BOB DYLAN LYRIC WATCH – “Hey Mr Tambourine Man”

Hey Mr Tambourine Man
Play a song for me

Jangle, bomp, jangle, bomp.
Anyone who has been in five year old music class will be able to tell you that – for sheer song playing ability – the tambourine is about as good as a piece of cardboard. Worse if Rolf Harris is in the neighbourhood.

BOB DYLAN AND ME – Kindred Spirits?

Now you might think this ragging on Bob on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday is in particularly poor taste. Why? Well if there is one artist in the whole world who I should like it would be Dylan right? Let’s look at the evidence.

1: I Hate Music. It is quite clear that Dylan hates music too. Even when he writes so called classic pop songs – say Mr Tambourine Man – he performs them with such lack of skill that he gave Tom Waits the idea that he too could be a pop singer. I detest the Byrds (which is fair since they all detested each other) but at least they managed to make a silken purse out of a sows ear. It must be remembered though that silk comes out of a catapillars arse.

2: I am an insulting and unpleasant piece of work. At least that is how I present myself on this forum. And the only person more grumpy, misogenistic and downright rude than me in the world is Bob Dylan.

Seems like a match made in heaven? Well there is the age difference of course. Not to mention the vague possibility that if we had offspring they would turn out as bad – if not worse – than Jakob, peddling his piss poor Wallflowers hopefully into an early grave. And I must admit, I do own a Bob Dylan record*. But it was a rip-off, which is why I shall never make my peace with Dylan. Five years ago in a charity store I shoplifted a copy of Blood On the Tracks on vinyl. Took it home with baited breath, slid it out of the cover – and what did I see?

A few scratches, the odd bit of fluff. By no actual blood on any of the tracks. I was going to sue him under the Trades Description Act but I could not find him (off on his never ending tour – it’ll end when I get my hands on him). So I just melted it down and made a pair of vinyl hotpants with it.

*Note – I do not actually have a record player.

I Hate Music