I picked up this book on nobody’s bookshelf without thinking twice. Nobody’s bookshelf is the place in our living room that doesn’t exactly have adult books but has books my parents kind of forgot about. Some books are put there for no reason, like the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. This one I can understand ending up put down and given up on. Heck, the book’s actual owner, a friend of my mom, forgot it after lending it, In retrospect, I shouldn’t have brought it to college considering that, but I can fix that in a little bit.
But anyways, Bob Dylan. I picked this up ‘cause I’m a big fan of him. I hate picking favorites, but I’d consider him my favorite musician if pressed. His melodies are unforgettable, his songs poetic and insightful to anyone in any time in their life. Sure, he can’t sing, but that’s another reason I like him: I sympathize with him in that regard. I even like the songs of his that I shouldn’t. “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35” is hilariously bizarre and has a good beat, and I even like “The Levee’s Gonne Break,” though the similarities with that OTHER levee song are awkward.
But I still didn’t know that much about that guy, which is how Chronicles Volume One got pulled from Nobody’s Shelf. And I learned everything I didn’t want to know. Seriously, it became practically deliberate at one point, something I’ll get to later.
Ok, I say Bob Dylan. First thing on your mind? Probably the 60s stuff, the period of his peak in popularity. Songs like Blowin’ in the Wind, Like a Rollin’ Stone, All Along the Watchtower, and so on. Like me, you’d probably like to know how those songs were formed, rejected lyrics, his popularity from his own point of view, influences on the songs, germs, etc. Actually, you probably don’t care, but shut up, this is my hypothetical situation.
Yeah, you know where this is going. He talks about everything but.
Here’s what most of the book reads like:
“ Robert Johnson had a sound that really went through you, got you thinking. But that wasn’t folk music. Folk was something greater, all encompassing. It spoke to all peoples in all times. Woody Guthrie got that. He put that soul of folk in the songs, and that captivated me for days on end. I wonder if I’d ever make it big with my music and meet him, but I didn’t know what to write about.“ –Nick Edinger, trying not to make a gay joke about Bob and Woody.
That’s not exaggeration. Through the entire book, he either talks about others artists he likes, what folk music is, or Woody Guthrie. He’d narrate his own experiences playing music in New York and record talks sometimes, but if he wants to talk about something else other than himself, he ain’t goin’ nowhere.
You know that thing people say when a celebrity makes a big deal about herself or himself? How they sarcastically say, “Oh no, Somebody. Don’t be so modest. Please, indulge yourself a bit. Tell us more about you.”? I’m telling Bob Dylan that sincerely. No, seriously Robert. Put a sock in your soapbox and indulge yourself a bit. Get to the good stuff.
I’m on the verge of calling this book a conspiracy on my curiosity, not fully going there because that sentence doesn’t really make sense. I said earlier it seemed deliberately designed to piss me off, and here’s why. The end of Part 3 has him in Colombia Record Studios finishing his first record. A few shout outs to more artists later (because it was so popular the first hundred times, it deserved an encore), Part 4 began. ‘Alright,’ I thought. ‘Here we go. We’re finally starting to get to the good stuff.
Part 4 begins in 1987.
1987.
That’s right. This book skips the most influential part of his life. How do you even DO that in your own memoirs? That’s like a huge chunk of Abe Lincoln’s diary blank in between “I can’t believe I lost another election,” and “I’m going to see a play today with the wife. Should be fun.” Maybe that part’s in Volume Two, since the book is non-linear and eventually goes back to earlier in his life, but it still bugs me. He actually does mention writing the best songs from his glory days… in two sentences. Needed more word space for the tributes to every artist you liked on the radio at one time, huh?
What’s even more aggravating is that he does what I was hoping for in Part 4. In recording his first album in a long time, he talks about the process of making the songs, both the technical and songwriting aspects. Rejected lyrics, influences, and all the other missing parts are there. Sadly, I only recognized one song, but it was still interesting. I used to consider reading Volume 2 to try to get more of this, but things have changed.
But here’s where the amateur part comes in: what did I expect? Should I really demand his memories, his poured-out heart and soul, cater to my lack of Bob Dylan knowledge? To be honest, I’d probably be sick of talking about 50 years ago if I was him. I’ve never read someone’s memoirs before, so maybe I went in expecting an autobiography. That’s why I consider this a ramble instead of a review: it’s like asking a monkey to review King Kong. You can see the connection, but there’s still a gap between worlds there. And you’d have to clean up the thrown feces all over the monkey’s angry, nonsensical blog post later.
Likewise, as I practically invalidate the last two pages, I don’t hate the book. Dylan’s writing is really sincere and well versed, and I guess I’m happy knowing he’s a nice, modest guy deep down. When he’s suffering, like when he injures his arm right before a comeback tour, you really feel his pain. Really, the main complaints I have are how it’s long-winded and really off-topic- something you might not mind so much if you enter with different expectations than mine.
But this book ain’t for me, babe.
(I have another book on my dissecting table, but I’ll still take requests as a priority over it. I’ll get to work on it, but I want to have a good long conversation with Arkham City over procrastination first.)
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