Dylan - Shot of Love

The Groom's Still Waiting At The Alter was not on the original album.

 

My bad. Still a great tune though.

 

The early 1980's was a great time to be a Dylan fan. For me it all hinged around John Bauldie's Telegraph magazine and Ian Woodward's Wicked Messenger. It was deep stuff. Dylan wasn't playing live that much but he was very active, and the fact that news and scoops weren't as immediate and disposable in that pre-internet society made things all the more exciting. So much of the Dylan legend was established by those guys, both what was happening at that time and what had happened before it. So many gaps were filled and so many stones overturned. The writing and presentation was quite stunning. I have to say, Dylan's own recorded output at this time was almost secondary for me. It was also a time when very good vinyl bootleg albums were quite common. When the 1984 tour came to the UK, it was just a wonderful thing to be a part of. It all came crashing down somewhat with Live Aid, but it's still my favourite Dylan period - I was too young to experience his 60's heyday as it happened. I can still read through all my old Telegraphs and Messengers and feel as thrilled as I was then. And listening to the 1980's albums, with all their flaws, is a thrill too. Jokerman or Brownsville Girl would be my Dylan Desert island discs.

 

Revisiting "Carribean Wind"....

I still dont think its the classic that many say it is. But, I think it had potential to be a very good Dylan song. One of the problems is that it doesnt sound like a "Shot Of Love" song. The style is too different.

I believe there are 4 versions lyrically?

I am also not a fan of the more specifically pointed lyrics of this version...

She was from Hatia; fair brown and intense
She was friend of bus boys and presidents

nor the other version that starts off..

She was well rehearsed, fair brown and blonde
She has friends who were bus boys and friends in the pentagon

Then there is a live version...

She was from Haiti, bowed down at the table,
And then I took over the Lord


The later is very akward sounding to me.


This is much better...

She was the Rose of Sharon from Paradise Lost
From the City of Seven Hills near the place of the cross..

Falls into the imagery that is not so cutting, yet paints a beautiful picture. However, then the version from Biograph gets sappy and too wispy with the imagery.

Being a work in progress, the song probably needed a combination of all three versions. And, of course, more work lyrically. Perhapd Dylan also didnt see it ultimately as *that* great of a song and it ultimately it became too convoluted.

Then again, he tried out 3 different versions of the "Haiti" based verse. Maybe that it the version he felt was best.




I do like The Revelators version. I certainly like this more rocking style than the yacht rock style biograph version.

Here is The Revelators version:

The revelators carribean wind - YouTube



-------------------------------------------------------------

For those interested here are the three alternate verse versions:

Caribbean Wind

Live version:

She was from Haiti, bowed down at the table,

And then I took over the Lord

At the show in Miami, in the theater of divine company.

Talkin' 'bout Jesus, talked about the rain,

She told me about the vision, told me about the pain

That has risen from the essence and the dividing of memory.


Is she a child or a woman? I really can't say,

Something about her said "Trust me" anyway,

As the years turned to minutes and the minutes turned back into hours.

What about you, playin' as a pawn?

It certainly was possible as the gay night wore on,

But victory was mine, and I held it with the help of God's power.


And that Caribbean wind still blows from Trinidad to Mexico,

The circle of light and the furnace of desire.

And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.


Shadows move closer as we touched on the floor,

Prodigal Son sitting next to the door,

Preaching resistance, waiting for the night to arrive.

He was well connected, but her heart was a a snare

Cause she had left him to die in there,

But I knew he could get out while he still was alive.


Stars on my balcony, buzz in my head,

Slayin' Bob Dylan in my bed,

Street band playin' "Nearer My God To Thee"

She never did see me where the mission bells ring,

She said "I know what you're thinking, but there ain't a thing"

You can do about it, so you might as well agree to agree"


And that Caribbean wind blows hard from the Valley Coast into my backyard,

Drivin' all your love to the furnace of desire.

And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.


Atlantic City by the cruel sea,

I hear a voice cryin' "Daddy" I always think it's for me,

But it's only the silence in the buttermilk hall that call,

Bearin' new messages, bringing evil reports

Of rioting armies and time that is short,

And earthquakes and train wrecks and death-threats written on walls.


Would I have married her? I don't know I suppose,

She had bells in her braids and they hung to her toes.

The curtain was rising and, like they say, the ship will sail at dawn.

And I felt it come over me, some kind of glow,

My voice said "Come on with me girl, I got plenty of room"

But I know I'd be lyin', and besides she had already gone.


