Went To See The Gypsy
College is lonely.
At least in the beginning. Especially if you go to a sanctuary far from home, having thrown away all your friends to start over.
Oh, I know it doesn’t work that way anymore. I once met a girl on a train. From New York to Boston. We exchanged a few letters thereafter, even spoke on the phone. And then she receded into the veritable darkness of my past. But what they don’t tell you is you never ever forget them. And just yesterday I found her on Facebook. Oh, I’m not gonna contact her. I’m sure I can cajole her memory, remind her of who I once was. But that’s not the point, the point is the global village is so small right now that you never lose touch with anybody you ever knew. Remember ten or fifteen years ago when you were thrilled to find a long lost friend online? Now, it doesn’t even merit a shrug. But seeing their picture all these years later can truly creep you out.
So really, going to college is very similar to what Benjamin felt in “The Graduate,” i.e. lost. You know how you got here, but once you’re there you’re not quite sure what to do. Some people reinvent themselves. Change their look or their name, trying to cast away all the denigration of high school. But really, it’s tough enough trying to integrate with a whole new group of people, having known everybody else for the better part of twenty years.
And the weirdest thing about going to college is your initial friends don’t last. You go to dinner, exchange histories, and then one day realize you don’t really have that much in common, you’ve got a different perspective on studying. It’s painful, but you drift away, after you’ve found your new buddies, by accident, when you weren’t so desperate to make friends that anybody with a warm smile who gave good conversation was part of your new crew.
But you bring your old sensibilities along. And in my case, it was my records.
And I can tell you that the first two albums I bought in college were Free’s “Fire and Water” and Neil Young’s “After The Gold Rush.” That I ran down to the Vermont Book Shop to purchase “Led Zeppelin III” only to be disappointed. My mother mailed me Joe Cocker’s second and the Band’s third, but the records I remember most are those I listened to during January term. When you take only one course, go skiing every day and get high every night.
Included in that January 1971 mass was “Gasoline Alley.” Which has been forgotten as Rod Stewart tries to maintain a recording career, singing standards for old fogeys. But it was an earthy masterpiece that sounded like nothing else. And then, of course, there were the first two Elton John albums. I could listen to “Take Me To The Pilot” and “Where To Now St. Peter?” 24/7, and mostly did, on headphones, as my roommate tried to sleep. But there was one other album I’d purchased during Christmas vacation that was completely different from the rest, my first by this artist ever, and that was Bob Dylan’s “New Morning.” You’ve got no idea how bright and chipper you feel dropping the needle on the title track in zero degree weather, it gets you going.
And I bought “New Morning” because the reviews were so good. And at this point, having gone back and bought all the rest before he played his triumphant return gigs at Madison Square Garden with the Band, I can state definitively that my favorite is “Bringing It All Back Home.” And I might even say the best is “Blood On The Tracks.” But the one that’s paramount in my brain, because it was the first, is “New Morning.”
And my favorite cut is “Sign On The Window,” because of the wisdom.
Build me a cabin in Utah
Marry me a wife, catch rainbow trout
Have a bunch of kids who call me ‘Pa’
That must be what it’s all about
That must be what it’s all about
Oh, how true that is. Took me decades to learn it. Didn’t believe it at first. But the greats are always one step ahead of us.
But with the album just before “New Morning,” collective wisdom was that Bob Dylan was one step behind us. That’s what usually happens, beacons fade out. Artists lose their way. With cover songs and other detritus, the excoriation of “Self Portrait” was so great that Dylan put out “New Morning” in a matter of months. And just the other week, Columbia put out a new iteration. Of outtakes and demos and…I’d like to tell you you need to own it. But you don’t.
But you do need to hear “Went To See The Gypsy.” The original demo.
In its previously released incarnation, sandwiched in the middle of side one of “New Morning, “Went To See The Gypsy” was intimate, it resonated. But it’s nothing like the demo. The demo is haunting.
What separates the greats from the poseurs is the delivery. The greats have an identity, they’re comfortable with themselves. Think about comedians, it’s rarely about the joke, it’s almost always how it’s told. They say that songs are everything. And that’s true. But they only become hits when recorded properly. And a great producer can whip anybody into a star by sprinkling his fairy dust upon them. But when the truth emanates from the artist himself it’s eerie and magical and we’re drawn right to it, because it represents life.
The track has almost nothing on it. Just Dylan, his guitar and a lead. But the way Dylan strums, at just a certain time, punctuates the song. He sings the lyrics, and then he plays some chords and he demonstrates it’s not about how fast you play, or how studied your technique, but what you do with the chops you’ve got.
We’re drawn to authenticity.
If you read about college, it’s all fun and games. Farts and frats. Nobody studies, everybody gets laid and the rest of us should feel envious. But if you think that’s how it is, you never went. There’s the stress of class. The stress of cash. Whether you borrowed the money or your parents paid. And the knowledge that as every day progresses doors are closing, time is passing, opportunities are evaporating. It’s in college that you learn you can’t do everything. And when you graduate, you suddenly find no one’s breathing down your neck anymore, no one even cares what you do, you’re on your own.
And I wish I had a bunch of advice for you. But the truth is you’ve got to find your own way. Anybody who says they’ve got answers doesn’t realize life is about experience.
And it’s the experience we hear in Dylan’s vocal. He’s been somewhere and done something.
You hope to do the same.
