Happy 60th birthday, Bob Dylan.
You’ve given a lot of people heaps of pleasure over the years. Perhaps not least this is due to your mastery of that wordsmith's craft: knowing which words to omit.
Anyone got a favourite phrase that sticks in the mind?
Money doesn't talk, it swears.
The majority of the song Idiot Wind. I've got it on now.
jimthedog
I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours. 1963
Two words: 'Free Wheelin''
Anyone got a favourite phrase that sticks in the mind?
It's too long to quote here, but I was stunned and delighted the first time I heard Man of Peace from Infidels
Thanks for the funny, Faldage.
"You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows."
Anyone got a favourite phrase that sticks in the mind?
To quote Mr Dylan himself, "mmfmmmgl mm gmmbl gmmgbl llbmmbl."
And, to quote Mr Bowie:
I think David Bowie probably summed him up best:
Oh, hear this Robert Zimmerman
I wrote a song for you
About a strange young man called Dylan
With a voice like sand and glue
Some words of truthful vengeance
They could pin us to the floor
Brought a few more people on
And put the fear in a whole lot more
Ah, Here she comes
Here she comes
Here she comes again
The same old painted lady
From the brow of a superbrain
She'll scratch this world to pieces
As she comes on like a friend
But a couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again
You gave your heart to every bedsit room
At least a picture on the wall
And you sat behind a million pair of eyes
And told them how they saw
Then we lost your train of thought
The paintings are all your own
While troubles are rising
We'd rather be scared
Together than alone
Ah, Here she comes
Here she comes
Here she comes again
The same old painted lady
From the brow of a superbrain
She'll scratch this world to pieces
As she comes on like a friend
But a couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again
Aoo
Now hear this Robert Zimmerman
Though I don't suppose we'll meet
Ask your good friend Dylan
If he'd gaze a while down the old street
Tell him we've lost his poems
So they're writing on the walls
Give us back our unity
Give us back our family
You're every nation's refugee
Don't leave us with their sanity
Ah, Here she comes
Here she comes
Here she comes again
The same old painted lady
From the brow of a superbrain
She'll scratch this world to pieces
As she comes on like a friend
But a couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again
Come on
A couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again
Oh, here she comes, (oh) here she comes
Oh, here she comes (oh)
Amen
>a voice like sand and glue
just slightly off-topic, I've always been attracted to gravel-voiced singers who can't quite carry a tune -- Dylan, Tom Waits, Jerry Jeff Walker (the original outlaw of country?), Mark Knopfler (Dire Straits)... I've never been able to actually explain this.
Ah, at last I've discovered someone who, by his own definition, must like Johnny Cash!
>Johnny Cash
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my arms wide open all the time
I keep my pants up with a piece of twine
Because you're mine... plese pull the twine
Low, Michael. Very low. And getting lower!
To quote Mr Dylan himself, "mmfmmmgl mm gmmbl gmmgbl llbmmbl."
Cap K responds : Oh, you too, Sparteye?
Me too, you two!
Gravel-voices I can enjoy but it bothers me when singers do not have enough respect for their listeners to e-nun-ci-ate.
>Very low. And getting lower!
I Fell Into A Burning Ring Of Fahr...
*<8^D