It’s Raining In San Francisco

I just got home from the islands, and it is raining very hard out. Drought no more.

Buckets of rain
Buckets of tears
Got all them buckets comin’ out of my ears
Buckets of moonbeams in my hand
I got all the love, honey baby
You can stand

I been meek
And hard like an oak
I seen pretty people disappear like smoke
Friends will arrive, friends will disappear
If you want me, honey baby
I’ll be here

Like your smile
And your fingertips
Like the way that you move your lips
I like the cool way you look at me
Everything about you is bringing me
Misery

Little red wagon
Little red bike
I ain’t no monkey but I know what I like
I like the way you love me strong and slow
I’m takin’ you with me, honey baby
When I go

Life is sad
Life is a bust
All ya can do is do what you must
You do what you must do and ya do it well
I’ll do it for you, honey baby
Can’t you tell?

-Dylan

California

Everyday since the election I’ve woken up happy to be a Californian. Not only did we as a people soundly reject Trump’s bigotry and hatred, but our state legislature came together to draft a statement making it very clear that they will fight any attempts by the Trump administration to deport or discriminate against hardworking Californians. And we elected an extremely competent and inspiring woman of color to the Senate. And we achieved a super majority of Democrats in the state legislature. Annnd we legalized weed.

I’m even happier to have grown up a San Franciscan. Our troubled city that I doubt all the time was the bluest part of the whole state in the 2016 election.

Living in New York, I dream about Northern California’s rolling hills, clean clean air, rocky coast and evergreen trees.

So listen to Joni croon about California and thank god for Canada too.

Leonard Cohen

My heart hurts so much right now. Two days ago Donald Trump was elected president, and today Leonard Cohen died. I feel pretty confident that Trump’s election killed him, death by broken heart. And my heart is so damn broken, but we will fight for each other’s rights, safety and for love, always for love. We have music to feed our soul and heal us during times like these.

Thank you Leonard for your songs. They make us stronger.

You Turn Me On I’m A Radio

This live version of You Turn Me On is insanely beautiful and so god damn soulful. This whole 1974 live album (Miles of Aisles) is ridiculous, and if you even remotely like Joni Mitchell you gotta get with this album. Just listen to her go off at the end of this. Wonderful thing, although it does make me miss my mother’s beautiful voice. She sang us a lot of Joni when we were young.

I’m also putting the Miles of Aisles version of Big Yellow Taxi on here. It’s honestly a lot better than the recording. Her band is SO good. It’s just JAZZIER. And who doesn’t like jazzier . . . that solo at 1:30 . . .

Congratulations Bobby!

Today our greatest poet was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. This is an astounding, wonderful, well deserved honor for Dylan and folk and music and popular culture. I’m so absurdly thrilled about it. In their article on the award the Times said:

“Sara Danius, a literary scholar and the permanent secretary of the 18-member Swedish Academy, which awards the prize, called Mr. Dylan ‘a great poet in the English-speaking tradition’ and compared him to Homer and Sappho, whose work was delivered orally. Asked if the decision to award the prize to a musician signaled a broadening in the definition of literature, Ms. Danius jokingly responded, ‘The times they are a changing, perhaps.’ ”

“His lyricism is exquisite; his concerns and subjects are demonstrably timeless; and few poets of any era have seen their work bear more influence.”

These are things we of course already know but are so happy to hear.

Read my past articles about Bobby: I’m Not There: ReviewedThe Last Waltz: ReviewedBuckets of RainThe Art of the AlbumDylan for NighttimeIdiot WindDylan for SleepLate Night Track.

Listen to Dylan snarl and sing about the unfair death of William Zanzinger. For now is the time for your tears.