Remembering Levon Helm

I grew up listening to The Band.
My parents had one of those huge cabinet stereos
that they’d hooked up to our intercom system
so music played throughout the house.

I washed dishes to The Band,
tanned outside on the deck,
lemon-oiled paneling and washed windows to their music.
I spent hours in my room, studying the album covers and liner notes
as I listened to the stories-in-songs they sang while trading verses and
marveled at the many instruments they played and the sounds they created.

These were the soundtracks for much of my childhood:

   
   

Rick Danko
Levon Helm
Garth Hudson
Richard Manuel
Robbie Robertson

I knew their names and faces.
And I loved them even more when I found out they’d been
Bob Dylan’s back-up band before becoming The Band.
(Dylan painted the cover art for Music From Big Pink)

I spent my fourteenth birthday at home during a snowstorm
in Wisconsin while they played their very last concert together
in San Francisco. I was heartbroken I couldn’t be there with them
and their many friends: Bob Dylan (see#23), Joni Mitchell, The Staples,
Neil Young, EmmyLou Harris, etc.  But I’ve watched that concert
“rockumentary” (see #24),
 many times since.

In the spring of 1985, Rick Danko, Garth Hudson, and Richard Manuel
played a small club somewhere in the San Fernando Valley.
My friend, Scott E., and I went, lining up at the door well before the show
so we’d get good seats. We were front row. No Levon and no Robbie, but it
was still remarkable basking in the music and memories.

Richard died the following spring.
Rick died in 1999.
And today, we lost Levon Helm.

Levon was the drummer but he also sang some of their most famous songs.
The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down and Up On Cripple Creek. And not-so-
famous Ophelia. When I was pregnant, I made a mix tape of songs for my labor soundtrack. I wanted music so familiar to me I wouldn’t need to expend any energy on
thinking or processing the songs. I wanted to be able to sing every single word
without hesitation. The Weight was one such song.

But right now, as I mourn the passing of yet another member of The Band,
I offer you Levon singing All La Glory.

Thank you for all the beautiful music, Levon.
Wherever you are, I hope you’re still smiling and laying down the beat.

Wordless Wednesday: The Pogo Edition

           

(Okay, a few words: Churchy and Albert are characters from the Pogo comic strip  
and they're what my brother and I played with way back when. These and other characters
came in boxes of Biz Laundry Detergent but we no longer have the originals so I bought
these guys on ebay and made them little vests just like the old days.)

               

Wildebeest Scores!

               

Aside from babysitting neighbor kids in our tiny rural Wisconsin community,
my first paying job was at the nearby canning factory.
I was a Visual Inspector.

Sounds fancy, doesn’t it?

From 6pm – 2am,

I stood alongside a moving conveyor belt
that was covered with peas.
Wielding a long suction hose to remove undesirables:
pebbles,
clumps of weeds,
little green pea-sized berries that were "poisonous."
 
Sometimes I sucked up bits of frog.
 
I also worked the corn pack which was slightly less monotonous
because I was the break person who relieved other workers.
Sometimes I worked at the roller belts carrying the ears of corn
where I grabbed the ones with rotted ends and inserted them into a grinder 
before throwing the newly spruced-up ear back onto the belt.
And sometimes I used a big paddle to shove ears of corn onto the
sorting belts.
 
Before you get all envious, please know that corn splatter isn’t great for the complexion.
 
I just got home from dropping Wildebeest off at his new job.
His very first job.
He’s an actor at Casa Bonita.
Saturday was his first day of training 
in which he learned to fire the guns 
and sword fight.
He has lines to memorize.
He gets to chase a gorilla with a big net.
Someday he might be a cliff diver.
 
The kid’s happy.
And his skin looks great.
 
                   

My Top 70 for Bob Dylan’s Birthday

Bob Dylan turned 70 years old today and in honor of his birthday, I’m sharing 70 Dylan-related memories:

1) I joined the Columbia Record Club when I was a kid and bought lots of early Dylan records for not much money (because he was a Columbia artist), eventually defaulted on my membership and then had a collection agency after me until they figured out I was a minor and they couldn’t touch me.

