For any band that covers 'Wagon Wheel'...

...the line should be:

"But he's a-headed EAST from the Cumberland Gap to Johnson City, Tennessee."

I give Dylan a break because he was probably stoned at the time...

Just some friendly advice from an East Tennessean who thinks geography should be correct, even in song.

Have a good week, y'all.

'Another Self Portrait'

And so we come to Robert Zimmerman.

You know him better as Bob Dylan, and I have always had an interesting relationship with his music. There was a time when I preferred his songs (and, let's face it, the man is a poet) performed by others.

I have softened on that as I've aged, although it still remains true for at least one song: Joe Cocker's cover of "I Shall Be Released."

Having said that, one of my favorite albums -- one of the 20 or so I would take with me to the proverbial deserted island -- is "Nashville Skyline." I love it so much I have it in several forms -- two vinyls (one sealed), a reel-to-reel tape and a compact disc.

It was with great interest and hopeful curiosity, then, that I purchased "Another Self Portrait (1969-1971)," Vol. 10 in Columbia's Dylan "The Bootleg Series."

I knew I wanted to hear the alternate takes from "Nashville Skyline," and they are here, including "I Threw It All Away" and "Country Pie."

But the true treat is the disc (it's on the deluxe edition) that includes live performances with The Band at Isle of Wight, a few of which I had seen and heard via YouTube videos. Among those highlights are a better-than-the-record version of "I Threw It All Away," and great live versions of "Maggie's Farm," "Wild Mountain Time," "One Too Many Mornings" and "I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine." Sadly, the live version of "Lay Lady Lay" leaves one longing for the studio cut. I'm not sure why. There are also a slew of Dylan signature songs for the fans, everything from "Like a Rolling Stone" to "Quinn the Eskimo (The Mighty Quinn)" to "Mr. Tambourine Man."

Also of note are the bare-boned cuts from Dylan's often maligned "Self Portrait." The album, full of strings, covers and overblown arrangements, was universally panned upon its release, with one critic actually writing, "What is this s--t?"

Here, we are treated to the raw Dylan sound, and it's almost as if we're hearing a different album while "House Carpenter" or "Thirsty Boots" (one of my favorite songs of the Civil Rights era) play.

The inclusion of the demo of "When I Paint My Masterpiece" has also generated a bit of buzz. As you may know, Dylan gave the tune to The Band, who turned it into one of their signature songs. As usual, hearing it by the songwriter gives it an extra layer of complexity and feeling.

"Another Self Portrait" is a must-have for Dylan devotees and students of American music. But, if you just like music from this particular period or simply want to hear an artist evolve songs from demo to recording sessions, you'll like it, too.

Turns out Dylan painted a masterpiece while everyone was looking elsewhere.

Dylan, Beatles and 'Looking for Space'

So, I'm exhausted.

Put in a full eight-hour work day today. Got to feeling rough about mid-day (countin' down the hours until Monday morning), but we had quite a bit of fun.

The Rossini Festival was fantastic. Yep, we're about $100 poorer, but it all goes to a great cause. We even found a few classical and Celtic CDs.

After lying down for a minute (I hate to even say the words, but I also think I've got a kidney stone), I made it to the Halls Alumni Dinner. Biggest crowd we ever had. Congratulations to Halls High Hall of Fame inductees Larry Hodge, Wilma Hacker Jordan and F. Carl Tindell.

Oh, yeah, they made some guy named Mabe the president.

On the way downtown, I got a call from Nathan Moses at Lost and Found Records. They had a copy of my all-time favorite John Denver album, "Windsong," which contains my all-time favorite John Denver song, "Looking for Space."

Hobbling up the steps, I noticed a sign that said "Sealed Records Inside."

I found two prizes: Bob Dylan's "Nashville Skyline" (my favorite of his) and -- get ready for it -- The Beatles's "Abbey Road." Yes, they are both SEALED.

Gotta run. We're heading to South Pittsburg, Tenn., for the National Cornbread Festival tomorrow. I'm covering it for the Shopper. Mom and Mike are driving.

