The thing that I love about music the most is the fact that almost every person takes a personal stake into the artistic creation of someone else. The song, “Come Pick Me Up” by Ryan Adams is a song that I feel like I wrote. The emotions, my interpretations of some of the lines, the sweet melancholy – it just comes together and represents a specific part of my life – one that I’ve documented off and on via blogs like this, but I’ll refrain from sullying this blog with those details.
I couldn’t help but suddenly feel the intense desire to search the song that is describing my current feelings. There have been a lot of songs that I have been listening to lately that are close. For example, the line, “If I could do just one near perfect thing I’d be happy /They’d write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes / On second thoughts I’d rather hang about and be there with my best friend / If she wants me” hit close to home, but the song overall doesn’t capture things completely.
When Bob Dylan was writing Blonde on Blonde in the Chelsea Hotel, I wonder if it was raining out. The cliche cinematic version in my head has him at his typewriter, smoking cigarettes and pushing them into an all too full ashtray. He is maniacal at the keyboard, the pounding keystrokes balancing the lightning speed of thought and the machines physical constrictions. This is the scene I have in my head when I imagine Dylan sitting there writing these songs from my favorite album. This is the album I listen to when I’m feeling blue. So why is it shocking that it’s two Dylan songs that capture what I am feeling:
Sitting in my apartment, looking down on Loisaida Avenue, the window slightly ajar, and the cool air filling my all-too warm room, the only light in the room is this monitor and the flicker of a candle that I lit a few hours ago – and that will go out by the time I finish writing this post. In a bit of reverse engineering, I’m trying to capture the muse using the setting Dylan had while listening to the finished product. I’m trying to echo that moment from almost a half century ago so that I, too, can create something from feeling the way that I feel he felt.
It’s not working, but at the very least – I have the music.
I recently went to the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame NYC Annex (which closed the day after I went). Hate to burst your dream bubble, but Dylan wrote his lyrics out in long hand on a note pad. His handwriting is clearer to read than his voice has become as of late though. They had a whole part of the exhibit devoted to him and his writings and instruments from many different albums were there. Although, I can't say that the main branch has the same NYC themed exhibits as the now closed Annex had. If you get a chance, I would recommend checking out the main location in Cleveland (and if you ever need a road trip, lets go there!).
He did both. I've seen the typewritten lyrics to many of his lyrics and his book Tarantula. In fact, I probably already saw the Dylan exhibit that you saw back in '06 at the Cleveland location because I think they just took it off the floor there and had separate stations in different cities if I remember reading correctly.