ELECTRIFIED/ELECTROCUTED
- Thread starter eSGEe
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eSGEe
Ferengi Ambassador of Trade
On the evening of July 25, 1965, Bob Dylan took the stage at the Newport Folk Festival in black jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket, carrying a Fender Stratocaster in place of his familiar acoustic guitar. The crowd shifted restlessly as he tested his tuning and was joined by a quintet of backing musicians. Then the band crashed into a raw Chicago boogie and, straining to be heard over the loudest music ever to hit Newport, he snarled his opening line: “I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more!”
What happened next is obscured by a maelstrom of conflicting impressions: The New York Times reported that Dylan “was roundly booed by folk-song purists, who considered this innovation the worst sort of heresy.” In some stories Pete Seeger, the gentle giant of the folk scene, tried to cut the sound cables with an axe. Some people were dancing, some were crying, many were dismayed and angry, many were cheering, many were overwhelmed by the ferocious shock of the music or astounded by the negative reactions.
As if challenging the doubters, Dylan roared into “Like a Rolling Stone,” his new radio hit, each chorus confronting them with the question: “How does it feel?” The audience roared back its mixed feelings, and after only three songs he left the stage. The crowd was screaming louder than ever—some with anger at Dylan’s betrayal, thousands more because they had come to see their idol and he had barely performed. Peter Yarrow, of Peter, Paul, and Mary, tried to quiet them, but it was impossible. Finally, Dylan reappeared with a borrowed acoustic guitar and bid Newport a stark farewell: “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue….”
Dylan at Newport is remembered as a pioneering artist defying the rules and damn the consequences. Supporters of new musical trends ever since—punk, rap, hip-hop, electronica—have compared their critics to the dull folkies who didn’t understand the times were a-changing, and a complex choice by a complex artist in a complex time became a parable: the prophet of the new era going his own way despite the jeering rejection of his old fans. He challenged the establishment: “Something is happening here, and you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” He defined his own transformation: “I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” He drew a line between himself and those who tried to claim him: “I try my best to be just like I am, but everybody wants me to be just like them.” And he warned those wary of following new paths: “He not busy being born is busy dying.”
In most tellings, Dylan represents youth and the future, and the people who booed were stuck in the dying past. But there is another version, in which the audience represents youth and hope, and Dylan was shutting himself off behind a wall of electric noise, locking himself in a citadel of wealth and power, abandoning idealism and hope and selling out to the star machine. In this version the Newport festivals were idealistic, communal gatherings, nurturing the growing counterculture, rehearsals for Woodstock and the Summer of Love, and the booing pilgrims were not rejecting that future; they were trying to protect it.
Elijah Wald is the author of Dylan Goes Electric! Newport, Seeger, Dylan, and the Night That Split the Sixties. His ther books include The Mayor of MacDougal Street, inspiration for the film Inside Llewyn Davis; Escaping the Delta, about the myth and music of Robert Johnson; and How the Beatles Destroyed Rock ’n’ Roll: An Alternative History of American Popular Music. He has won a Grammy Award, an ASCAP-Deems Taylor award, and the American Musicological Society’s Otto Kinkeldey award; has taught blues history at UCLA; and travels widely as a speaker on popular music. He lives in Medford, MA.
What happened next is obscured by a maelstrom of conflicting impressions: The New York Times reported that Dylan “was roundly booed by folk-song purists, who considered this innovation the worst sort of heresy.” In some stories Pete Seeger, the gentle giant of the folk scene, tried to cut the sound cables with an axe. Some people were dancing, some were crying, many were dismayed and angry, many were cheering, many were overwhelmed by the ferocious shock of the music or astounded by the negative reactions.
As if challenging the doubters, Dylan roared into “Like a Rolling Stone,” his new radio hit, each chorus confronting them with the question: “How does it feel?” The audience roared back its mixed feelings, and after only three songs he left the stage. The crowd was screaming louder than ever—some with anger at Dylan’s betrayal, thousands more because they had come to see their idol and he had barely performed. Peter Yarrow, of Peter, Paul, and Mary, tried to quiet them, but it was impossible. Finally, Dylan reappeared with a borrowed acoustic guitar and bid Newport a stark farewell: “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue….”
Dylan at Newport is remembered as a pioneering artist defying the rules and damn the consequences. Supporters of new musical trends ever since—punk, rap, hip-hop, electronica—have compared their critics to the dull folkies who didn’t understand the times were a-changing, and a complex choice by a complex artist in a complex time became a parable: the prophet of the new era going his own way despite the jeering rejection of his old fans. He challenged the establishment: “Something is happening here, and you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” He defined his own transformation: “I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” He drew a line between himself and those who tried to claim him: “I try my best to be just like I am, but everybody wants me to be just like them.” And he warned those wary of following new paths: “He not busy being born is busy dying.”