2) I kept a harmonica in my car to practice while stuck in L.A. rush hour traffic but never advanced beyond basic discordance.

3) When I was a kid, I took over the care of my younger brother’s gerbils and renamed them Frankie Lee and Judas Priest.

4) After having trash and beer thrown at me for singing and dancing during a Dylan concert in Orange County, CA (otherwise known as Behind the Orange Curtain), I vowed never to attend another concert in the OC, a promise I kept.

5) I once dreamed of ex-wife Sara Dylan and woke up really indignant about Bob treating her so poorly.

6) I used to work for a man who shared a rabbi with Bob Dylan, and contemplated staking out the temple for a sneak peek.

7) I had a class at CSU-Northridge with a young man who was friends with one of Dylan’s sons (Jakob?) and who used to hang out with the son and listen to Blonde on Blonde, an album my classmate described as “Okay.”

8) When I was a high school freshman, I gave a speech on Bob Dylan; the teacher was thrilled but the other kids could not have cared less.

9) The first time I ever saw Dylan in concert my seat was behind the stage but Dylan turned and played to us so it was a great experience.

10) My parents allowed me to miss a day of school to get those tickets.

11) Maybe because I’m not a fan of organized religion, I’ve never been offended by Dylan’s swings between Judaism and Christianity and back again.

12) I’ve logged a lot of miles on my treadmill running to Highway 61 Revisited (although “Ballad of a Thin Man” kinda takes the pep out of my step).

 

13) I listened to Street Legal the other night for old time’s sake but had to quit after a few songs because it made me miss best friend S (who loved the album) too much; I especially wished he was still alive so I could point out the album is highly overwrought.

 

14) At the last minute, I bought a single ticket to see Dylan at the L.A. Forum and got a pretty decent seat but after he played a couple songs, he said he wouldn’t continue until the seats in front were filled so I rushed the stage and spent the rest of the night a few feet from the stage.

 

15) I also went alone to see Dylan at the Filmore in Denver and made friends with some people who, for years afterward, invited me to their birthday parties.

 

16) I named my cat Isis.

 

17) I bought my copy of Desire at the JC Penney’s in Portage, Wisconsin, and took it back because the record skipped.

 

18) Literary agent Edward Necarsulmer IV is a huge Dylan fan and I used to think that meant we were destined be agent and client, but I’ve since deduced that is not true.

 

19) Wildebeest loves nothing more than to disparage Bob and his rhyming ways.

 

20) When I was in high school, Doonesbury included a series of strips featuring Dylan and I taped those strips inside my locker door but was so eager to vacate the premises on the last day of school, I left them behind.

 

21) Zippy used to quietly pooh-pooh Dylan’s talent but now recognizes his channeling-from-beyond genius.

 

22) Let’s face it: Joan Baez has aged much more gracefully than Dylan.

 

23) I was sad on my birthday, November 25, 1976, because I knew Dylan was playing at The Band’s final concert at the Winterland, San Francisco, while I was in Pardeeville, Wisconsin, watching a blizzard out the window.

24) I later went to a matinee showing of Scorsese’s documentary of that concert (The Last Waltz) and smoked cigarettes in the nearly empty theater. I know!

 

25) Sometimes waiting for Dylan tickets was more fun than the actual concert (see #4), even when I burned my ankle on a motorcycle muffler getting a ride across the immense parking lot to the port-a-potty.

 

26) There are few more dull or predictable discussions than those focused on the quality of Dylan’s voice.

 

27) I think the Rolling Stone panel missed the boat by not putting morePlanet Waves songs in its top 70 list.

 

28) I used to be in a critique group with Dylan’s lighting guy who went into instant panic, covering his ears and yelling, “I don’t want to know!”, when I mentioned a friend with a bootleg tape.

 

29) I once spent about three hours trying to get through on a call-in show to ask Dylan who’s saying “Yes!” in these “Isis” lyrics:
“You gonna stay?”
“If you want me to.”
“Yes!”
(See, it’s not clear if it’s “If you want me to, yes!” or “Yes!” as in “I want you to stay.”)

 

30) It’s safe to say that over the years I’ve driven some people away with my Dylan fascination.

