time. The radio is filled to overflowing with songs which are super-self-consciously about the business of making rock and roll and living on its terms. Two which come to mind: “Rock and Roll Baby” and “Rock and Roll I
Gave You the Best Years of My Life.” I remember how precious a thing it used to be to hear any song make reference to its own medium. Now it seems to be the only thing going!
But perhaps this period of heightened but ultimately ridiculous self-consciousness is a prelude to what we’ve been waiting for—the appearance of something genuinely new. I don’t mean just music either. There are good signs that the whole atmosphere, political and cultural, in both the U.S. and the rest of the world is about to undergo a transformation. Too many things remain unsettled after having been settled, e.g., the “end” of the Vietnam war, the “full disclosure” of Watergate and a host of submerged themes bequeathed to us by the last dozen years. There is a very great tension and it runs very deep. I don’t see how it can do anything other than create tremendous forces to push our center of gravity into one direction or another. Like a tumbler in a lock falling into place when a key is inserted, there will be, I think, a convergence of new voices, styles, and interests headed in a particular direction. I don’t know, perhaps something like Dylan’s tour with the Band will be one sign. Maybe George Wallace will come out at half-time at the Super Bowl, throw off his crutches and lead a Bastille-type march and coup on Washington. The need is there. And I think, now, very, very definitely it is becoming a collective need. The tone of the time and the range of possibilities available to anybody at all are set by the coming together, often by coincidence, of a peculiarly matched set of human elements. There’s no counting on logic any longer. But neither is there any denying that what is possible for us to do in any important way outside our personal lives does depend on a certain climate accompanied by a set of open doors which makes that climate visible. Unfortunately, I think that the working of these forces right now can only take the form of a Leader to personify what people are feeling. If it is proven that the Wallace assassination is connected to Watergate, we are in real trouble. Whatever the personification, we probably won’t like it. There is too much evil in the air, too much that Agnew and Nixon did not satisfy in the tormented American soul.
But, as I am always heard to say, there may be some room to move in the cracks. The hard thing will be to avoid interpreting what’s truly new in terms of what’d be old and familiar. It’s easy to get locked in. What’s interesting about the New York Dolls are some new bumps and crevasses—a strong sense of guilt, unfocused moral outrage, the missing sense of humor. It is, indeed, a lot like some very old stuff. But I get the feeling that for part of what we are about to see happening, the key may have gone about one click in the lock.
I had read a lot about Bob Dylan’s tour with the Band before it arrived at the Oakland Coliseum Arena February 11, just before the close-out in Los Angeles; on paper, I knew all about it. I knew precisely how the show was structured: Dylan & Band, Band, Dylan & Band, intermission, Dylan solo, Dylan & Band, “Like a Rolling Stone,” encore. With a few trivial variations, I knew what songs were to be played and in what order. I knew how the crowd would react and to what: they’d go wild for “Even the president of the United States must sometimes have to stand naked”; a few jerks would yell “We Want Dylan” when the Band played. I knew well-timed lights would cue the audience response for “Like a Rolling Stone,” and that the song would be referred to as “an anthem” in the papers the next day; I knew that matches would be lit to solicit the encore. It seemed like a set-up. I was looking forward to giving
Gave You the Best Years of My Life.” I remember how precious a thing it used to be to hear any song make reference to its own medium. Now it seems to be the only thing going!
But perhaps this period of heightened but ultimately ridiculous self-consciousness is a prelude to what we’ve been waiting for—the appearance of something genuinely new. I don’t mean just music either. There are good signs that the whole atmosphere, political and cultural, in both the U.S. and the rest of the world is about to undergo a transformation. Too many things remain unsettled after having been settled, e.g., the “end” of the Vietnam war, the “full disclosure” of Watergate and a host of submerged themes bequeathed to us by the last dozen years. There is a very great tension and it runs very deep. I don’t see how it can do anything other than create tremendous forces to push our center of gravity into one direction or another. Like a tumbler in a lock falling into place when a key is inserted, there will be, I think, a convergence of new voices, styles, and interests headed in a particular direction. I don’t know, perhaps something like Dylan’s tour with the Band will be one sign. Maybe George Wallace will come out at half-time at the Super Bowl, throw off his crutches and lead a Bastille-type march and coup on Washington. The need is there. And I think, now, very, very definitely it is becoming a collective need. The tone of the time and the range of possibilities available to anybody at all are set by the coming together, often by coincidence, of a peculiarly matched set of human elements. There’s no counting on logic any longer. But neither is there any denying that what is possible for us to do in any important way outside our personal lives does depend on a certain climate accompanied by a set of open doors which makes that climate visible. Unfortunately, I think that the working of these forces right now can only take the form of a Leader to personify what people are feeling. If it is proven that the Wallace assassination is connected to Watergate, we are in real trouble. Whatever the personification, we probably won’t like it. There is too much evil in the air, too much that Agnew and Nixon did not satisfy in the tormented American soul.
But, as I am always heard to say, there may be some room to move in the cracks. The hard thing will be to avoid interpreting what’s truly new in terms of what’d be old and familiar. It’s easy to get locked in. What’s interesting about the New York Dolls are some new bumps and crevasses—a strong sense of guilt, unfocused moral outrage, the missing sense of humor. It is, indeed, a lot like some very old stuff. But I get the feeling that for part of what we are about to see happening, the key may have gone about one click in the lock.
I had read a lot about Bob Dylan’s tour with the Band before it arrived at the Oakland Coliseum Arena February 11, just before the close-out in Los Angeles; on paper, I knew all about it. I knew precisely how the show was structured: Dylan & Band, Band, Dylan & Band, intermission, Dylan solo, Dylan & Band, “Like a Rolling Stone,” encore. With a few trivial variations, I knew what songs were to be played and in what order. I knew how the crowd would react and to what: they’d go wild for “Even the president of the United States must sometimes have to stand naked”; a few jerks would yell “We Want Dylan” when the Band played. I knew well-timed lights would cue the audience response for “Like a Rolling Stone,” and that the song would be referred to as “an anthem” in the papers the next day; I knew that matches would be lit to solicit the encore. It seemed like a set-up. I was looking forward to giving
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