In most tellings, Dylan represents youth and the future, and the people who booed were stuck in the dying past. But there is another version, in which the audience represents youth and hope, and Dylan was shutting himself off behind a wall of electric noise, locking himself in a citadel of wealth and power, abandoning idealism and hope and selling out to the star machine. In this version the Newport festivals were idealistic, communal gatherings, nurturing the growing counterculture, rehearsals for Woodstock and the Summer of Love, and the booing pilgrims were not rejecting that future; they were trying to protect it.
Elijah Wald is the author of Dylan Goes Electric! Newport, Seeger, Dylan, and the Night That Split the Sixties. His ther books include The Mayor of MacDougal Street, inspiration for the film Inside Llewyn Davis; Escaping the Delta, about the myth and music of Robert Johnson; and How the Beatles Destroyed Rock ’n’ Roll: An Alternative History of American Popular Music. He has won a Grammy Award, an ASCAP-Deems Taylor award, and the American Musicological Society’s Otto Kinkeldey award; has taught blues history at UCLA; and travels widely as a speaker on popular music. He lives in Medford, MA.
Col Mustard
Ambassador of Perseverance
I read an interview with Pete Seeger where they asked him about that, and he said it wasn't necessarily
the Electric Guitar that he objected to, it was the volume. He wanted to hear the lyrics, and Dylan didn't give
a rip apparently. Mike Bloomfield was his lead guitarist, and he was an arrogant SOB as well. He didn't give
a rip either. Excessive arrogance is obnoxious, whether you are a celebrity or not.
Personally, I've never understood the controversy. I can understand an audience that reacts negatively to hurtful
levels of sound, especially when they've been listening to much gentler mixes. So Seeger's explanation made sense
to me. But I wasn't there. I would have been one of the ones dancing, if I'd had a barefoot braless folkie girl to do it
with. *grins ...In 1965 I was 17, and working for $1.25 an hour in the summer so I could afford to take my girl to the
drive-in in my father's car. No money for big concerts. No way to get there. So I observed the ruckus from a
distance with a question mark over my head. *shrugs... Life styles of the rich and famous.
I can't comprehend any performer that has so much contempt for his audience that he would hurt them on purpose.
To me, that's just bizarre. But Dylan fits THAT profile, even if he is a Nobel Laureate. (which I believe he deserves).
I've read Dylan's book, Chronicles ...where he claims that he became so tired of people pestering him, and climbing on
his roof, and sorting through his trash in hopes of gleaning some gems of wisdom from the Master that he began to
intentionally try to drive them away. To me, that's also bizarre. But those were strange times. And it's become even
more so now...
the Electric Guitar that he objected to, it was the volume. He wanted to hear the lyrics, and Dylan didn't give
a rip apparently. Mike Bloomfield was his lead guitarist, and he was an arrogant SOB as well. He didn't give
a rip either. Excessive arrogance is obnoxious, whether you are a celebrity or not.
Personally, I've never understood the controversy. I can understand an audience that reacts negatively to hurtful
levels of sound, especially when they've been listening to much gentler mixes. So Seeger's explanation made sense
to me. But I wasn't there. I would have been one of the ones dancing, if I'd had a barefoot braless folkie girl to do it
with. *grins ...In 1965 I was 17, and working for $1.25 an hour in the summer so I could afford to take my girl to the
drive-in in my father's car. No money for big concerts. No way to get there. So I observed the ruckus from a
distance with a question mark over my head. *shrugs... Life styles of the rich and famous.
I can't comprehend any performer that has so much contempt for his audience that he would hurt them on purpose.
To me, that's just bizarre. But Dylan fits THAT profile, even if he is a Nobel Laureate. (which I believe he deserves).
I've read Dylan's book, Chronicles ...where he claims that he became so tired of people pestering him, and climbing on
his roof, and sorting through his trash in hopes of gleaning some gems of wisdom from the Master that he began to
intentionally try to drive them away. To me, that's also bizarre. But those were strange times. And it's become even
more so now...
alexander paul
Well-Known Member
a major complaint about me is i play electric so low in volume that they cant hear me on stage but sound persons/peoples love it & i'm always cranked in the mix...
Col Mustard
Ambassador of Perseverance
Max Headroom...