Have a great Sunday, y'all.

Dylan, Old Crow, quite the show

So, Seth Burnett told me last night that Bob Dylan himself wrote the classic line from Old Crow Medicine Show's signature tune, "Wagon Wheel."

So, rock me, mama, like a wagon wheel; rock me, mama, any way you feel...

No wonder it put me in mind of another Dylan ditty, "You Ain't Going Nowhere." I looked up The Byrds' version and rocked out awhile this A.M.

Ooo, wee, ride me high; tomorrow's the day my bride's gonna come...

OK, I got a confession to make. I love Bob Dylan's music -- but, mostly, when sang by somebody else. There are a few notable exceptions and I'll get to that in a minute.

It's not that I don't like Dylan's oft-maligned sound. Quite the contrary. The exceptions are "Positively 4th Street" and "Like A Rolling Stone," "Quinn the Eskimo (The Mighty Quinn)" and virtually everything off of the "Nashville Skyline" album, particularly the poetry that is "Girl from the North Country" (with Johnny Cash).

But I love, love, love Joe Cocker's cover of "I Shall Be Released" and I've already told you about The Byrds. I can go either way on "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" but I give the edge on "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" to John Duffey and the Seldom Scene.

Whatever the case, Robert Zimmerman knows how to pen poetry and you can rock me, mama, like a wagon wheel, and lay, lady, lay across my big, brass bed, and don't think twice it's all right, 'cause any day now, any day now, I shall be released.

Song snippets

It's 1 a.m. and Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash are pining away for the girl from the north country.

She once was a true love of mine.

I'm tired. But I can't sleep.

Now Connie Smith is singing about the only time she wishes he weren't gone.

Once a day, every day, all day long.

I sat on the back porch after dinner and watched the sun sink to its slumber. Van Morrison provided the soundtrack, sailing into the mystic.

And, I wanna rock your gypsy soul, just like way back in the days of old...

Just before bed, or what passes for it, William Lee Golden and the Oak Ridge Boys go with me on the Frisco Silver Dollar Line, takin' our time, headed toward that "Ozark Mountain Jubilee."

Oh, how the years have flown by; oh, how I realize how much of me is gone...

I long to see you...

Heard a song getting ready for work this morning that took me to the beginning of my long love affair with American folk/roots music.

Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you/Away you rolling river...

I was back in music class at Brickey Elementary School, that beautiful old brick building that no longer stands. I can still see me sitting there on the bleachers, wearing an alligator shirt and singing to my little heart's content, full of naive wonder about the world.

Away, I'm bound away/Across the wide Missouri...

Wikipedia says that "Shenandoah" originated in the early 19th century as a river chantey. The song spread up and down the Missouri and Mississippi rivers and eventually became a haunting installment in the American songbook.

The meaning is disputed. Obviously a tale about a wanderer's love for an Indian girl, arguments have arisen over whether Shenandoah is an Indian chief or the famous Virginia river. Apparently the doubt was enough to keep the song from becoming a Virginia state song a few years ago.



The version I heard this morning was from an old late 60s/early 70s Glen Campbell album. His cover is full of lush strings and a choir; it is a wistful treatment that fits the moment. One can almost feel the longing.

Away, I know I'll go/Across the wide Missouri...

The song has made its way into our popular culture. Bob Dylan recorded the song on one of his albums. Richard Nixon, who apparently loved the song, left instructions for it to be played at his funeral. Filmmaker Oliver Stone used the song to close his 1995 biopic on the 37th president.

Good stuff.

Sad song of the week: Found a new sad song that I'm climbing the walls over.



A few weeks ago, I read News Sentinel columnist Wayne Bledsoe's interview with The Everybodyfields, the Alt-Country Johnson City duo Sam Quinn and Jill Andrews. I missed the group's appearance at the World Grotto because of illness, but their new album "Nothing is Okay" is a sight, er sound, to behold.

