Just because we bought your stuff doesn’t mean we owe you anything.
Flash back: You are at a Bob
Dylan concert. And it is awful. It is so awful that you feel like recording it
and re-playing it back to him in an attempt to make him appreciate what you are
going through. It is so awful that you close your eyes in an attempt to block
the thought of all the money you have given him over the years, not to mention
the small fortune you’ve spent to be here along with all these other suckers.
You try not to think of how far the cost of the ticket would have gone––
grocery for a couple of weeks or more, the tube fare for the month, a (minuscule) part of
the down payment on a new flat, even a meaningless bauble for I, me, myself.
For you’ve had it up to here subsiding other people’s lifestyle. At the very
least you’ll go home and Google ‘Henry Timrod’.
But the hype like an iron
clamp will grip your throat and even though people are getting up during the
songs to refill their glasses to drown their sorrow, they will give you hard,
meaningful glances. As if they’ve identified you as the weakest link. For
they’ve worked long and hard on what they’ll put up on facebook along with
blurry pictures of Dylan (in the same, white hat always) seen from, what appears
to be many, many miles away. (Is he even there?) And no one can take that away
from them. Damn it! After this they deserve something. Anything.
Was ‘mumblecore*’ invented to
describe the brutality being unleashed on stage? And the eyes turn back towards
you; smoldering holes in your back. You have been scarred for life.
But it’s al’right, Ma. I was
already bleeding.
Flash forward:
You, “Dylan is playing at Hop
Farm this summer.”
Me, “Yeah. Right.”
Both together, “Ha ha ha ha
ha.”
Tears of laughter. Over and
out.
*Nope. It is a term used to describe low-budget independent American films of early 2000's. Do they have anything in common with Bob Dylan? Answer: Well, you've heard Dylan muttering on stage. Now would you call him a 'slacker'?
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