back to the stories! i actually wrote an article for the Onion AV Club this past summer detailing Bob's weirdest onstage moments. Some old, oft-told tales, but my fave is the Harry Dean Stanton/Chabad Marathon one: http://bp2.blogger.com/_IgB0JLKO15Q/RqDvomie9UI/AAAAAAAACBo/EjOWWXUB9fg/s1600-h/den+feat+2+4329.jpg
― tylerw, Wednesday, 28 November 2007 21:40 (ten years ago) Permalink
Letter to Bob Dylan #1
I had just seen you Bob, at the Orpheum Theater, in Omaha, NE, '1991' or '2' or maybe even, "Love Minus Zero equals No Limit".
At the end of the show, there was a little line forming around to the side...
Exit stage left!
Those standing in that line, had high hopes, and enchanted dreams of meetings, and things, interviews, pictures, and or, at the very least, all I want, is an autograph...
Actually, I to give... For it is better, than to receive!
It seemed to me, that in all pro Bob (Top of the) bill at he, (Probability) like Elvis, you too, Bob, had left the Building. Although conflicting reports, of course, stated otherwise...
The Line was going in 'no direction known'. (Fast, I had to eat soon, or my muscles would be doomed, to the bones of the cancerous cellular fat head phones, wringing them bells like bottlenecks. All the way to the Gates Of Eden!)
After about 10 minutes, the tout. (I mean, tour. But come to think of it! I guess he was about the same tautness as I!) The Tour Manager hadn't shown his face, once yet... Don't think Twice, It's Alright Ma, I'm only frying... My brains out from the colorful sight of the bright stage light and a little dose of LSD too went he (25 or 6 to 4) Clive. Next Stop Chicago!
Already at the "End of the Line", I didn't have to step back, just to the side, and a one, and a two, and a... (My friend Bo Rose, says: "Clive! What in the Hell are you doing Man?") I took a Leap on Marianne & Ginger's Faith Hill, and, on, onto the stage!
As the island slowly sank...
It wasn't long then. (And maybe it never will be?)
From out of the shadows, enter stage fright...
The tour manager says: "Can I help you?"
I say: "Well, I don't know? Who are you?" (I really wanna know?) (Who who) (Who who) Like a Roger Doll tree and Re:Pete-ing Town send HOWL.
He says: "I am the touring Manager"
I say: "Well then!" (I meant now, but I was using Minnesota speck.) "Yes you can! Could you please make sure that Bob Gets this?" Pulling the Cassette tape out, that I had pocketed for the leap, up-staged... (By everyone, because I'm just a jest and a bumbling poetaster that does old psuedo neo doggerel tricks).
Extending my hand, to hand it to his hand, which, as soon as he saw what it was, he withdrew his hand.
He could not "Handle With Care"
Backing up, as if the tape was demonic.
He said: "Oh no no no!" (I don't smoke it no more) "No cassettes, Please! Because of Street Legal reasons we can't accept any tapes, I'm so sorry".
I said: "Well now!" (Saying what I meant, and meaning what I said, a Californian/Nebraskan's word may not be 100% in their in suing ways? But in my cassette tape case it is, and was, as I was speaking in NE/CAL speck now!) "Hows about a nice.....................
Partially inspired by Bob, with Bob, as Bob, playing Bob himself, with a cameo role in it" (The Poem That Is!)
(I'll bet you thought, I was going to say Hawaiian Punch?)
Well now, the Touring Manager was all friendly, and stuff, stepping toward me again.
The poem was folded, and placed inside, with the tape. He was a little apprehensive, yet again...
I had to assure him, of no tricks or tapes. (My Hollow Weenie was coming up soon! I saw a pretty girl winking).
I was getting a little shaky at this point, because I never knew of the poisonous qualities of ferro-chrome-oxide.
And out it came, THE POEM, that is, which he, positively 4th street guaranteed, that you Bob, was fan of your fans...
And further more, demands, that all of your fans poetry be accepted, and hand delivered, immediately, if not, by the OK Sooners. (Hey wait a minute... We're in NE REM remember) (It's not the end of the world as we know it... YET!).
And you would most definitely get it...(Even if you got it, would you really get it?)
So Bob,Did you get it?
The title was:"Christmas 1990 Whatever"
― evilCozPoetry, Wednesday, 8 July 2009 22:05 (nine years ago) Permalink
The engineer from Love and Theft recounts some great stories here.
The best one is about "stadows..."
there’s a lyric on the song where Bob sings, “The leaves cast their shadows on the stones,” and, when he was singing it live, he was reading his lyrics off a piece of paper, and, I guess, for a split-second, he got dyslexic, because on the live take, he actually sang, “The leaves cast their *stadows* on the stones.” So, the only time I did any editing on that song, was when I heard this word “stadows” go by, I knew he meant shadows, because I had the lyric sheet in front of me. So, when I tried a remix, I took the vocal, and I found a “sh” from somewhere else, and I chopped the “st” out and put that in, so he was singing “shadows,” y’know. And Bob was listening to all these mixes, and he kept saying, “Nah, man, I really wanna use that rough mix.” Finally, I said, “Well, you know, on the rough mix, you don’t sing ‘shadows,’ you sing, ‘stadows.” And he took a long hit on his cigarette, and he kind of looked at me deadpan, and he went, “Well, you know:*‘stadows.’