I'll write an elaborate review later, but you simply have to stop what you're doing and find a copy of this song "Savior." This may replace George Jones's "He Stopped Loving Her Today" and RobinElla's "Teardrops" as my favorite sad song. Here, listen:

Love's not a savior/when you're messed up/when you're messed up, forever

You feel you're drowning in red hearts/Wrapped in red ribbons/And blue skies

Then somebody pulls the plug/It all goes down the drain/Don't we all change?

God, that should be illegal.

Anyway, I think I've found a new favorite. I'm going to catch these folks next time they are anywhere near East Tennessee.

Beautiful, simply, wonderfully, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Up in Michigan

FERNDALE, Mich. -- I took my book on Paul Bryant's "Junction Boys" and sat in the 70-degree cool Michigan morning just after 9, remembering what it's like to go outside and not feel like you've just stepped into a toaster oven.

It gets hot here in Michigan. But the nights are cool and the humidity is nowhere near that of Knox Vegas.

My plane arrived at the Detroit metro airport about 10 a.m. yesterday, after a quick jaunt to Charlotte. We drove directly downtown, ate and made it to Comerica Park in time to see the Tigers take care of bid'ness 11-6 over the A's.

From there, we tooled over to Commerce to enjoy dinner at a pub. It was a nice enough evening, so we sat out on the patio of the place. It overlooks a golf course. The grounds are well-kempt and perfect. I split a barbecue chicken pizza with David Romas. His wife Jennifer snacked on nachos.

Tonight we're headed into enemy territory, Ann Arbor, home to those blasted Wolverines, to hear Robinella at The Ark, an old intimate theater in the Great Lake State's most famous college town. David says everybody from Bob Dylan to Natalie Merchant has played there at one point or another.

I'm supposed to be on vacation. But I can't stay away from the keyboard.

So it goes when your job is your life, or your life is your job, or however you say that...

Without a song...

It's early afternoon and I'm eased back in my recliner. Didn't feel like brunch today.

So I've turned on the XM and am continuing my week-long New York state of mind by tuning into the disc jockey of the City.

Jonathan Schwartz still does his Sunday show. He's been around, it seems, nearly as long as the Great American Songbook music he plays.

Today he opens up with an eclectic gem. Bernadette Peters doing Bob Dylan.

And I'll be your baby tonight...

First time I heard that song, Bobby Darin was doing it at the Desert Inn. Mack the Knife turned Dylan's folk song into a blues number. He was good.

Now Schwartz is playing Ben Webster. He's taking off on a Richard Rodgers tune. I can't remember the name and I'm too lazy to get up and look.

I wonder if kids listen to the radio anymore in this iPod, MP3, download it now! world. I don't even listen to the radio like I once did. That's because Knox Vegas radio sucks.

But I digress.

When I was a kid, every night at 8 or so, you could find me in front of the big dial, usually tuned to some oldies station. I used to call one particular show every night while doing homework. My moniker was "Jake in Halls." (Imagine that.)

One night I coaxed DJ Tony Lawson into digging up Elvis Presley's "Promised Land." He had to go down to the basement and find the 45 RPM single. But he played it.

Left my home in Norfolk, Virginia, California on my mind...

Johnny's got somebody -- it isn't Patsy Cline -- singing "Walking After Midnight." Pretty good. Real jazzy. Something you'd hear in a joint.

Tonight we're going to hear Robin. I hear she's got a new band. Can't wait.

Robin sang me to sleep last night.

Funny how my teardrops don't make a sound, when they roll down my cheeks and they fall to the ground...

Whenever I die, my funeral is going to be a wall-to-wall sound of music that will make Phil Spector blush. You'll think you've come to a concert, and that's the way I want it. No tears. No fuss. Just tunes.

Schwartz is playing Astaire. Now it's k.d. lang, of all people, belting out Sinatra's classic saloon song, "Angel Eyes." Where does he find this stuff?

I'm thinking about turning it off. I want to hear the Chairman of the Board himself.

Without a song, the day would never end...

You're so right, Frankie. You're so right.