This is the third and final in a three-part series of
essays. If you haven’t already, have a go at #58 and #59 first. If you already
have, then put your ears on and buckle up. Turn the volume that way too. This
essay’s about music.
I’ve been a huge Bob Dylan fan since I was 19. I have my
epic friend Small Paul to thank for that. And I’ve played the hell out of most
of his albums since then. A few months ago I put together a concise ‘Dylan’s
Greatest Hits’ set to listen to on my phone and laptop. It’s 126
songs long. That’s the best I could do.
I thought I’d heard all the Dylan my ears would ever need. But then
Bob Neil came running along in a simple twist of fate. There are two
things you need to know about Bob Neil: 1) he’s 51 and ran almost 200 miles in
August, and 2) he’s got a collection of live concert recordings that most collectors
would die for.
We’d been working together a few weeks last summer before we
realized we shared similar tastes in music. Then the levee broke and Bob Neil
started raining selections from his massive collection down on me. And I developed a new appreciation for artists I already admired
like Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen, and The Allman Brothers Band.
But it’s the live recordings of Bob Dylan concerts that
really made my conscience explode. I heard versions of familiar songs that I
couldn’t recognize. I heard songs I could sing along with being sung with
completely different lyrics. I realized there were
even more sides to Bob Dylan than I’d known.
I can only describe it by misquoting Bob Neil:
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Rearranges faces and gives them all another name. |
I can only describe it by misquoting Bob Neil:
When Bob plays a song
for a record it’s the only time it’ll ever sounds like that. It never sounds
the same live. He never plays a song the same way twice. So every show it’s
like him and his band are playing a new song. It’s beautiful. Fuckin’
beautiful.
Evidence:
I’ve been learning the same thing while Bob Neil teaches me
an ongoing course about The Grateful Dead. The Dead absorbed every genre of
popular music and wove those styles together to put themselves in a place where
no other American band has gone. And while I’m only recently deceased I can
hear that they approached performing live the same way Bob Dylan does: a chance
to follow the music where it leads them, and to find new variety in the same
songs.
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‘Same’ stayed backstage whenever they took the stage. |
Again, I can only loosely quote Bob Neil on this:
You never knew what
you were gonna get at a Dead show, man. Each one was different. Even if you
knew what song was gonna come next you never knew how they were gonna get
there. But they’d get you there. The jams they’d do to get from one song to the
next were sick, man. Fuckin’ sick.
Evidence:
So let’s bring it all back home.
Habits, routines, or Systems are valuable practices. But finding variety in them can be a virtue. Because sometimes variety is just another word for growth.
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Habits, routines, or Systems are valuable practices. But finding variety in them can be a virtue. Because sometimes variety is just another word for growth.
Change doesn’t have to be drastic or complicated. It doesn’t
require a clean break from a habit or routine. And it doesn’t have to come
unbeknownst out of left field.
Change can be subtle and simple. It can be introduced in
small, manageable doses. And sometimes it can be found in your existing habits
and routines. Sometimes you can see it
in the same places when you look closely. Sometimes you can feel it when you
mix up your everyday activities. And sometimes you can hear it when you listen carefully.
Don’t be afraid to follow a routine, devote yourself to a
habit, or commit to your own Systems. Doing the same things the same way isn’t
always boring monotony. Sometimes they're the best
places to find variety.
And speaking of variety, I need to change writing gears. The
two novel drafts I’ve got on the go are terrible at writing themselves. I need to change that.
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