The Basement Tapes
The motorcycle accident — it’s a pivotal moment in the life and career of Bob Dylan.
The motorcycle accident — it’s a pivotal moment in the life and career of Bob Dylan.
As with all things Dylan, good luck nailing down the truth or the exact details. The severity and cause vary, but the rough approximation is that following the accident Dylan retreated from the public life to focus more on his personal life.
In some respects the July 29, 1966 incident was a godsend. He was fresh from a tour in England where the backlash from going electric lingered. Dylan was an avid amphetamine user and used the drug to cope with the exhaustion and demands of tour. And near the conclusion of it, he was wiry, nervous and jittery.
The final scene of Martin Scorsese’s 2005 documentary, No Direction Home, captures Dylan in this state — a burned out man near the end of his rope. He alludes to crashing in a private plane, a possible reference to the death of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and The Big Bopper. He saw them perform at the National Guard Armory in Duluth. Three days later they would all be dead. The date of that Minnesota show was Jan. 31, 1959. The day my mother was born.
After the crash, he retired from touring, raised his family and wrote songs and recorded with The Hawks, who later became The Band.
I’ve thought about that moment a lot since the first day of the year. That’s when I retreated from the world. Not of my own volition. I woke to find two dead people. A murder-suicide. My mother was the former. Since then I’ve lived with my college roommate and his wife.
I stay in their basement, just like I stayed in the basement when where I used to stay was a home and not just a house. During that early part of my time here, during my late night vigils listening to music alone, I listened to The Basement Tapes. It had been years, I think I’d listened to a cover of “Goin’ to Acalpulco,” but I know the real reason was my situation.
I’d remarked to a similarly music savvy friend that this would be my basement tapes moment, my motorcycle accident.
Relating something to music, basketball or some other piece of pop culture takes some of the sting out of it, makes it easier to understand and easier to accept. It makes sense, that’s generally how we view the world: divining meaning out of chaos. If something has a narrative it makes sense, it’s not an aberration from the human condition but rather part of it.
Anyway, that’s what I tell myself.
Another thing I did early on in this period of my life was revisit Inside Llewyn Davis. I was at a low point when I first saw it. I’d dropped out of my teaching program because it wasn’t a good fit for me.
It’s a film about many things, obviously the folk scene of New York City in the early 60s but it’s also about failure, loss and guilt, lots and lots of guilt.
The title character was formerly part of a duo. At first it’s not exactly clear why Davis and Mike Timlin went their separate ways, but during the course of the movie it’s revealed that Timlin killed himself.
With this knowledge, subsequent viewings give greater meaning to Davis’ outbursts and the responses of those around him to it. Davis is grieving and likely has survivor’s guilt.
I feel it all. I’ve had a few lines from “Pancho & Lefty” running through my head these last few months: “Lefty he can’t sing the blues/All night long like he used to/The dust that Pancho bit down south/Ended up in Lefty’s mouth”
I’m projecting my own trauma, etc on it, but to me that reads like part of Lefty died with Pancho. I feel like a part of me died with my mom and that the wrong person died.
My mom actually did good things for the world a lot of people miss her, but nope, I got to live because I was too cowardly to leave my room or too lazy to leave and go to the bathroom, depending on how generous I’m feeling towards myself.
A few people on the internet would be bummed out, but I haven’t had the material or social impact the she had. I was just a loser living in a basement.
Failure and disappointment are my leitmotifs and brother, have I got the motivic content for you!
I know why I’m not more successful in my career. I can tell myself that it’s political, that I’m too leftwing to cut the mustard with a large publication, but the real reason is I don’t have the chops. I’m not a good writer and that’s okay.
As for disappointment, well I have few ideas behind the disappointment in my romantic life.
I already had a select appeal. I got a face for radio, a voice for The Great Train Robbery, the body of Haystack Calhoun and approximately four inches on Muggsy Bogues.
Add that to my inexperience and you have a winning pitch that’s hard to resist! Imagine throwing in that I found my mother murdered. If I were you I’d check your mailbox for a save the date.
In summation, I am the debut single of Gang of Four: “Damaged Goods.”
It just seems really impossible to imagine myself living a life at all similar to people around my age. I just seem to have really bad luck when it comes to my romantic relationships. It’s just not in the cards for me. Just getting close enough to imagine a future but not really getting what I want.
Learn to enjoy losing I’m told. It gets better. Plenty of fish in the sea. Good times are coming. I hear it everywhere I go. Good times are coming but they sure are coming slow. I get the sentiment, but there are definitely people who never get what they want. Never fall in love, etc. Maybe I’m one of them.
Llewyn Davis is one of those people. His audition at the Gate of Horn provokes contempt “I don’t see a lot of money here.”
In Greek and Roman mythology, the gate of horn was one of two gates in the Underworld. The other was the gate of ivory through which false dreams could pass. Only true dreams could pass through the gate of horn.
Davis’ dream isn’t one of them, a fact that’s made apparent by the newcomer who performs at the Gaslight at the film’s close: Bob Dylan.
There won’t really be room for Davis in what comes next. Sometimes it’s just best to take your cues from the universe and accept the inevitable.