Monthly Archives: March 2007

28. Voices of new generations

I have a confession to make. Until I became interested in Dan Bern, I’d never actively listened to a song by Bob Dylan. Oh, I knew his name and might even have been able to name a song he wrote, but if I had an opinion of him it would have been – famous singer with the bad voice.

As for Bruce Springsteen – I knew who he was and knew a couple of songs he wrote and sang, however I had a grudge against him. It was a completely unfair grudge, but a grudge nonetheless. See, when my husband and I first began dating he led me to believe I’d be going to a Bruce Springsteen concert with him and some of his friends. Then he told me that I wasn’t invited. That there were not enough tickets to go around. I was taken aback that he’d go without me, but he did and had a wonderful time. Not only that, the person who’d either gotten the tickets or promised him the tickets was a girl I was already jealous of. So Bruce was not spoken of around me. Ever.

I did know who Woody Guthrie was though – and liked his music.

Since discovering Bern, I’ve I’ve listened to music from all of the above, and have done a little reading about them. However, I’ve never found out if the story about Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan is true. Did Woody, on his deathbed, really tell Bob to go out and be the voice of the new generation? Anyone know? Del?

Here’s Dan Bern’s sequel to that tale.

Talking Woody, Bob, Bruce & Dan Blues

Well, when Woody Guthrie was sick and dying
Bob Dylan visited him as he was lying
In a hospital bed Bob sang him songs
Woody smiled and said I’m glad you come
You belong here
Go forth and be the voice of your generation

Well, above Beverly Hills one night real late
I snuck past a security gate
Parked by a Mercedes Benz
Climbed up a barbed wire fence and over
Couple of scratches, but I’d made it
To the home of Bruce Springsteen

Well, I found the boss asleep in bed
Pillows piled up round his head
I turned on the light took off my coat
Stuck a thermometer down his throat
Said don’t talk
You look pale , Boss
Not at all well

I said you look bad and I asked him could he
Think of us as Bob and Woody
I said you just rest your pretty head
As I sing to you in your hospital bed
He said what the hell you talking about
I ain’t sick
This ain’t a hospital
And how’d you get past the security gate

I said I wrote you a song called Song To Bruce
With a tune I stole from one of yours
To his platinum records next I pointed
Said I just want to be anointed
Springsteen, I wrote you a song
‘Bout a funny ol’ world that’s a coming along
Seems sick and it’s tired it’s hard and it’s torn
It looks like it’s dying and it’s hardly been born
He started really looking sick
And I stopped singing

Then Patty his wife came in I said jeez
I’m sorry about your husband’s incurable disease
I’m here to help any way I can
You know, Woody and Bob, Bruce and Dan
She said honey, what am I hearing?
He said baby, you know I’m in the prime of life
I said down to two million in sales last time out
Read the signs, Patty

He said some people think this record’s my best
I said shhhhh, you need your rest
He said there’s a madman on the loose
I said Woody and Bob, Dan and Bruce

He sprang out of his bed and said
All right, I’ve heard enough of this stuff
He grabbed my throat and dragged me hard
Down the hall and through the yard
Suprising strength for a dying man

Well, he threw me out the way I come
Barbed wire scraped my face and thumbs
I’ve been thinking ever since
Bob and Woody
Dan and the artist formerly known as Prince
Dan and Madonna
Bob and Woody-
Dan and Bob
So long, Bel Air
Howdy, Malibu

27. Tap, step one-two-three

While we’re in London in 1979, here’s another one.

I cannot sing and I cannot dance. It is a fact, confirmed by both my college “kiddie music” professor and my former aerobics instructors. Oh, and the general public.

That doesn’t necessarily stop me from doing either, or both, but the results are rather disastrous.

Tim didn’t believe I couldn’t dance, and since it was still the the days of disco he decided to teach me the Latin Hustle. It was at a Bring Your Own Baby party at Southlands College in London. (The college was Methodist and didn’t allow alcohol – so we brought our own, but could not advertise it as such. So the posters said Baby instead of Booze. I sure bet we fooled the authorities!)

I only have vague visions of that night – maybe I had too much baby or maybe it was just too long ago. I do remember Tim showing me the steps – and saying Tap Step one-two-three a lot. I tap stepped one-two-threed a lot and he claimed I did well. I also remember being exhausted.

In later years, with different dance partners I tried to tap step one-two-three, but the results were much different – usually involving laughing and hurt feelings.

Never mind – I didn’t much like disco anyway.

This video isn’t Tim, (I don’t’ think it is Tim, cannot see his face) but it’s someone Doing the Hustle. And there seems a lot more numbers (and fruit, imitation dairy products and animals) involved than I remember.

26. It’s nice to be a lunatic

Another London winter of student teaching song memory.

Bill
was a fellow student teacher – a droll fellow with a dry sense of humor. He’d get on a subject and once he knew folks found it amusing, got us laughing and begging him to stop. His room heater was broken, and he didn’t know that the flat enameled white thing under the window was a radiator. He just assumed that since it was England, there was no heat in the rooms. He kept quiet about it for a while, but finally mentioned it to me and it was fixed. He told the story over and over again about how he didn’t expect much in London, but thought at least he’d have a little heat in his room.

Another ongoing, oft repeated joke of his was about the #1 song in UK in January 1979, Ian Dury & The Blockheads’ Hit Me with Your Rhythm Stick. He’d burst out laughing whenever it came on, then would move to the beat and sing along, waving imaginary sticks in the air, on tables, on people.

When I needed dowels for a project I was working on in the 2nd-year classroom where I student taught, I got a couple extra for him, decorated them and presented him with his own pair of rhythm sticks.

Nothing profound, nothing amazing. Just a fond memory of a funny guy and silly song.

Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick (Opens up a new browser at The Blockheads’ Website)

In the deserts of Sudan
And the gardens of Japan
From Milan to Yucatán
Every woman, every man

Hit me with your rhythm stick
Hit me! Hit me!
Je t’adore, ich liebe dich
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me with your rhythm stick
Hit me slowly, hit me quick
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!

In the wilds of Borneo
And the vineyards of Bordeaux
Eskimo, Arapaho
Move their body to and fro

Hit me with your rhythm stick
Hit me! Hit me!
Das ist gut, c’est fantastique
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me with your rhythm stick
It’s nice to be a lunatic
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me! Hit me! Hit…

In the dock of Tiger Bay
On the road to Mandalay
From Bombay to Santa Fé
O’er the hills and far away

Hit me with your rhythm stick
Hit me! Hit me!
C’est si bon, ist es nicht
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me with your rhythm stick
Two fat persons, click, click, click
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!

Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me!
Hit me! Hit me!
Hit me!

Don’t Panic, here is what the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has to say.