― kornrulez6969, Wednesday, 8 July 2009 22:39 (nine years ago) Permalink
lol, yeah that is great
― tylerw, Wednesday, 8 July 2009 22:42 (nine years ago) Permalink
bob dylan arrested for being creepy old man.
― flying squid attack (tipsy mothra), Saturday, 15 August 2009 01:02 (nine years ago) Permalink
great collection of people (e.g. joan baez, johnny cash, allan ginsberg, etc) recounting their first encounters w/ mr zimmerman
― Michael_Pemulis, Saturday, 15 August 2009 01:15 (nine years ago) Permalink
I went to try to get Dylan to sign a copy of his Complete Lyrics book when he played San Antonio some years ago (mid 90's). He was playing in a beautiful theater called 'The Majestic Theater'.I was hanging out before the show and started chatting to another collector whom I saw regularly when we were trying to get autographs."Do you know about the Hood?" he asked me."The Hood?!" I replied.Does he mean 'the ghetto'? The 'urban' area here in San Antonio?"You know Bob wears a hood when he wants to be left alone, and no one speaks to him..."I just sort of chuckled and thought that that was crazy... that my friend was a bit daft. We waited for a while and then around the corner came this old, black RV... with a trailer attached. And it was MATTE black - not shiny black. Not 'showroom quality modern paint technology' black, but like... can o' spray paint black. I was like "no way" that that's Bob Dylan... But it pulled right up to he stage door. A guy got out, opened the trailer, went back in, came back out with a big dog, and commenced to feeding the dog. The scene was a bit surreal and I was probably not paying close attention to the real reason I was there. My friend said "There he is!" and I looked up to see a desheveled looking gentleman exiting the bus... It was Bob.We began walking towards him and all of a sudden he pulled a hoodie-like hood over his head and made a bee-line for the stage door. Hoodies are quite common now, but back then they were more like a sweat-suit kinda gym class thing. I was flabberghasted! "THE HOOD! It is true!!!" "How freakin' weird!" And no one spoke a word to him as he meandered around the back and to and fro the bus. I believe he even took off down the street, but I didn't follow. I didn't want to be a nuisance to Mr. Dylan.The guy that was feeding the dog took a plastic bag and set it somewhere on the trailer. It blew down or fell down and started blowing towards me. I could tell there was some paper or something in it because it had weight and was moving slowly across the concrete towards me. I thought "if it makes it to me, I'm going to pick it up and see what's inside of it"... It did and I did. There were some receipts from various 'truck-stop' type places for hat pins and suff and a UPS slip from New Mexico sent to the hotel La Mansion across the street. I wish I would've held onto everything in the bag but I didn't... I thought it was just a bunch of trash (it was)... But I held onto the slip because of the address.
Later that night, at the show, Bob was playing. A girl held up an LP for Bob to sign in the middle of the performance. "Not now honey... I'll sign it after the show." I knew for an absolute FACT that she would NOT get her album signed. He was lying.After the show had ended, people started surrounding the stage door and the path to the 'Darth Vader RV'. I was stationed perfectly right in front of the bus door, off to the side. Perfect.Bob came out and the bus door opened. He through up the hood and parted the sea of screaming fans. I saw the girl with the album. She was short and engulfed by the throng of people surrounding her. She held up her LP... I don't know which one it was... You could't even see her; just a little arm and hand holding the flat cardboard. Almost like it was planned, Bob turned, reached out and took her album and signed it! "Holy Smokes!" I know I'm gonna get my book signed!"Mr. Dylan? Could you sign my book?""I can't right now! Go to Austin... I'll sign it in Austin!""But, I'm not going to Austin!"And the door closed. Me and my buddy were shut out!I can't believe that chick got her album signed! But she seemed like a real fan, so god bless her!
My friend and his mom went to Austin... His mom got Bob to sign something for them and they talked about Education or teaching or something to that effect.
I never got my book signed. Never tried again either.But I did find out just recently that the address and name on the slip belonged to Bob's driver...
― funkymonkstemple, Saturday, 6 March 2010 23:59 (eight years ago) Permalink
A friend of mine used to tell a story about the first time Dylan played Dublin in '65: they tried to get to talk to him after the show in the Adelphi, but didn't catch him, but heard he would be getting the train to Belfast next morning. So they waited at Amiens St, and, sure enough, he shows up with his entourage and boards the train. He sits in a compartment for a while, but eventually they cajole to a door - my friend who has been silent up til know, proffers some paper and asks for an autograph.... Dylan goes 'later, man': and at that exact moment the train pulls off....
(nearly) thirty years later, Dylan is playing at a festival in Tramore at which I'm working. He was followed by Jerry Lee, and I'm standing at the monitor desk, and JLL is rockin' - I turn to my friend Davy, who's kinda short, and who was standing there, and say 'this is a great!' - the unmistakable voice rises from below shoulder level 'yeah, man' .....Davy has stood back to let Bobby see.
― sonofstan, Sunday, 7 March 2010 08:27 (eight years ago) Permalink