And that Caribbean wind still howls from Tokyo to the British Isles,

We never walked in to that furnace of desire.

And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alternate Special Rider version:


She was from Haiti, fair brown and intense.

She was a friend of both busboys and presidents.

I was playing a show in Miami, in the Theater of Divine Comedy.

I told her about Jesus, I told her about the rain,

She told me about division, she told me about the pain

That had arisen from the ashes and abided in her memory.


Was she a child or a woman? I really can't say,

There was something about her, she trusted me anyway,

As the judge and the jury were meeting with the man of the hour.

It looked like I was sleeping and they thought that I was,

But I was paying attention, like a rattlesnake does,

When he hears footsteps trampling on the flowers.


And that Caribbean wind still blows from Mexico to Ciracauo,

From Chinatown to the furnace of desire.

And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that's dear to me nearer to the fire.


Shadows move closer as we touched on the floor,

Prodigal Son sitting next to the door,

Preaching resistance, and waiting for the night to arrive.

He was well connected, but his heart was a a snare

As she left him to die in there,

But I knew he could get out while he was still alive.


Stars on my balcony buzzing my head,

Door knob turning, heat in my bed.

Street band playin' "Nearer My God To Thee"

We met in secret where the mission bells ring,

She said "I know what you're thinking, but there ain't a thing

You can do about it, so you might as well agree to agree"


And that Caribbean wind still blows from Mexico to Ciracauo,

From Chinatown to the furnace of desire.

And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that's dear to me nearer to the fire.


Atlantic City by the cruel sea,

I hear a voice calling "Daddy", I always think it's for me,

But it's only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call,

Every new messenger brings his evil report

About rioting armies and time that is short,

And train wrecks and earthquakes and hate words written on walls.


Would I have married her? I don't know I suppose,

She had bells in her braids and fire in her clothes.

The curtain was rising and, like they was saying, the ship would sail at dawn.

Then I felt it come over me, some kind of gloom,

I was going to say "Come home with me girl, I got plenty of room"

But I knew I'd be lyin', and besides she'd already gone.


And them Caribbean winds still howl from Borneo to the British Isles,

From Chinatown to the furnace of desire.

And those distant ships of liberty on iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that's dear to me nearer to the fire.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

31 March 1981 version:

She was well rehearsed, fair brown and blonde,

She had friends who were bus boys and friends in the Pentagon,

Playing a show in Miami, in the Theatre of Divine Comedy.

Talking to shadows where the stop in the rain,

I could tell she was still feeling the pain,

Pain of rejection, pain of infidelity.


Was she a child or a woman, I can‟t say which,

One to another she could easily switch,

Couples were dancing and I lost track of the hours.

He was well prepared, I knew he was,

Paying attention like a rattlesnake does,

When he‟s hearing footsteps trampling over his flowers.


And the Caribbean winds still blow, from Nassau to Mexico,

From the circle of ice to the furnace of desire.

And them distant ships of liberty, on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that‟s near to me, nearer to the fire.


She looked into my soul through the clothes that I wore,

She said „we got a mutual friend standing at the door,

And you know he‟s got our best interests in mind‟.

He was well connected, but her heart was a snare,

And she had left him to die in there,

He had two payments due, and he was a little behind.


Well I slept in a hotel, where flies buzz my head,

Ceiling fan was broken, there was heat in my bed,

Street band playing „Nearer My God to Thee‟.

We met in secret, where we drank from a spring,

She said „I know what you‟re thinking, but there ain‟t a thing,

We can do about it, so we might as well let it be‟.


And the Caribbean winds still blow, from Nassau to Mexico,

From the circle of ice to the furnace of desire.

And them distant ships of liberty, on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that‟s near to me, nearer to the fire.


Atlantic City, two years to the day,

I hear her voice crying „daddy‟, and I look that way,

But it‟s only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call.

Every new messenger bringing evil report,

„bout rioting armies and time that is short,

And earthquakes and train wrecks and heat words scribbled on wall.


Would I have married her? I don‟t know I suppose,

She had bells in her braids, and they hung to her toes,

But I heard my name and destiny say to be moving on.

Then I felt it come over me, some kind of gloom,

But I say, „Come home with me girl, I got plenty of room‟,

But I knew I‟d be lying and besides she had already gone.


And them mirror being winds still blow, from Nassau to Mexico,

Circle of ice to the furnace of desire.

And them building ships of liberty, on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that's near to me, nearer to the fire.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And the "official" Biograph version:

She was the rose of Sharon from paradise lost

From the city of seven hills near the place of the cross.

