The artist:
Bob Dylan is an inspiration to us all, highlighting how a positive outlook, a pleasant singing voice and the ability and desire to make
sense needn't be necessary to becoming a world renowned singer-songwriter.
The album:
Highway
61 Revisited (1965)
At times this album is suited to absent-mindedly poking
your waffles with your fork while sat in a Minnesota diner, wherever Minnesota
is.
Meanwhile Tombstone
Blues and the title track are getaway numbers – if the crime is the armed
robbery of an emu farm, and the getaway vehicle is an emu.
Therefore in many ways you can say that Highway 61 Revisited represents a microcosm of blue collar Midwestern
life in the United States.
 |
| He's just following orders |
The vibe:
Musically Ballad of a
Thin Man is a death march, as conceived and executed by the characters of The Magic Roundabout. One can almost
taste the sadism of Zebedee, cigarette in mouth and bayonet in hand, as he mercilessly
drives you through an unspecified desert.
Lyrics & annotation:
Such is the complexity and length of this evolving narrative, the song will
need to be broken down and annotated along the way.
You walk into the room
With
your pencil in your hand
The most likely kind of people to do this would probably be journalists or quantity surveyors.
Therefore we will work on the basis that Mr Dylan is referring to somebody who
belongs to one of these two industries.
You see somebody naked
And
you say, “Who is that man?”
Any good journalist is inquisitive and tries to establish
all the facts early on; any good quantity surveyor would question the presence
of nudity in the workplace environment.
You
try so hard
But
you don’t understand
Just
what you’ll say
When
you get home
Based on industry demographics an average quantity surveyor is married with 1.2 children, and he may well indeed struggle
to explain to his other half why his day involved ejecting a construction site
streaker. Mr Dylan anticipates awkward dinner time conversation; frankly I
think his wife would see the funny side.
A journalist is more likely to be a single professional who works from home –
in which case this verse likely refers to the difficulties he will encounter
producing engaging copy for this particular story. ‘Man Naked In Room’ is
unlikely to be considered a particularly ground-breaking scoop, even at a local
level. Any concern the journalist has about his editors’ reaction would not be
unwarranted.
Because
something is happening here
But
you don’t know what it is
Do
you, Mister Jones?
With a more specific reference to the identity of our
journalist/quantity surveyor protagonist comes a somewhat cruelly pointed
question from Mr Dylan. Whereas one might expect the singer to empathise with
Mr Jones’ confusion, having been greeted by a naked man, the way in which he
phrases this question in fact suggests he almost revels in it, demanding
confirmation of his ignorance. Perhaps the quantity surveyor is in the employ
of a new local development which Mr Dylan opposes, such as a wind turbine that
he considers ugly and intrusive; perhaps the editorial
 |
The benefits of wind energy weren't properly understood
in the late 1960s |
line of the journalist’s
newspaper is broadly in favour of said wind turbine. Either way, the kind of
pettiness on display from Mr Dylan really is typical of your local
neighbourhood NIMBY.
You
raise up your head
And
you ask, “Is this where it is?”
And
somebody points to you and says
“It’s
his”
And
you say, “What’s mine?”
And
somebody else says, “Where what is?”
And
you say, “Oh my God
Am
I here all alone?”
At least one person has misunderstood someone else in this
exchange. My guess would be that the second person actually said ‘it is’, and not
‘it’s his’, in other words affirming that this is indeed ‘where it is’ – ‘it’
presumably being the source of the news item, or the construction area ready to
be surveyed. What follows is an unfortunate breakdown in communication,
resulting in Mr Jones somewhat melodramatically losing his cool – he’ll likely
feel a bit silly when he looks back at this particular exchange.
Because
something is happening here
But
you don’t know what it is
Do
you, Mister Jones?
Mr Dylan’s goading of Mr Jones clearly does not aid the
situation – he probably could have just pointed out how the above
misunderstanding came to be, instead electing to seek further superfluous
confirmation of Mr Jones’ bemusement.
You
hand in your ticket
And
you go watch the geek
Who
immediately walks up to you
When
he hears you speak
And
says, “How does it feel
To
be such a freak?”
And
you say, “Impossible”
As
he hands you a bone
With the song predating mass access to computer technology,
the term ‘geek’ has connotations of being well-read rather technological. The
journalist or quantity surveyor is meeting an academic of some kind, perhaps an
expert on local governance, a logical candidate for consultation or
interview. Clearly book smarts can’t buy
you manners however, and Mr Jones has every right to feel somewhat affronted by
the distinctly non-professorial, aggressive and insulting opening gambit –
regardless of the fact it is accompanied by a novelty gift, which
Mr Jones can pass on to the dog when he gets home. One can probably surmise from
his confrontational nature that the academic is also opposed to whatever
project it is being introduced to the immediate area.
Nb. The ‘ticket’ is likely to be his parking stub – perhaps this new
development will bring an increase in free parking spaces, something the likes of Mr Dylan and the academic often fail to appreciate.
Because
something is happening here
But
you don’t know what it is
Do
you, Mister Jones?
Yes but he’s trying to establish the facts from an expert
now, just let him get on with his job.
You
have many contacts
Among
the lumberjacks
To
get you facts
When
someone attacks your imagination
Any journalist reporting on local issues needs to develop an
appreciation of the consequences for the man on the street and industry in the
wider area. Clearly this particular reporter considers the timber industry a
key stakeholder, likely responsible for providing a large proportion of
materials and labour towards the development. If they are able to assist Mr
Jones by providing the sorts of statistics and citations that back up his
newspaper’s editorial line, then all the better.
Likewise quantity surveyors ought to maintain good relations with the
construction industry as a whole, with lumberjacks no exception.