 

31) A former boyfriend didn’t believe I knew all the words to “Isis” but after I performed it for him, complete with gestures, he had a (short-lived) light of respect in his eyes.

 

32) Zebu had the chance to see Dylan at Red Rocks a few years back but didn’t have much fun because (1) there was a thick cloud of pot smoke in the crowd and (2) he couldn’t recognize any of the songs.

 

33) The first novel I wrote has an incredibly original storyline about a teenage girl who loves Dylan but is teased by friends and classmates for that love.

 

34) My critique-lighting-guy friend invited me to sit at the light board during a Dylan concert but I declined because it was soon after September 11 and I couldn’t face being in a crowded venue right then.

 

35) In 1982, my sister and I went to PEACE SUNDAY in the Rose Bowl to hear Dylan and Baez (among many) but the concert was sold out so we stood next to chain-link fence while guy inside licked his hand-stamp and pressed it on my hand so I could then lick and pass along stamp to my sister.

 

36) I’m one of two people I know who saw the looong and oh-so-confusing Renaldo and Clara (and the other person is the guy who went with me).

 

37) Zippy and I watched the Dylan flick, Hearts of Fire, which is one of the worst movies made. Ever.

 

38) However, trust me when I say Dylan’s pantry scene from the movie Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid in which “Alias” reads aloud the labels on canned vegetables is hysterical.

 

39) Early on in our relationship, Zippy said the soundtrack to Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid was his favorite Dylan album because it was mostly instrumentals (see #21).

 

40) I strongly disagree with Keith Richards’ statement about Dylan’s “Girl from the North Country” being better suited to a solo than the duet with Johnny Cash.

 

41) When I try to imitate Dylan I always end up sounding like Joan Baez imitating Dylan on her version of “Simple Twist of Fate” which means it’s really me doing Baez doing Dylan.

 

42) A long time ago I told a friend if Dylan ever did a commercial, I’d take all my Dylan albums into the street and destroy them but here I am post-Victoria’s Secret and Bob-knows-what-else, and my albums are intact.

 

43) I went to the record store the day Empire Burlesque was released to buy it and another customer commented on how refreshing it was to see someone so loyal to an artist, but in retrospect, I have to question that loyalty because the album has some definite clunkers.

 

44) I once called information to get Bob’s home phone number.

 

45) I never feel like I’m in the mood to listen to “The Time’s They Are A-Changin,’” but then I hear it and am blown away all over again.

 

46) Sometime in the last decade, Dylan was on the Grammy’s singing a song that everyone later ridiculed as being unintelligible but within a couple mumbles I identified it as “Masters of War.”

 

47) When I was a teen, Dylan was scheduled to be on Soundstage and I talked to my parents ahead of time about watching it when it came on late that night, but in a fit of absolute bullshit parenting, they didn’t let me.

 

48) My father-in-law named his dog “Dillon” after the Gunsmoke character but in my mind’s eye whenever I said his name, it was “Dylan.”

 

49) I was always of the opinion that music class ruined “Blowin’ in the Wind” for a lot of young people much the same way The Scarlet Letter was ruined by high school English classes until a friend told me “Blowin’ in the Wind” holds a special place in his heart due to learning all the words in Sunday School.

 

50) Way back when in Wisconsin, I listened to Dylan’s early song, “Highway 51” but, being the spatially-challenged person I am, didn’t make the connection with the Hwy 51 running past my hometown.

 

51) If not for Bob Dylan, I’m not sure I’d know Woody Guthrie’s work (or Arlo’s!), or Phil Ochs or Dave van Ronk.

52) I’m not usually a fan of “greatest hits” compilations but if not for Dylan’sGreatest Hits Vol 2, I wouldn’t know one of my all-time favorite Dylan songs “When I Paint My Masterpiece.”

53) It was hard times when I lived in a tiny North Hollywood apartment but I remember smiling in the dark as I listened to Bob’s laugh when he messed up the opening to “Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream.”

 

54) Wildebeest just stuck his head in the room to see what I’m working on and when I told him he said, “70? That’s a lot of memories. You really love Bob Dylan, I think Bob Dylan’s a goober.”