I was playing a show in Miami in the theater of divine comedy.

Told about Jesus, told about the rain,
She told me about the jungle where her brothers were slain

By a man who danced on the roof of the embassy.

Was she a child or a woman, I can't say which
From one to another she could to easily switch

We went into the wall to where the long arm of the law could not reach.

Could I been used and played as a pawn?

It certainly was possible as the gay night wore on
Where men bathed in perfume and celebrated free speech.

And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico

Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire

And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

She looked into my soul through the clothes that I wore

She said, "We got a mutual friend over by the door,
And you know he's got our best interest in mind."

He was well connected but her heart was a snare

And she had left him to die in there,
There were payments due and he was a little behind.

The cry of the peacock, flies buzz my head,
Ceiling fan broken, there's a heat in my bed,
Street band playing "Nearer My God to Thee."

We met at the steeple where the mission bells ring,
She said, "I know what you're thinking, but there ain't a thing
You can do about it, so let us just agree to agree."

And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico

Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire

And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

Atlantic City by the cold grey sea
I hear a voice crying, "Daddy, " I always think it's for me,

But it's only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call.

Every new messenger brings evil report
'Bout armies on the march and time that is short

And famines and earthquakes and hatred written upon walls.

Would I have married her? I don't know, I suppose.

She had bells in her braids and they hung to her toes

But I kept hearing my name and I had to be movin' on.

I saw screws break loose, saw the devil pound tin,
I saw a house in the country being torn from within.

I heard my ancestors calling from the land far beyond.

And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico

Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire

And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,

Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

 

Some quotes from Dylan and Paul Williams about "Carribean Wind":

“I started it in St. Vincent when I woke up from a strange dream in the hot sun….I was thinking about living with somebody for all the wrong reasons” -Bob Dylan

“We left it off the album (as it was) quite different to anything I wrote….The way the storyline changes from 3rd person to 1st person and that person becomes you, then these people are there and they’re not there. And then the time goes way back and then it’s brought up to the present. I thought it was really effective”. He also said; “That one (Caribbean Wind) I couldn’t quite grasp what it was about after I finished it. Sometimes you’ll write something to be very inspired, and you won’t quite finish it for one reason or another. Then you’ll go back and try and pick it up, and the inspiration is just gone….Then it’s a struggle. Frustration sets in. I think there’s four different sets of lyrics to this, maybe I got it right, I don’t know, I had to leave it" -Bob Dylan


Paul Williams:

“I had some fascinating conversations with Dylan backstage during the Warfield shows.

At one point he read the lyrics of a new song to me, which turned out to be Every Grain of Sand. Another time he talked about how he’d gotten in touch consciously with some of the songwriting techniques he’d used unconsciously (and so successfully) in the mid-sixties.

He spoke of one song he was particularly proud of, that he’d written “a while back,” that successfully functioned on the level of complexity of his mid-sixties material, taking the listener outside of time (I don’t know that he actually used these phrases; I’m just recalling my impression of what he told me).

He said the song was called Caribbean Wind, and that he’d try to play it if I’d phone his assistant some afternoon before a show and remind him of my request’.

‘Dylan allowed me to spend several hours with him backstage after four of the 11/80 shows. He even read me the lyrics of a new song, Every Grain of Sand, told me about another he was proud of, Caribbean Wind, and performed it at one of the shows at my request’

 

My problems with "Union Sundown" and "Neighborhood Bully" are more aesthetic than ideological. I agree, more or less, with the core sentiment of "Union" and disagree with that of "Neighborhood." I think they're bad songs because they are both in their different ways simple-minded and inattentive to complex realities. This is something often true of political art, but the lack of subtlety is often compensated for by a laser-like emotional focus (think "Masters of War"). "Neighborhood Bully," at least has some bits of good poetry and some emotional force (and it does rock), but it's hampered by some thoughtless simplifications. It fine for a political song to have a tendentious governing metaphor, but the elaboration of that metaphor ought to do more than just pound itself out over and over again. I explain more fully what I think about the song in this older thread about the album:

Dylan's Infidels appreciation thread

I agree with @SteveM about "Union." As much as I, like the singer of the song, lament the decline in what large-scale unionized manufacturing made possible in the U.S. in the middle of the 20th Century, this is just a dumb song about that decline. I'm not even all that into the music of it either. The slide riff is too repetitive and the simple structure isn't used dramatically enough to compensate for the simple-mindedness of most of the lyric. I do like the delay on Dylan's voice, so that's something, I guess.

