Christmas with Mother in Columbus. . . .
She is far from the domineering busybody she was in 1966. (Have I said that she is now 96 and flakey as a two-thousand-year-old Saltine?)
I'll be posting my official Holiday Communication as soon as productive use of body and mind return. Until then-- breathe. . . breathe. . . breathe. . . .
"I. . . ME . . . NOW . . . I . . . ME . . . NOW . . . "
Tuesday
Okay, I've been severly chastened. So no more "long" posts like that last one.
Actually, I didn't think it was all that long—this is important stuff, after all! But Sissy as usual provides the core logic: "How important can it be if nobody's ever gonna read it? This is the web, not the Library of Congress."
She's an experienced web surfer, recommends no more that three "lite chunks," a total of 50 words tops. I'm already way over. Gotta go . . . .
Actually, I didn't think it was all that long—this is important stuff, after all! But Sissy as usual provides the core logic: "How important can it be if nobody's ever gonna read it? This is the web, not the Library of Congress."
She's an experienced web surfer, recommends no more that three "lite chunks," a total of 50 words tops. I'm already way over. Gotta go . . . .
Thursday
HEY KIDS—! Today The Appleseed innaugurates a brand new feature: 1966 and All That...the World According to Baba Ray.
Baba Ray's History Lesson #1: Bob Dylan. Does anyone remember how huge he was in the mid-60's? I mean HUGE, overflowing the riverbanks, spilling new culture across border after border! (That is, unless you were, say, the young George Bush, who wouldn't have known new culture if it bit him.) The Pantheon of 1966 contained Dylan, the Beatles, Muhammed Ali--and virtually nobody else.
He forged today's male pop singing style, but that was only the beginning. Princeton gave him an honorary degree. Even the Black Panthers, who famously despised white culture, venerated him as a revolutionary saint, quoted him, played him.
You have to be a certain age to have "been there" on this one. No one from Generation X and beyond experienced it. They will have heard about it from their smart-assed older siblings or their dinosaur parents or read about it in some paunchy boomer rag like Rolling Stone. And if they happen to see Dylan on TV. . . well, as Sissy said, "He looks dead."
If only he WERE dead he might shine with the full force of legend. But he's not. He's totally alive, and not only that but scuttling ceaselessly around the world, constantly on the road, a scrawny dessicated 2,000-year-old dude living in the rock 'n' roll equivalent of "a trailer down by the river." If I were 15, I'd look at him and say, "That mustachioed old bag-of-bones—THAT'S the Dylan who you say was as big as a god? Whatever."
So let me put it in final perspective (very roughly). For Bob Dylan to have phoned me (as he did) in Applestock—from Sweden or wherever he was—wanting to come to our Festival (as he did)—in today's terms that's roughly like Stephen Spielberg calling to ask if he can shoot a video of my wedding. . . or Madonna calling to ask if I'd let her hang out with me over the weekend. . . or—
No, none of these examples are HUGE enough. I can't think of one. I'm not even sure it's possible anymore to be as culturally imposing as Dylan was right in that 5 or 6 year window of time. It was often said, at the time, with convincing plausibility, "Dylan is God." And for a while, like Captain Jim, he was.
Well. . . small g, anyway.
Thus ends Baba Ray's History Lesson #1.
Baba Ray's History Lesson #1: Bob Dylan. Does anyone remember how huge he was in the mid-60's? I mean HUGE, overflowing the riverbanks, spilling new culture across border after border! (That is, unless you were, say, the young George Bush, who wouldn't have known new culture if it bit him.) The Pantheon of 1966 contained Dylan, the Beatles, Muhammed Ali--and virtually nobody else.
He forged today's male pop singing style, but that was only the beginning. Princeton gave him an honorary degree. Even the Black Panthers, who famously despised white culture, venerated him as a revolutionary saint, quoted him, played him.
You have to be a certain age to have "been there" on this one. No one from Generation X and beyond experienced it. They will have heard about it from their smart-assed older siblings or their dinosaur parents or read about it in some paunchy boomer rag like Rolling Stone. And if they happen to see Dylan on TV. . . well, as Sissy said, "He looks dead."
If only he WERE dead he might shine with the full force of legend. But he's not. He's totally alive, and not only that but scuttling ceaselessly around the world, constantly on the road, a scrawny dessicated 2,000-year-old dude living in the rock 'n' roll equivalent of "a trailer down by the river." If I were 15, I'd look at him and say, "That mustachioed old bag-of-bones—THAT'S the Dylan who you say was as big as a god? Whatever."
So let me put it in final perspective (very roughly). For Bob Dylan to have phoned me (as he did) in Applestock—from Sweden or wherever he was—wanting to come to our Festival (as he did)—in today's terms that's roughly like Stephen Spielberg calling to ask if he can shoot a video of my wedding. . . or Madonna calling to ask if I'd let her hang out with me over the weekend. . . or—
No, none of these examples are HUGE enough. I can't think of one. I'm not even sure it's possible anymore to be as culturally imposing as Dylan was right in that 5 or 6 year window of time. It was often said, at the time, with convincing plausibility, "Dylan is God." And for a while, like Captain Jim, he was.
Well. . . small g, anyway.
Thus ends Baba Ray's History Lesson #1.
Sunday
Dick Clark (or someone like him) phoned this morning about a TV "biopic" that he wants to develop for ABC, based on my life. He seemed hot to play me himself, both "me's"--then and now. But the more he talked, the more he thought better of it--like this: "Wouldn't I be perfect for the young Ray Riffles? Of course! Who else? Gosh, there's a time when I would have killed for that role. But let's face it, I'm not 28 anymore. And as for Baba Ray NOW, that wouldn't exactly be Oscar-class casting either." (Sure wouldn't, Dick, you're still too old to play me--at any age.)
Anyway, after facing reality, he put on his Dick Clark Productions hat and got down to work, casting The Ray Riffles Story (working title only) in his mind. Some interesting Young Ray/Older Ray combinations that came up:
Ewan McGregor - Clint Eastwood (oh, sure--but wouldn't you be flattered?)
Mathew Perry - Dennis Hopper (closer, much closer)
Darrell Hammond - both parts (...with an eye to the budget)
Cedric the Entertainer - James Earl Jones (Quixotic, but conceptually fascinating)
Who would I propose?
Leonardo di Caprio - Ray Riffles (That's right: who knows the older Ray better than I do?)
Stay tuned.
Anyway, after facing reality, he put on his Dick Clark Productions hat and got down to work, casting The Ray Riffles Story (working title only) in his mind. Some interesting Young Ray/Older Ray combinations that came up:
Ewan McGregor - Clint Eastwood (oh, sure--but wouldn't you be flattered?)
Mathew Perry - Dennis Hopper (closer, much closer)
Darrell Hammond - both parts (...with an eye to the budget)
Cedric the Entertainer - James Earl Jones (Quixotic, but conceptually fascinating)
Who would I propose?
Leonardo di Caprio - Ray Riffles (That's right: who knows the older Ray better than I do?)
Stay tuned.
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