Pledging My Time: Conversations With Bob Dylan Band Members

by Ray Padgett

Rather than focusing on Dylan himself, Ray Padgett interviews forty musicians, collaborators, and fellow travelers who spent time onstage, in the studio, or on the road with him. The result is not a standard profile of the man; it's a portrait assembled from the edges inward. The book spans virtually Dylan's entire career, from the folk scene of the early 1960s through Rough and Rowdy Ways and the Never Ending Tour. Padgett's interview subjects range from major figures such as Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Richard Thompson, Larry Campbell, and Benmont Tench to one-off collaborators who found themselves unexpectedly swept into Dylan's orbit.

There are a lot of terrific anecdotes, from gushing, grateful unknown musicians given a chance to play on stage by Dylan himself, to baffled sidemen wondering why they got hired (or let go). There are terrific asides from talented musicians about how great a guitar player or piano player Dylan is. Others marvel at his breadth of musical knowledge (one guitarist recalls having to ask various friends about all the obscure folk and blues artists Bob talks about are in order to keep up: "if I knew half of what he's forgotten, I would be one of the most well-educated musicians on the planet"). There is very little communication from the man himself. Players are called up unexpectedly to jam, go home, and then find the jam session was an audition, and they're going on the road, or a late-night talk show, tomorrow. If there's a central idea to the book, it's to serve as an answer to this question: Why do so many accomplished musicians speak of playing with him as a career highlight? Dylan's reputation among casual listeners is built on his songwriting and distinctive voice, not on instrumental virtuosity. Yet interview after interview describes the experience as exhilarating. Musicians recount being thrown onstage with little preparation, confronted with shifting arrangements, unexpected keys, and performances that seem perpetually on the verge of collapse. Yet the disorder is rarely random. As you read the various experiences, it becomes clear that Dylan creates conditions that force musicians to listen, react, and create in the moment, producing performances that feel spontaneous yet require the most intense focus. The interviews also reveal Dylan as a director-like figure, choosing musicians not simply for technical ability but for the musical worlds they carry inside them. Dylan's encyclopedic knowledge of blues, country, folk and more becomes both a shared language and an audition process. As an interviewer and editor, Padgett is exceptionally well prepared, asks the right questions, and keeps the focus on music rather than gossip. As a result, the book sheds light not just on Dylan's career but on his creative process, which is fascinating to the Dylan devotee.  

five stars 

One Fat Englishman

by Kingsley Amis

Roger Micheldene, the titular fat Englishman, is a publisher visiting a fictional prestigious college with the oddly-chosen name of "Budweiser" (a stand-in for Princeton). Ostensibly he's there on a business trip to acquire the rights to a novel or two, but his real aim is to eat and drink far too much, bed as many women as possible, and belittle Americans with displays of British erudition and contempt. He spends most of the novel shuttling between New York and Budweiser, leaving unsatisfied women and unimpressed undergraduates in his wake.

This is the kind of novel that isn't written much any more, a character study and satire of manners. Unlike the tremendous Lucky Jim, this novel's main character isn't the least bit sympathetic and holds no youthful idealism. He's a creep, a seducer, a drunkard who leads women on and insults them for being needy, holds grudges against small children, and so on. There's no plot, except in the sense that Roger goes through a wringer and leaves America only slightly more humble and resentful. Roger may be an exaggerated portrait of Amis himself, but knowing that doesn't change my impression of the book; watching this boorish ass weave in and out of cocktail parties putting down others, only to end up looking ridiculous, isn't as interesting as Amis seems to think it is. Yes, it's a satire of both America and Britain; what Roger never sees is that he embodies all the bad qualities he adumbrates in defining Americans; he's childish, illogical, and emotional. A game of Scrabble against a young boy exemplifies this, as he upturns the board in a fit of pique when his British spellings aren't accepted. The consequences of Roger's actions annoy him, but they never instruct him. This is meant to make him funny, but I mostly found him tedious. It was also difficult for me to sympathize with any of the other characters. Take Helene Bang, the object of his most desperate amorous attentions; since he treats her with utter contempt, why does she allow him within ten feet of her? The American college students who puncture Roger's inflated ego with silly pranks are similarly smirking and supercilious. I enjoyed the witty writing, as far as it went, but I didn't find it particularly funny, nor did I think it has anything original to say about academia or the Anglo-American chasm. In the end, this is less a satire than a character study of a man trapped by his own habits and resentments. It's clever, but unappealing, much like Roger himself. 

three stars 

Holding the Note: Profiles in Popular Music

by David Remnick

A florilegium of eleven profiles and essays, mostly from The New Yorker, on legendary musicians centered around the uncomfortable question: what keeps an artist going after the peak years are behind them? The subjects are largely figures from the deep canon with decades-long careers, who in and of themselves represent an era or musical genre: Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Leonard Cohen, Patti Smith, Aretha Franklin, Mavis Staples, Buddy Guy, Paul McCartney, Keith Richards (this one is largely a panning of Richard’s self-serving memoir), and Luciano Pavarotti. This is not traditional musical criticism, but examinations of impact and character. What drives Springsteen to keep playing marathon concerts in his sixties? Why did Cohen continue writing and touring into old age? How does Buddy Guy shoulder the burden of preserving an entire musical tradition? In addition to delving into the history of gospel, blues, and rock, Remnick investigates, the stubborn need to keep creating, to keep "holding the note." Memorably, he also presents a "Unified Theory of Bob Dylan," positing that Dylan's entire raison d'etre is to absorb, keep alive, and rework the American musical tradition.

Throughout, Remnick combines deep knowledge with elegant prose, curiosity, and humane humor. It's readable, fascinating, extremely thorough, and holds surprises even for those who, like me, have read about some of these icons extensively. My favorite piece is one devoted not to a superstar but to jazz scholar and radio host Phil Schaap. A brilliant obsessive who devoted his life to preserving the legacy of Charlie Parker, Schaap embodies another kind of artist: the guardian of memory. Through him, Remnick explores not only the beauty of total devotion but also the melancholy reality of jazz's decline as a mass cultural force. 

four stars