Mr Dylan’s antipathy to Mr Jones is all the more surprising when you consider
how good at his job he seems to be, whatever job that is.
But
nobody has any respect
Anyway
they already expect you
To
just give a check
To
tax-deductible charity organizations
Considering the highly provocative onslaught from the
academic, the nude state of the initial gentleman who greeted him and the
constant repetitive harrowing from Mr Dylan, the assertion that he is suffering from a
lack of respect is probably a reasonable one. For this to then be followed by
an expectation for Mr Jones to personally support local charities seems cheeky,
almost churlish.
 |
The Guardian: "the characters in The Great Gatsby
are in themselves very flawed and
very hard to sympathise with". Sounds familiar |
You’ve
been with the professors
And
they’ve all liked your looks
With
great lawyers you have
Discussed
lepers and crooks
You’ve
been through all of
F.
Scott Fitzgerald’s books
You’re
very well read
It’s
well known
It seems that Mr Jones really has gone above and beyond in
carrying out a suitable amount of research into the feasibility of this
project, consulting figures in academia and law, considering its implications
for healthcare and local enterprise. Even Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby deals with themes of ‘resistance to change’ and
‘social upheaval’ (Source: Wikipedia)
- the fact that Mr Jones has gone to the trouble of consulting these works of
fiction shows that he is serious about this debate, questioning its significance from a philosophical perspective.
Because
something is happening here
But
you don’t know what it is
Do
you, Mister Jones?
Well he’s clearly at least made an effort to grasp it; overall
discourse surrounding these issues would almost certainly benefit
from individuals such as Mr Jones taking the time to establish facts and gain
perspectives from across the board. Those like Mr Dylan, who remain entrenched
in a mindset and attack others on a personal level, serve only to dumb down
discussion.
Well,
the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And
then he kneels
He
crosses himself
And
then he clicks his high heels
And
without further notice
He
asks you how it feels
And
he says, “Here is your throat back
Thanks
for the loan”
Because
something is happening here
But
you don’t know what it is
Do
you, Mister Jones?
This street entertainer is, at this stage, the most
welcoming and polite member of the local community, probably because he is
expecting Mr Jones to throw a few coins into his hat. In the 1960s stem cell research
was not sophisticated enough to facilitate throat transplants; as such, the
sword swallower is probably mistaken about the ‘loan’ in question. This may just be another misunderstanding - it's more likely that Mr Jones would have lent the sword swallower a goat, a coat or - less likely but still possible - a boat.
Now
you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting
the word “NOW”
And
you say, “For what reason?”
And
he says, “How?”
And
you say, “What does this mean?”
And
he screams back, “You’re a cow
Give
me some milk
Or
else go home”
Because
something is happening here
But
you don’t know what it is
Do
you, Mister Jones?
Once again Mr Jones finds himself being insulted for no
reason other than trying to start a dialogue with a local. Once again, there is
more than a hint of extortion about the whole affair – now it’s expected he
provides dairy products as well as altruistic donations.
In the defence of his attacker on this occasion, being a one-eyed midget in any
community is going to be difficult, dealing with the inevitable challenges that
arise along the themes of discrimination, bullying and acceptance. Of course
that doesn’t mean it is acceptable to hurl abuse at out-of-town business people or
media representatives, but one can sympathise more with this individuals’ less
secure frame of mind. His disabilities may have resulted in difficulties
gaining employment, and there’s a chance that having one eye and being extremely short did not entitle him to the disability benefits available through the US
social security system at the time. Thus the demand for milk could simply
indicate a shortage of funds for groceries – he may wish to use it in a
nice soup, for example.
Well,
you walk into the room
Like
a camel and then you frown
You
put your eyes in your pocket
And
your nose on the ground
There
ought to be a law
Against
you comin’ around
You
should be made
To
wear earphones
Because
something is happening here
But
you don’t know what it is
Do
you, Mister Jones?
Dylan truly nails his NIMBY colours to the mast here,
suggesting that this development and indeed the presence of ALL local
developers should be illegalised. Underlining his fear of the outsider once and
for all, his anti-progressive insular ideals are complemented by an ‘earphones
for out-of-towners’ policy, presumably to prevent them from being able to hear
local conversation. If he lived in the UK today, he would probably vote UKIP. The
whole thing about walking like a camel is probably racist in some way.
Conclusion:
We all have bad days at work, and clearly Mr Jones is no
exception, whether he works for the press or for a construction firm. Presumably
he entered Mr Dylan’s community in the hope of acquiring necessary quotes,
materials or permissions in order to do his job properly, but instead was met
by a wall of obfuscation and sabotage. After this encounter, Mr Jones no doubt
dreads returning to the area, fearing further insult, confrontation, blackmail
or extortion.
Following the quantity surveyor hypothesis, Mr Jones has his
work cut out. Local opposition is always going to make a developer’s life more
difficult, and this particular community seems united in their desire to
torpedo this project. Subsequent visits to site to try and persuade them of its
benefits are going to be a necessity, but having already exhausted many avenues
of expertise, one struggles to see just how this can be achieved. Perhaps it
would be prudent to consider a Plan B option elsewhere - while I’m sure Mr
Jones is a consummate professional who would never overtly express such thoughts, he probably secretly wonders as to the benefits of trying to bring
progress and sophistication to a local community as backward as Mr Dylan’s.
Things look somewhat more positive for Mr Jones should he in fact be a local
reporter. He clearly has enough material to write a reasonable length feature
about this unnamed town’s opposition to corporate development, with quotes from
academics, lawyers, lumberjacks, street performers and midgets. And should he
particularly want to, he can use his position of public prominence to stick the
boot into Mr Dylan and his perpetual rudeness as well. If you’d had the day
that he had, could you really blame him?
