The ghost of Bob Dylan breezed into the studio this week and touched me on the shoulder. Lyrically, Bobby Zim has always been right up there, although melodically he’s down here with the rest of us. I played in a folk group in the 60s around Britain and in France and my mental repertoire of folk music often helped me in spotting melodies that ole Bob had borrowed from the folkies. For instance: the melody of Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream is a direct lift of a 19th century whaling song called Brave Franklin (and His Gallant Crew). But music is full of coincidences: ever notice that the verse chords and melody of the Bellamy Bros’ If I Said You Had a Beautiful Body and the Eagles’ Lying Eyes are exactly the same? No? I bet the lawyers did…

Anyhoo… Bob’s specter touched me on the shoulder and suit-ably inspired, I grabbed a pencil and started scribbling…here’s what I wrote:

Crystal tango souvenirs race through my boxcar dreams
And leopard skins in pickle jars lie down in velvet screams
The image of the conqueror is burned into my brow
No resurrection tragedy can undersell me now…

No, I don’t know what it means either…but it gets worse/better…

One screaming year of ecstacy falls in a ball of flame
Crying out Jerusalem or any other name
And sailors scramble to the ropes still coiled around his neck
While kings and queens look on and throw their arrows with respect

So far, so whaaat? But now it gets pretty good…

A fortune hidden in the flames, a beast inside a cage
No careless hand can understand the storms that in him rage
The monster lies in alibis thrown down from day to day
I wish I had the legs to go, but more the guts to stay

I kinda like that, but now we need the big wrap-up…

So fare you well, young pensioner; a husk inside a shell
And all you princes of delight, I know you far too well
The eagle shakes his feathers out, the angel tips his ring
And Noah pulls the plug out, as the waves begin to sing…

Well, I must say at this point, I don’t know whether to reach for the Valium or the Smith & Wesson. This may be why Bob crashed his motorcycle and went away for a while. I even sought the advice of my good friends Jose Cuervo and Jack Daniels, but after much discussion, no consensus had been reached by the time I fell off the chair onto the cat.

If you think you have a clue, drop me a line at feedback@billdollarmusic.com. And if Mr Dylan should happen to see this… love ya, Bob!

…and-a…one…two…three…

Copyright- Bill Dollar 2005

Bill Dollar is a survivor of the record company wars. He currently lives on a small farm somewhere in the southern hemisphere, amongst cats,dogs and cobras.He writes songs he likes, because he's not hearing anything worthwhile on the radio. Hear what he calls music at: Bill Dollar Music

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