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Leamington Letters #106: "'I'm a fan, Ron says, not a fanatic'."

28/12/2015

18 Comments

 
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For fifteen or sixteen years, during the ‘80s and most of the ‘90s, The Telegraph would arrive through my letterbox (almost) every quarter and prompt a renewed interest in all things Bob at a time when Bob was not necessarily taking on this responsibility with any great enthusiasm. I would circulate each issue to a few friends and we would devote several bottles to discussions of the scholarly dissections of recording sessions, influences, sleeve notes and so on.
 
I have the complete set in the blue Wanted Man binders at eye level on the shelves behind me as I type, next to Christopher Ricks and Paul Williams and Michael Gray and Clinton Heylin and Andrew Muir and Anthony Scaduto and Howard Sounes and Robert Shelton and Greil Marcus and, of course, Bob himself. They deserve their pride of place.
 
It was in the pages of The Telegraph that I first encountered the writing of Roy Kelly. And I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to read about this guy’s relationship to Bob – I could get that kind of thing at home. I wanted the scholarship, the academic paraphernalia, of serious Bob studies.

Things came to a head with the publication of a long piece entitled Now and Again: The Ballad of a Then Man. I hated the title. I hated the fact that, although it was written in the third person, it was all about him. I hated his atavar, Ron Bobfan. I ranted for days about it. It was self-centred, self-absorbed and self-indulgent.
 
And then, someone pointed out that it could be me.
 
To this day, I do not think that The Telegraph was the appropriate vehicle for autobiography. (But Roy did. And more importantly, John Bauldie did.) I am, however, more than happy to accept that there is a place for this form of Dylan-related memoir. Which is why I welcome Roy’s more honest, first person autobiography, published shortly before Christmas in time to give me the time to read it.
 
Bob Dylan Dream: My Life with Bob is fascinating. It appears that we were of the same age (born in 1949) but our upbringings could not be more different: he a son of Walsall, I the eldest child of a service family and sentenced from an early age to a boarding school life.
 
I would swap my first eighteen years for his in an instant.
 
But what we did have in common was music and literature (though in his case not sport, a bizarre omission for the age and the time). I, bumming around London in school holidays, found the folk club Les Cousins and heard the likes of Davy Graham and heard of this American guy Bob Dylan. I bought that first album and, back at school, fought for time on the Junior Common Room record player to play it. From that moment, my friends were those schoolmates who ‘got it’. About half a dozen of us. And, later at university, all my friends related in one way or another to Bob. Some were old Stalinists, who loathed the new electric Bob; others were those who not only loved the post-1965 Bob but also embraced the Dead and the Airplane and Quicksilver Messenger Service, the Velvets and the Soft Machine.
 
As he relates (confesses?), Roy didn’t get the Dead, even though he had a friend and mentor who did. This is, for a man who subsequently earned much of his living as a music journalist, a grave omission; which is only redeemed by his admiration for A Dance to the Music of Time, Anthony Powell’s never ending tour through five decades of the last century.
 
Powell deals with a generation before and a class or two above both of us. But in the sequence we saw lives with which we wished to identify and perhaps even emulate. Roy has gone further in the latter respect, writing poetry which never excites me but always leaves me nodding in agreement and approval, a latter-day X Trapnel. But he has also lived, by his account, a happy and rewarding life and pursued a career which has made him a living from his passion.
 
His book is a record of this life and this career. But his title is misleading. For vast tranches of the book, Bob does not appear and nor does Ron Bobfan, a conceit with which I still do not empathize and which – stubbornly – I do not recognize and shall not acknowledge. For me, these Bob-less chapters are the most interesting because they relate to a life which is wider, broader, more diverse; a life which is not mine. They relate to an open society.
 
The Bob world is a closed world. I was merely a reader of The Telegraph, but I was occasionally present in a hotel bar close to the Hammersmith Odeon in the ‘90s where and when The Telegraph gang met before gigs. Before or after the Birmingham and Manchester shows, my gang and I would drive down the M40 for the Hammersmith gig and take a glass before the show. We knew by sight many of The Telegraph lot. We would eavesdrop on their conversation and envy them their front row tickets, their access to Bob and his world. We wanted to be part of it too.
 
That’s the thing with the Dance and with The Telegraph. Both describe a closed world, an almost suffocating world. Roy was right at the centre of this, but in this book he eschews all that stuff and opens our eyes to a different world in which Bob is a vehicle and a means for advancement; indeed, almost a metaphor for such. I enjoyed it for its parallels with my own journey, especially the moment when the children (and in my case, the grandchildren also) suddenly get Bob, when we know that as parents, we have handed on something important.
 
But principally I love its small details, its honesty and straightforwardness. Unlike most autobiographies, I believe it.

It’s not the virtual truth of Ron Bobfan. It is true. And it is beautifully written.
 
I commend it to you.

Today from the everysmith vaults: Taking a brief break from Chris Forsyth in favour of Bob. Not the Christmas album (about which Roy is wrong) but World Gone Wrong (about which he is 100% right).
18 Comments
MarkL
28/12/2015 16:23:51

You've written recently about the loneliness of the baseball fan in Europe. Being a fan of Dylan during the 80s was also a lonely business. The Telegraph helped us to realise we're not alone, and it was articles by the likes of Roy Kelly that I enjoyed most. Because they made me feel part of it. Your home at the time was like Dylan amongst the professors. You didn't even need Bob!