"License to Kill" has some silly lines, but I like the overall mood and central image of the song. I love "Man of Peace."

"Blind Willie McTell" is the key omission on the record and really ought to have replaced either "Union" or "Neighborhood." Even a lighter song like "Tell Me," would have been preferable.

I have to say that I'm not really a fan of "Foot of Pride." I've never been able to see what it might add up to, so it's not something I play around with much.....

L.

 

I actually love this performance. The songs I like least from this period make Dylan sound like an angry crackpot, so it's a bit of a surprise that the angriest cut from the sessions is actually a standout for me. My appreciation definitely grew after seeing Lou Reed cover it at the tribute concert - it was a fitting choice because it kind of taps into the same vibe as Lou's best '80s work.

 

Clinton Heylin is a dope. He thinks taking a contrary position on everything makes him look smart. It doesn't.

His book on Springsteen is 300+ pages of misquotes, misspellings and more overall errors than a NY Mets game.

 

I gotta say, I'm not sure what the hell is going on in "Foot of Pride" either at a literal level, but I love it! Cranky, tearing down the temple kind of doom and gloom Old Testament ranting Dylan just kind hits all my sweet spots, even if I can't quite puzzle everything out. I also really love "License to Kill." It might be Dylan in some ways at his most bluntly fundamentalist ("all he believes is his eyes/And his eyes they just tell him lies"), but I can't argue with this, and I can really see it in my mind's eye too, "Now he worships at an altar of a stagnant pool/And when he sees his reflection, he's fulfilled/Oh, man is opposed to fair play/He wants it all and he wants it his way/Now, there's a woman on my block/She just sit there as the night grows still/She say who gonna take away his license to kill?"

 

Whats going on (amongst some of the best characterizations in song of Dylans) is his amazing delivery in Foot Of Pride.

The overall idea of the ego? I can relate to.

 

Amazing how Bob Dylan's fallow periods are better than most artist's golden periods.

 

Well, I like Empire Burlesque..so what do I know

 

I think it was Heylin who said (iirc), if we ONLY had his 80s output, usually regarded as his most fallow period, given still the number of remarkable compositions from this time—released and unreleased—that Dylan would still have to be in any conversation of the greatest songwriters in rock history. And considering again any number of the songs mentioned here and beyond from this period (up to Oh Mercy I guess), it seems a reasonable characterization.

 

I think it was Neil McCormack in The Telegraph who said that. The problem with appreciating 80s Dylan is the fact that his best songs are scattered very thinly over the decade and he didn't produce a run of very strong albums. Indeed many great songs still haven't been released even within the Bootleg Series. I can't believe he wrote To Fall In Love With You during the Hearts Of Fire debacle and thus it's unfinished and unreleased.

 

I always get interested in songs that dont appeal to me that many others think are classics.

Carribean Wind reminds me of "Tangled Up In Blue" in some ways.

The woman keeps reappearing as he goes through his life. In this case it must be a woman who influenced him spiritually and then how it applied and imploded in some ways. Only to come out with a new perspective. Sounds very time out of mind in structure.

I might play psuedo dylan and hack around combining verses. Itll most likley suck eggs, but what the hey lol

 

Thanks for clarifying or correcting me on the quote. Much appreciated.

 

I'm totally with you on "License," but "Foot of Pride" is one of the very few Dylan songs of this kind that just leave me cold, puzzled (and not in a good way), and impatient. For me the ranting just doesn't have the focus, the centrally organizing target and stance of Dylan's great songs on the subject ("Like a Rolling Stone" being the prime example). He's recorded and released lots of songs that remain mysterious and/or feel unfinished in the sense that Dylan seems to have lost the thread of what he was trying to weave together, but most of them retain some kind of center of gravity that holds the feeling of the whole together enough to be deeply satisfying for me--they open out into a wide field of implication without feeling random. "Foot of Pride" has a thematic center, articulated in the refrain, but it feels like a dead center to me, like it ought to hold the rest of the song in its orbit, but it won't hold--or it holds it all, but the separate elements remain stubbornly separate as they spin around in their fixed gyres. It's not mere anarchy, but it's not an animated order either, an order that allows the imagery to build up the kind of open-ended implications of a song like "Jokerman" (which is obscure, but centered). The vocal is certainly filled with a passionate intensity, but it just leaves me wondering what the hell the guy is going on about, what the hell it's all slouching toward.

L.