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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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- DESERT ISLAND STANISLAV, BROWN OVER ISRAEL.
- EVENSONG. BACH TO BACH
- POSTCARD FROM CUBA
- FROM HER MAJESTY’S STATIONERY OFFICE, DECEMBER 2010
- EVENSONG, JS BACH, GLENN GOULD
- THE WAY IT IS, A CLIMATE OF INSULT.
- A SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP; WE DO AS THEY SAY.
- DR JOHN, THE NIGHT TRIPPER. IF I DON'T DO IT, SOME...
- MY NORTHERN SKY, HIGHLANDS, 10.00 pm
- MAD OLD LADY TO CONTEST LUTON SEAT.
- FORTY SHILLIN' ON THE DRUM.
- BEHOLD MY WORKS
- EVENSONG, AN ARTS AND CRAFTS MOVEMENT
- FAMILY GUY, THE BAG OF WEED SONG.
- EVENSONG
- DESERT ISLAND DISCS, DANCING WITH JOHN BUNYAN.
- PLUCKY LITTLE ISRAEL, BLESSED ARE THE NOOSEMAKERS.
- WHEN THE BOAT COMES IN.
- BOTTLENECK BLUES.
- WOTSONTELLY. QUESTION TIME, OUR GREATEST LIVING MP
- FOUR JUST MEN
- TOTTYWATCH, THOSE PIZZA BABES
- MORE TONY, SOMETIMES SATAN COMES AS A MAN OF PEACE.
- THE ENEMY WITHIN.
- ROCK 'N' ROLL STUDIES NUMBERS 12 & 35, SEX AND DRU...
- FUCK OFF GOOGLE
- I'VE GOT SOME REAL ESTATE, HERE IN MY BAG.
- NO MASCARA SHORTAGE
- AFTER THE BALL IS OVER
- BAROQUE AND ROLL STUDIES, NUMBER 2, AN AMERICAN T...
- BAROQUE AND ROLL STUDIES, NUMBER 1, BEST PLAYED, T...
- HOME SECKATRY DEFENDS CRIMINALS. TORTURE IS COOL, ...
- WHAT THE PAPERS SAY, THOSE TELEGRAPH WRITERS AND T...
- ROCK'N'ROLL STUDIES, NUMBER NINE. DON'T CONFRONT M...
- IMELDA BLAIR MAY DIE, HOPES SOAR.
- HE'S GOT THE WHOLE WORLD IN HIS HANDS.
- stanislav, it all shit is.
- AMERICAN DOG LOVERS SPREADING DEMOCRACY
- ROCK 'N' ROLL STUDIES, NUMBER 7, A LITTLE LIGHT M...
- DESERT ISLAND STANISLAV, JULY 4th, 2008, PRESIDENT...
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- THAT SOCIAL CARE DEBATE
- SWISS BOB: STOP SENDING ME YOUR GRANNIES
- BASTILLE DAY 14TH JULY, VIVE LES FROGS
- DESERT ISLAND STANISLAV, MARCH 2008
- SMALL ADS, WANTED
- RICHARD THOMPSON, VINCENT BLACK LIGHTNING, 1952, O...
- WOTSONTELLY, OBAMA ROCKS THE JUNGLE.
- WHO KILLED DAVID KELLY ?
- CARRY ON DYING, STARRING GORDON SNOT AS CARL VON C...
- WHAT THE PAPERS SAY, WHAT'S COOKING? A NAZI FEMIN...
- ROCK 'N' ROLL STUDIES NUMBER THREE. THE COMING OF...
- LITTLE BIG MAN. A THOUGHT FROM SCOTLAND, BEST PAR...
- ANARCHY IN BALI bikebali said... Such a beau...
- skymadeupnewsandfilth.com ISSUES A COMPLETE DENIAL
- ROCK 'N' ROLL STUDIES NUMBER 2, RICHARD WAYNE PENN...
- WHAT THE PAPERS SAY, THE HEDGING NEWS.
- WHAT THE PAPERS SAY, CRUEL IRONY AT THE DAILY FILT...
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- ROCK 'N' ROLL STUDIES: SAY THAT AGAIN, WHITE BOY; ...
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- WOTSONTELLY, BAROQUE AND ROLL, AGAIN
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2 comments:
Right from the outset it sounds like gibberish.
It is certainly a New Labour genre.
Well, venerable one, you are absolutely right from your side, I am right from mine. It is a porridge of mixed-up confusion from a mind mangled by the rollers of pharmacology and fame but it is also phenomenal, juddering, cataclysmic, train-crash rock and roll; allegory, metaphor and allusion rear-ending each other in a raucous, condescending tumult of bitterness and deadly, sniperscope rage; an artist willingly almost out of control, chaos inventing from itself a new form, the performers touring the world to a nightly barrage of both catcall and stunned applause, the mania of the little man in the middle unswerving.
The studio recording, from Highway 61 Revisited, is sharper and more measured, better organised than this performance; the piano, organ, bass, drums, guitar and harmonica more adroit, distinguishable, the vocal crisper, fresher, the parts, now hardwired into popular culture, often improvised, soaring on Creativity's amphetamine wing.
But this, the Bob Dylan UK tour of 1966, with part of the ensemble which would become The Band, was the rock 'n' roll word, made flesh. Each nightly first-half was Dylan alone with guitar and harp, his earlier works punctuated by trademark hammering-on and blowing more notes than there are; the second half, the curtains drawn back to reveal electric voodoo machines and apostate players was all, jubilantly, like this. Junkyard blues meets Chuck Berry and James Joyce.
This historic, much valued clip is by contemporary standards, dated and amateur, grainy, sub-standard but the live performances had a chaotic dignity and a grandeur never matched. Trust me, old one; a young, young man, starry-eyed and laughing, I was at that very concert.
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