S P L I N T E R E D | L I G H T

Last night I had what I truly consider the privilege of going to see Jakob Dylan. Better known as Bob Dylan’s progeny and the lead singer/songwriter for the band The Wallflowers, he has been largely forgotten since their single “One Headlight” faded out on MTV and radio stations. The amazing thing is he hasn’t changed what he is doing at all. The Wallflowers have released 3 studio albums since “One Headlight,” and next week Jakob Dylan’s first solo record drops. He seems committed to the medium of the song and nothing else. I hope I can communicate my appreciation for his music and why I think he is about as good as musicians can come. 

The lights dropped and some bluesy roots music came on loudly as the sound-techs walked off the stage. The crowd craned their necks to look down the hallway – nothing. I was sure they were going to scream when he appeared. I felt a little sorry for him. The son of a god, cursed with good looks and a moment of fame. About 2 minutes passed – then he was there strapping on his guitar. He had somehow managed to sneak on stage in plain view amid scattered applause. He didn’t even face the audience till he was singing the first song. After 2 more he was obviously at ease. I have never seen anyone live who seemed so uninterested in performing and so focused on the songs. 

He played a very simple, careful set. There was a three-piece backing band, The Golden Mountain Rebels, electric, bass, and drums. He finger-picked an acoustic, and the drummer used brushes. Between every song he would take his time changing the capo and retuning the guitar then cast a glance at the rhythm section as they eased into the next one. Once the song was going the audience seemed to disappear in front of him. I didn’t once see him make eye contact, they were often closed, and he was clearly feeling out the rhythm of each song. 

Yet in between songs he was very kind. He joked with a young girl in the front row, saying it must be an all ages show, and that she probably wanted to hear the old stuff from when she was growing up. He posed for camera-phone photos, at first telling them in a gruff voice that no photos were allowed, then laughing and exclaiming, “what if I were that guy?” He had the sound-board adjust the lights till the audience cheered in approval. While playing a couple of songs without the backing band, voices chattered along with the quiet finger-picking and mellow vocals - he joked that it had been a while since he had to compete with the bar. Even the guy that yelled “Freebird,” was treated kindly, although not without some good jokes about the absurdity of that practice. 

Although the set was quite humble, the focus, humility, and sincerity with which this man brought forth his offering of songs was awe-inspiring. Before one song, almost as an aside, he exclaimed, “We’re singing very important songs here.” Without a hint of cockiness, this remark gives us a glimpse of how he views his vocation. Writing and singing songs is important, necessary work for people to take seriously! It is not simply entertainment or a way to make a lot of money or get famous. If done right, it teaches us about Truth. Someone needs to sing these songs.

At one point he told a crowd-member, “I am gonna try real hard on this next one . . . I am gonna get my pitch just right, because anyone can fake emotion but you can’t fake pitch.” The whole night and Jakob’s song-writing in general is driven by a refusal to fake emotion – a refusal to go for any easy tears. Emotion is not therefore absent, but it is deeper and one doesn’t have to doubt that it is true. 

Jakob Dylan is a strong songwriter. He never wines. There is an absolute refusal to let self-pity creep in. He may write about tragedies, or sorrow, but always with a pragmatic bent. In “If You Never Got Sick” he sings, “Baby if you never got sick, I wouldn’t get to hold you.” The sweetness with which he reiterates this is palpable, saying, ‘lets look at this for what it is, we can rejoice in our suffering.’ And in the chorus of “Too Late to Quit” he moans, “It’s too late to quit to soon to go home, but I’m tired!” As the guitars slog and chug along we hear the words of the verse reminding us we must fight the good fight, “I’m never gonna give you any more than you can bear . . . You’ve got to keep movin’, You’ve got to keep pushin’, A Song ain’t a song till someone starts singin’!” 

Combined with this down-to-earth approach to hardship is a constant and persistent hope. You cannot have one without the other. Without the hardship there is nothing to hope for, and without the hope there is no way to grin and bear it. In “Everybody Out of The Water” Dylan describes a metaphorical and psychological shipwreck. “Now I’m treading high water to get back to you,” he writes, “There’s too many bodies and not enough room . . . We’re already in it, you’ve got to be brave.” Then in the last verse, hope, “As I slip down in, I think of us someplace high on a mountain, smoke clears, fog lifts, little by little we rebuild again.” Hope saturates nearly every song, in “When You’re On Top” he even paints a picture of Eden restored: “I need a garden where nothing’s forbidden. I need and apple that no one’s been eatin’. I want to start again back at the beginnin’. I had a vision that this feeling maybe has an ending.”

Despite the basic rock set up – guitar, bass, drums, keyboard – Dylan achieves remarkable fittingness. That is the lyrical content is always perfectly reflected in the music and melodies of each song. As in “Too Late to Quit,” where weariness and dogged determination are coupled with heavy, pounding guitars, or “If You Never Got Sick” where tenderness and encouragement are mirrored by a warm, lilting melody. In “Everything I Need,” Dylan writes, “I’ve got everything I need, I’ve got everything I need . . . You can’t save me, you can’t fail me . . . on my way down is when I found out that I got everything I need.” He veritably shouts it, combining a strong message with strong delivery. As if to say, ‘this is cut and dry, believe it, how many more times do I have to tell you?’ In “Health and Happiness,” a scathing song about trying to forgive unrepentant people, he broodingly intones, “I wish you health, I wish you happiness, but absolutely nothing else.” The material fits the delivery. 

In Dylan’s writing verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus structures belie incredibly well-crafted and thoughtful art. He will breakdown all your preconceptions. He did mine. For many of us there is a hump we must get over to appreciate his music. He no longer has any target audience. His music does not fit neatly into any stylish subculture. Last night’s show had an eclectic crowd. There were people of all ages with few unifying features. For Jakob, sharing the songs with these people was the focus of the evening. The songs were almost holy. Like they existed apart from us and were being rarely exhibited. To appreciate them we must simply be willing to say along with him, “Alright, I’ll be a part of this world.”