Stories of life and culture: me, him and Bob Dylan

You know instinct?

That thing always saying “don’t do it”, you do not have to do it, you do not have to do it absolutely. I’ve always ignored it. Unfortunately it was right. It was always right.

Once, a long time ago, when I was younger and definitely naive, there was this guy who was hitting on me in every possible and imaginable way on the planet earth and in the contiguous galaxies. He was so crazy perfect, he had my own interests, he listened to my own music, he filled me with attention, he always agreed with me. In short, the violins sounded, they sounded, sounded like a joke. And it definitely was. You’ll say, – silly you that have been mesmerized by this one. Silly me – with all my glory. And all because I did not listen to my instinct. Because instinct was telling me that he made the X-ray of my Myspace profile.

At that time I was locked up with Bob Dylan, listening everywhere: in the car, in the subway, at home while cooking, studying, washing my teeth. Oddly enough, also the infamous loved Bob. It’s all your fault Bob Dylan if I got into this situation.

What are the reasons I was in love with Bob Dylan and still I am (though a little less)? Lots.

The first is that he is crazy crusty genius on a permanent tour since 1988. His skewing character, his intent to make sense, his dialectical ability, are characteristics that have always fascinated me. I do not know if you’ve ever gone or you are going to his concert, but you know Bob is hard to repeat. Each performance is different, each song is different from itself. Everything change: sound, genre, interpretation. If you expect to hear “Like a Rolling Stone” you probably will not listen to it, or maybe you will hear a completely brand new version. Because Bob Dylan is not that of ” is the same as the cd” at the end of the concert. Bob Dylan innovates, interprets, strokes, in a way is decisively selfish – whether it is for those who are watching him.
Because he’s an artist. He is not the servant of the market or the popularity, is servant of the music. And an artist is not a juke box, he is human, he lives with passions, fleeting moments of inspiration.

Here I open a parenthesis. I believe that music has been trivialised, trampled over in recent years, made a pure marketing tool. The music is beautiful if it sells, an artist is only capable if it is known. Bullshits. And with that, I do not mean that all indie music is good, because there is a lot of rubbish even there. However, the soul has been removed and the spectator expects certain things, otherwise he is disappointed.
Just think of: how many times have you enjoyed a concert without taking a photo, a direct, a damn video that you will never see again? Me never once for example.

At Bob Dylan’s concerts photos are forbidden, if you add that all his songs are different from the originals, the spectator rage is assured. And so the comments on Facebook are “He sucks” and a lot of free insults to the artist. Of course, I understand very well that the affective bond that binds us to certain songs and the expectation of performance can leave a bad taste in the mouth if they are not satisfied.

But we must always think: is music art?

If it is, it means that he is allowed to express himself in all the ways he feels possible. And we are definitely allowed to say “yes I really liked it”, “no I did not like it at all” but without getting angry, take it personally or lash out at the artist.

At his concerts, you just have to enjoy the show, without interruption, without any distractions. And, I think, this is a great teaching, especially at this historic moment in which we are overburdened with urges and we can not enjoy a moment without our smartphone in the hand (I, for one). Closed the parentheses, sorry for the length.

The second and most important reason are his texts. I’m a little obsessed with word: I read and translate all the song lyrics. For me, they are like poems. I refuse to listen to any song with an obvious or trivial text even though the musical base is good. Anyway, thanks to the lyrics of Bob Dylan I saw the light in a dark moment, I felt better when I was worse, I felt less alone. They helped to force and believe me losing love pains, my life at that moment was a total disaster.
And so, among many, “The Times They Are a-changin ‘”, “Mr. Tambourine man “,” Sara “, accompanied me along endless train trips, when the tears went down uninterrupted while I was looking for a road, a tip to not sink. I have seen me into those songs, I understand that life is bastard and fierce but also incredibly amazing. They are the two sides of the medal. I chose to stay as far as possible on the part that makes me feel good.

The third and final motive. Well, Bob Dylan was the best thing about that subspecies of relationship, the only one I remember with pleasure.

P.s. After the infamous came another person, one who loves music even though he does not love Bob Dylan. He made me the greatest gift. He brought me to his concert. In New York. The medal finally turned on the right side.