 

55) A friend and I went to the Dylan/Grateful Dead concert at Anaheim Stadium and I swear Jerry’s guitar solo on “All Along the Watchtower” was so incredible it flustered Bob into singing the same chorus twice (but I seem to be the only one who noticed).

56) I have another friend who won’t ever let me forget that on the day of a general admission Dylan concert at the Filmore in Denver, I “forced her out of the car on Colfax” because of road work and detours so she could get in line while I looked for a place to park, and then we ended up arriving at the line at the same time.

 

57) We were about halfway back on the floor during that show with the misfortune of standing behind a basketball team, but then “Cold Irons Bound” started and I danced and didn’t care about limited visibility.

 

58) When Wildebeest was a baby he’d calm when listening to Blood on the Tracks except for “Idiot Wind;” he really disliked that song.

 

59) Wildebeest and Zebu just told me something I can neither confirm nor deny: when they were little and would screw around at the dinner table, I’d get pissed off and send them downstairs while I cleaned up the kitchen, “Tombstone Blues” blasting (“I’m in the kitchen with the tombstone blues”).

 

60) All I can say in my defense is “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry.”

 

61) Actress Jenna Elfman reportedly lost her virginity while listening to “Lay Lady Lay” but I can’t listen to Dylan while having sex because, for me, there’s no tuning him out; I can’t write while he’s playing, either.

 

62) Hard Rain is a phenomenal live album, and don’t even try talking to me about the distortion and poor sound quality.

 

63) If it weren’t for the Rolling Thunder Revue, I wouldn’t know about T-Bone Burnett and Mick Ronson and Ronee Blakley and Scarlet Rivera.

 

64) Come to think of it, I started reading Crawdaddy magazine in hopes of finding a mention of Dylan, and was introduced to all sorts of musicians along the way.

 

65) From the very start my attraction to Dylan had as much to do with his use of language as the music and while I never mastered the guitar or harmonica or singing, or anything even remotely musical, I consider him a huge influence.

 

66) I still haven’t landed in Publisher’s Marketplace but it’s cool Bob’s gotten deals for turning songs into picture books; however, it’ll be hard to take if he sells a middle-grade before me.

 

67) I can’t remember ever putting on a Bob Dylan record and deciding it wasn’t what I wanted to hear; no matter the mood, it’s always a good time for a little Dylan.

 

68) And with his catalog, a little Dylan can easily turn into a marathon listening session.

 

69) So many people were outraged when he went electric and, in their minds, turned his back on “the movement,” but Dylan’s Dylan no matter whether he’s singing about a miner or a clueless reporter or the exquisite pain of a breaking heart.

 

70) When I listen to Joan Baez sing about Dylan in “Diamonds and Rust,” I want to weep for her lost love but then “Winds of the Old Days” plays and I’m in awe of her graciousness:
“singer or savior, it was his to choose
which of us knows what was his to lose”

Bob Dylan and Me

                 

Next week, Bob Dylan turns 70 years old.

When Bob turned 50, I bought a bottle of champagne and watched Don’t Look Back 
(after calling the Anchorage video store days ahead to put a hold on a copy only to find 

out from the baffled clerk there was no huge demand), and toasted Dylan’s health and continued genius.
 
This time around, Rolling Stone is throwing the party.
 
 
The current issue includes a list of his 70 greatest songs (as decided by a panel)
along with some commentary from various singer/songwriters.

It’s an interesting list, in part because the enormity of Dylan’s song catalog boggles the mind.
How to choose?

My mother texted me the other night (yes, she’s 81 and she texts!)
to tell me she was reading Rolling Stone and to ask which was my favorite song.

I said I couldn’t choose just one but that "Hurricane" was the song that caught my attention
when I was 13 years-old, and that I bought the 45 and then wrote out all the lyrics.
The song’s so long it was both Side A and Side B, and somewhere around here I have
those sheets of notebook paper with the hand-printed lyrics.
It was a long process and I remember sitting next to my record player, 
lifting the needle to replay parts so I’d catch every word.

"Pistol shots ring out in a barroom night . . ."

