The thing about Bob Dylan is that he's more a poet than a singer. Any average music fan can tell you that. The great thing about Dylan, and the thing I just realized yesterday, is that his particular style of music is filled with what I might call (if you'll let me) melancholic joy. His words and guitar lines possess such emotional range that they can facilitate almost any feeling a person has. The same song can be used to bolster the good feelings of a road trip to the beach, to relax someone after a long day at work, to spark nostalgic stories after the funeral of a friend lost too soon, to cause a married couple to dance in public for the first time in years.
Because his music covers both major emotional bases at the same time, his songs are the perfect backdrop for nearly every occasion. You probably won't be spinning Blonde on Blonde at a rave, but for times alone and times with friends, its flawless.
Most of you know that I go through phases of listening to only one band. I listened to Ted Leo for three weeks, watched Ben Folds Five's Sessions at 34th Street DVD every morning before I went to school my senior year of high school, and listened to John Neunswander almost religiously this entire summer. I usually hop around an entire catalogue, but for some reason I've been focused solely on Dylan's version of Catch the Wind. It's about someone longing to celebrate the joy of life and be comforted during the pain of it by someone else. This dream, however, is futile.
The duality theme is present in most of the song (originally written by this Scot named Donovan). Celebration and comfort are one thing. The singed fluctuates between praising his love and admitting its impossibility - with each stanza, no matter what task he sets out of his love, ending in the inevitable, "Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind". Love replaces something undesirable for something longed for - the "chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty" are cast away by "the warm hold of your loving mind"; the lover's smile takes the place of the sun after it sets; when "rain [hangs] the leaves with tears" the presence of his love casts aside the depression.
Maybe there are a few things in my life that I feel that way about. The thing about Dylan is, it's hard to figure out why you're listening to him - is it because you're reinforcing the blues, need something to slyly draw a grin on your face or need a backdrop for taking that deep breath of life that applauds your humanity? Maybe (wait for it) it's all three?
With a dual nature and an incredible capacity for emotional depth, I wonder if it's not such a bad thing to aspire to be a Bob Dylan tune. To be a friend that's wanted when good times are being shared or when losses are being mourned or when the day only requires a porch swing and a glass of sweet tea to be a holiday. To be a friend for all seasons. To be called upon when someone wants to go bowling or needs to cry on a shoulder. To get hammered with or discuss life's mystery with (although both can happen at the same time). To need advice and to give it. To give joy and to take it. If a Dylan song is the perfect accompaniment to any occasion, the perfect background sound for times happy or sad, shouldn't we try to be the best possible foreground?
The last message, I think, is that even while hopeless, the singer takes pleasure in his love. He revels in it. Even if what we want is constantly flying off down the road with the wind, we should still try to catch it. Strive to do the impossible. The wind may be faster, but sometimes its the chase that matters.
I'll let you know when I catch it.
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