone, stranded in those early years? Yes indeed, although not in an urban environment. I was stranded in a rural community – true not too far from a town, but it was a genteel conservative place with no nightlife save a small folk club where I dutifully sang two songs each week. So I did feel stranded. The heating worked, there was no country music station (this was England, we didn’t have that sort of thing)… but still in my semi-rural life, going to school, coming home, doing homework, playing the piano and guitar, yes I related more to Johanna than to its companion masterpiece “Desolation Row”.
And so it strikes me that perhaps many of us are attached to the older Dylan masterpieces not just because of the compositions, but because of our personal situation at the time. I still value Johanna as a work of musical and literary genius, but part of that emotional response does come from the situation I was in when I first played it over and over and over again.
Indeed, that line, “Ain’t it just like the night” has become an integral part of my entire life, and not just at night time alone, but for all life. Although I have a friend now staying in my spare room, living in my house to escape matters elsewhere, although I see some of my family and/or my friends most days, and always have a conversation with someone on the phone through the day, and indeed I still often go out dancing, even now I have that link to that profound, overwhelming opening line. And I can say it is possibly even more powerful than the follow-up, “We sit here stranded, though we’re all doing our best to deny it”.
Of course, after that, the lyrics drift away from my position in life, now in my late 70s, younger than Bob but not that much younger. My friend, as I mentioned, now lives in my spare bedroom, two of my three daughters live close by, I still go dancing, share a lift to the clubs, see friends, and make new friends (modern jive dancing is wonderful for that…) So no, I don’t have Visions that conquer my mind. I have memories, and if I were to write a song today (as I still do, about once a week), it would be of visions of my world and my life, but not as sad or desperate as Bob’s world in his “Visions”. I don’t regret the loss of past loves as Bob described in his song, and I guess it is because of this that I can still love and enjoy this utter triumph of Bob’s extraordinary composition that I have shared so much of my life with.
But here is a strange thing. This song, that has been so central to so much of life… it has no line or two that I can quote here that sums it all up. There is no line or two or verse or anything that I can use to say that was or is me.
It is a picture of another world; not a portrait of my world at all. Of course, I have had love and have lost love, and have my children and grandchildren who mean everything to me. And I have my own visions and have done my own thing. And that is what makes this song so very, very special to me.
Bob played Visions 216 times between 1966 and 2018. Here is the one that has become part of my life, and part of my world, in older age. Mike chose it from 1991, and I can’t disagree. And if you time to listen, please do let it play to the end, and make sure the room is quiet. This is the master looking back at his world. It is not perfect, but it is not meant to be, because whatever our memories are, they most certainly are not perfect.