Years later when I lived in North Hollywood in a funky old house converted to a triplex,
my artist-downstairs-neighbor was working on a collage and invited me to make one, too.

I went up to my tiny apartment and gathered the Dylan scrapbook I’d created when younger.

Over the years, this collage has hung on various walls in the places I’ve lived,
and more than one person has looked at it and asked, "Who’s the big black dude?"

 
That’s Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, the boxer who was wrongfully accused of murder,
and the subject of "Hurricane."
I cut that photo of him from the sleeve for the 45.
 
Dylan brought a lot of attention to the case and many years later Rubin Carter 
was released from prison where he sat "like Buddha in a ten-foot cell."
 
"Hurricane" is just one of many, many awe-inspiring songs 
that happened to mark the the beginning of my fascination with Dylan.
The man from Hibbing, Minnesota, caught my ear with a song calling out for justice, 
and kept me listening all these years.
 
Even when I couldn’t understand what the hell he was saying.
                            

Can’t You Smell That Smell?

     

Somewhere in my vast collection of old photographs,

there’s a picture of my brother and his high school girl friend
sitting in crimson high-backed upholstered chairs.
On our lawn.
 
My mother had put a chicken in a pot of water and left it on the stove.
All night.
 
Our house reeked.
So badly that I missed two or three days of school in order to clean.
Furniture on the lawn to air out.
Cupboards emptied and scrubbed down.
Dishes washed because when the stench is bad enough, dishes can absorb it.
I couldn’t stand high school so was happy to be home.
It was springtime in Wisconsin and a friend skipped school one day to help me out,
and I still remember our lunchtime break and how we laughed as the warm sunshine washed over us.
"Give me rays! Give me rays!"
 
Cut to last night.
Zippy, Wildebeest, and Zebu went out for dinner but I chose to stay home.
I emptied a bag of frozen broccoli into the steamer
and left the room to check something on the computer.
 
Oops.
 
                                                                                                        © Tracy Abell 2011
 

This is the pot after it soaked outside all night.

 
The house doesn’t smell all that bad right now and we didn’t have to move furniture.
I did, however, spend a lot of time walking through the house, spritzing the air with vinegar and water. 
 
Perhaps the most puzzling aspect of this episode is why I felt compelled to eat the broccoli.
Penance?
Stoicism?
Idiocy?
 
Next time (and I’m sure there will be a next time), I’m tossing the broccoli.
Maybe I’ll just open all the windows and go out for ice cream.
                     

Earworms

          

I have a friend who once told me how to cure an earworm
(defined as "a tune that is stuck in one’s head, especially as unwanted or repetitive.")
She said to call up someone, sing the song snippet into the phone, 
and then hang up.

Earworm Transfer!

For the past several days, 
I’ve had the medley of songs
from the Teresa Brewer compilation album
advertised on television in the 70s 
STUCK IN MY HEAD.

Over and over and over again,
I keep singing snippets of these songs.

Because I’m suffering multiple earworms,
I’m going to try a new approach to Earworm Transfer.

CAUTION: CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK: 

Put another nickel in,
in the nickelodeon.

I don’t want a ricochet romance,
I don’t want a ricochet love,
if you’re careless with your kisses,
find another turtle dove.

Wouldn’t any body care to meet a 
sweet old-fashioned girl?

Jilted,
I’ve been jilted.

Bo Weevil, Bo Weevil,
where you been all day?

"Til I waltz again with you,
let no other hold your charms.

The funny thing is,
I watched very little television growing up.
The TV was mostly locked away
but at the whim of my father, 
would occasionally reappear.

I remember being so, so happy to watch
"Gilligan’s Island" after school.
I’m betting the Teresa Brewer commercial played then.

It’s about thirty-five years later,
and I sing the songs in the exact order they played in the commercial.

Talk about the power of advertising.

                

Reading Banned Books

             

It’s my turn at From the Mixed-Up Files of Middle-Grade Authors,
and I’ve posted My Childhood, My Reading List, an exploration
of banned books I have loved.

I hope you can stop by.

Wishing everyone a glorious autumnal weekend!


                                                                                                                                          Image from Morguefile.com