The
current political climate in America is odd to say the least, and thankfully a
lot of celebrities are seizing any and all opportunities to proclaim their
righteousness to the masses, just in case we forgot. But there’s one “voice of
a generation” who has been suspiciously silent: Bob Dylan. One of life’s little
pleasures is laughter, and what currently makes me chuckle as I stand in line
at the grocery store is Bob Dylan. It’s not something he said, or one of his
lyrics, though. Quite the opposite, it’s what he hasn’t said that cracks me up.
What does Dylan have to say about Trump?
Nothing! The guy is a cantankerous, septuagenarian troubadour who tours
endlessly year after year. Bob would rather play to 5,000 fans in Dubuque and
mumble his way through a barely recognizable version of ‘Shelter from the
Storm’ than go to Switzerland and accept a Nobel Peace Prize. Come on, that’s
funny. Imagine Bruce Springsteen or Neil Young in the same position. To be
fair, he did write a gracious, poignant speech read by Patty Smith. But the
road was calling and there were shows to be played. Next time a celebrity is
ranting on stage at an awards ceremony or a rally, I’m going to think about
Bob, with a cranky face, looking silently out the window as the world rolls by.
I know Bob Dylan pisses off a lot of
people, whether it’s his voice or his anti-social behaviour, and it’s certainly
understandable. For example, the guy played “Oldchella” earlier this year in
the California desert. Tickets were in the thousands. The Stones and Neil Young
and Roger Waters also played. The event was geared towards exploiting the
nostalgia of wealthy boomers. I don’t really mean that in a bad way, either—if
the demand is there than mine away. So Dylan gets out there and is mad that
there was a big screen shot of him so the people farther away from the stage didn’t
have to look at an ant-person. He had it turned off. Dylan probably isn’t a fun
guy to hang with casually; he’s almost certainly difficult. But fuck it all to hell, the guy is a real character. A
true American vagabond. As I sit here typing this, the guy is most likely in a
hotel in Stockholm getting ready for his European tour. The man is 75 years old
and look at his schedule. He globetrots like Skrillex.
You heard it here first: Bob Dylan is
going to die on the road, most likely in a hotel room; or maybe a bus. Heart
attack on a bus, a highway outside Pensacola. That’s my guess.