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Quadrant link
2/1/2016 20:13:32

The 80s - it was hard but we slowly came to terms with the fact that Bob had never been a "hippie" - Is that why the yuppies liked Bob so much? As life became more comfortable, who could relate to the old Greenwich Village - thumbing lifts - sharing a basement? Bob had already dropped all that by the mid 60s. The monstrous Cocaine gangs even took the fun and spirit out of a bit of dope now and then. Bob started to emerge as the famous "Song And Dance"man - even the clothes started to get sparkly - dare I say it Bob was showbiz. Because it is mostly guesswork when it comes to Bob, I prefer his vague (not surreal) songs - "Farewell Angelina" - Love Minus Zero" which conjure up "feelings" that no book has yet "explained". What Bob means in the computer age I don't know but somehow it all seems o.k. once you just listen.

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Allan
28/12/2015 16:40:23

I hope readers (of this) and potential readers (of Roy) read through all your review and then, as I will, buy the book. Like the stuff about Powell and closed societies. Is that you or Roy? Good and thorough review.

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DavidE
28/12/2015 17:14:23

Haven't you just done what you criticise Roy Kelly for doing? lol

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Chris
28/12/2015 22:14:31

I suppose you know that Mr Kelly has his own entry in Michael Gray's encyclopaedia. I've just looked him up. Didn't subscribe to the Telegraph, always thought it too serious, too earnest. So hadn't heard of him before but may well download the book on your recommendation. Cheers.

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Phil
29/12/2015 07:18:54

The other closed society during much of this period is the left, small groups of intense activists gathered round a publication. Recognise the parallel, Max?

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Ellie
29/12/2015 08:39:37

Max, I think what Kelly is writing about is the nature of obsession, something which even a casual reader of your blog will know is familiar to you. I have no idea whether The Telegraph was an appropriate vehicle for this - that seems to be your issue - but it is certainly a legitimate subject for a writer. Put all your Bob posts together and you will end up with something pretty similar!

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Andrew
29/12/2015 09:09:31

From Girl from the North Country to Boy from the Black Country ...

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SimonL
29/12/2015 11:02:35

This Dead versus Dylan stuff is bizarre. It was always the Bob people who seemed to have no time for the Dead, whereas I've never met a Deadhead who didn't like Bob. Perhaps it's 'thou shalt have no other gods before me'. Both cults in their own way but Bob pays little heed whereas the Dead embraced their fans. As someone who is passionate about both, what do you think?

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Sam
29/12/2015 11:28:10

Bob was a Deadhead! And we owe the never ending tour to the Dead's example.

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Max
31/12/2015 10:14:03

Thanks for the comments everyone. Want to make clear that the Ron Bobfan rant was not aimed at the creator/writer but at myself. It was intended to be self-deprecating and not at all 'hostile' or 'vilifying'. My apologies to all for not making clear that the joke was on me.

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Pat
31/12/2015 14:14:28

Of course it was. It was you. What's this about hostility and vilification? Thanks for a statement of the bleeding obvious!

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Allan
31/12/2015 15:34:38

And so it goes on. Surprised that you need to justify yourself Max, your point was made obviously in a single sentence paragraph. I can't find references to hostility or vilification in the comments either. You're not being trolled are you? You know what these Bob fans are like!

Jerry Tenenbaum
31/12/2015 14:06:37

The individual collecting with others to share ideas is an interesting phenomenon. I tried it once to see what it was like. Strange. For whatever reason, I felt like an outsider and did not go back. Maybe it would have been different if I gave it more time. But there seemed to almost be a pecking order of standing and expertise, as there is in any society. I didn't like how it felt and for whatever reason (?my insecurity, feeling somehow demeaned by the experience), I felt somewhat besmirched and excluded. I decided that I would continue to enjoy all that was Dylan on my own, sharing ideas with a looser body of anonymous people by writing when I thought I might have something to say. As for Roy Kelly, I have always enjoyed reading him and his experiences. Being outside, it is always nice to be able at times to look inside. Sounds convoluted, but maybe someone reading this will get what I mean. For those who are inside in groups, I look forward to what you have to say. Keep on keepin' on.

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CJ
31/12/2015 20:32:49

Wow. Seems like I've come late to this party!

1. It's the dreadful pun in the title of the article that gives it away. Must be you.
2. Dead and Dylan. They loved each other.
3. Get back to the bloody music. World gone wrong as good a place to start as any.
4. Happy 2016!

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Mark
2/1/2016 00:45:44

my gang and I would drive down the M40 for the Hammersmith gig and take a glass before the show. We knew by sight many of The Telegraph lot. We would eavesdrop on their conversation and envy them their front row tickets, their access to Bob and his world. We wanted to be part of it too.

You only had to speak up. I remember being told that I was in an inner circle, and I suppose I was, but it was never exclusive and still isn't

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Clare
4/1/2016 12:47:28

Enjoyed reading the post and the comments too. Now for the book itself.

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Wanderlust Trevor link
21/11/2020 13:01:56

I liked your blog thanks for sharing this

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     Max Smith

    European writer, radical, restaurateur and Red Sox fan. 70-something husband, father, step-father. and grandfather. Resident in Warwick, England.

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