What a great day. Obama is President, Free Zoo day (though I didn't go because I've already been three times and had packing to do), The Onion comes out on Wednesdays and so does Theme Time radio hour.
The topic this week was beginnings, middles and ends. "The three stages of being," Dylan borrows, and jumps in with a quote by Winston Churchill.
Now is not the end. It's not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
I like to think I'm at the beginning of the beginning, but I'm probably not.
The first tune of the show was Anita Day's "I Can't Get Started," a classic by Gershwin. "You're my Waterloo," and "Superwoman turns out to be a flash in the pan," were two of the more memorable lyrics. Likely why Dylan selected it. There was nothing transgressive or terribly interesting about the instrumentals- it wasn't adult Disney either- but it was the lyrics that made the song.
Here's an interesting subject that Dylan segued into, somehow. The topic was a rare neurological paralyzatin called Locked-In syndrome. There's a lot to it so I just created a link to a page that contains more links if the subject interests you. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is a book by Jean-Dominque Bauby, who suffered from the syndrome. Not sure how I'd never heard of this. He was paralyzed with the exception of limited movement in his left eye. His book was written with the help of a transcriber who recited a specialized alphabet to Bauby, who would blink when he heard the letter he wanted. It was a frequency-ordered french alphabet (E, S, A, R, I, etc.). One cannot help but blush at this loud reminder of the incredible feats of the human spirit.
A Dylan favorite, Peggy Lee, sang "I'm Beginning to See the Light." Dylan said it was recorded in the same session as "Fever," her big hit. You could definitely hear it. Had a similar vibe.
On the subject of beginnings, middles and ends, Dylan tried to come up with things that lacked all three. One example is the Oroborus. That's a fancy name for the serpent or dragon that eats it's own tail. Apparently to sustain life or so it can roll like the fat kid in Hook, it's hard to say. I suppose if I had a tail I might chew it, but not to symbolize anything. Then we heard Manfred Mann The One in the Middle, a skiffle sound with a backing keyboard that sounded like a chirping, maybe dying, insect. It reminded me of the Them.
Dylan then played Ray Charles' "Smack Dab in the Middle" because it had the best snapping he'd ever heard on a record. What, Dylan asked, is smack dab in the middle of the United States? The answer is a spot in a small park in Lebanon, Kansas. This was discovered by a low-tech method, and it's something you can even discover on your own. Cut out a piece of cardboard in the shape of the continental 48. Now, balance the cardboard on a point. This may take a while, but once you have it perfectly balanced, mark the point's spot with a marker. Now simply lay the cardboard over the map or the other way around, and see where the spot lands. This is a good method for determining the center of any complicated shape.
Dylan accepted another "miscellaneous" call, this one from a man named Frank George. Dylan asked him "do you have a middle name Frankie?" "Yes," said Frank. "It's Carl."
Wanda Jackson was next, In the Middle of a Heartache. Wanda sounded like she was 5. And in the middle of a heartache nonetheless. Probably from Texas and in love with her older brother. It was a straight country song.
Than the subject was Jules Verne. At age 11, Jules ran away from home and snuck onto a ship, planning to work as a cabin boy. His parents discovered him before the boat retrieved it's anchor. He was mentored by Alex Dumas, the guy who wrote Count of Monte Cristo. Verne's first success was Journey to the Center of the Earth. Verne had a crazy nephew, Gaston Verne, who was kept under house arrest due to his unstable mind. One day, Gaston escaped, stole a revolver, and went to uncle Jules's house, ostensibly to kill his uncle. Jules tried to wrestle the gun from Gaston when he arrived, and in the process was shot just below the right knee. He survived, but walked with a cane for the rest of his days.
Nick Lowe, Half a Boy and Half a man, sounded like a mix between an Armed Forces (E. Costello) track and a Beach boys song. A cruisin' melody over a rocking (like a cradle) organ and bayou drums.
Dylan talked about hermaphrodites, and recommended Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Dylan said, sardonically, that he read it because it was part of the Oprah book club.
Next was Skeeter Davis' The End of World. It's one of those indisputably great pop tunes. It was a remarkable success, reaching #2 on the Billboard Hot 100, #2 on the Billboard country singles chart, #1 on Billboard's adult Contemporary chart, and #4 on the Billboard rhythm and blues chart. A top 10 finish on four separate Billboard charts (not to mention top 5!) has never been duplicated by a female artist.
The end of The End of the World reminded me of the penultimate scene in Edward Scissorhands, when the old Winona Ryder finishes telling the story of Edward to her granddaughter, coupled with shots of Ed hanging around in the mansion looking depressed and making snow carvings. Listen to the last part of the song, when Skeeter reads two bars rather than singing them and you may agree. The key is only a half-step off too.
Theme Time switched to the subject of Native Americans and mythology. Paiute Native Americans, of Southeaster California originally, believed that the white man's world and all it's works would one day roll up like a carpet and disappear, and the land would once again be teeming with buffalo and all the Paiute dead would rise again to hunt and run. A romantic idea. Another good song, thrown in there somewhere, was J. Geils band's Start All over Again. A live cut, it sounded like the Stones in the 70s before they started writing computer anthems.
And of course Buddy Guy with This is the End. Guitar licks like fiery ribbons and a voice big, high and loose.
Dylan ended with a poem by Robert W. Service called The End of the Trail. Here it is:
Life, you've been mighty good to me,
Yet here's the end of the trail;
No more mountain, moor and sea,
No more saddle and sail.
Waves a-leap in the laughing sun
Call to me as of yore. . . .
Alas! my errant days are done:
I'll rove no more, no more.
Life, you've cheered me all the way;
You've been my bosom friend;
But gayest dog will have his day,
And biggest binge must end.
Shorebound I watch and see afar
A wistful isle grow wan,
While over is a last lone star
Dims out in lilac dawn.
Life, you've been wonderful to me,
But fleetest foot must fail;
The hour must come when all will see
The last lap of the trail.
Yet holding in my heart a hymn
Of praise for gladness gone,
Serene I wait my star to dim
In the glow of the Greater Dawn.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment