viernes, 13 de marzo de 2015

Caravan (10) Mid-June 1967

    From the basement comes a light somewhere between marine blue and ochre. I stop and take it in for a moment from the top of the stairs. They´ve finished with Belshazzar and are deciding on the next song. Robbie mentions a couple of Sun Record titles and Rick jokes about one of them, whilst Dylan´s acoustic guitar pushes its way out through the laughter: a simple progression of chords and a jubilant humming into which the rest of voices and instruments are gradually assembling.

      What I´m listening to as I tiptoe down the stairs, one step at a time, is kind of a outlaw´s melody, rocking in a perfect rhythm, held in a semicircle by a band of fellows who play to the beat of a common pulse. Wrapped up in the hypnotic quality of the melody, they don’t seem to notice that I´ve sat in a corner and am listening from the floor, with bated breath and eyes open wide (as if underwater, I remark to myself in surprise). And then, as the song is slowly brought to a close, Dylan turns around and fixes me in his stare.

      - So you are Nar.
     - Yes, hello everyone –I say standing up-. Thanks for inviting me down here...
      - Well, seems like you didn´t need an invitation to make yourself at home outside … And that shiny caravan of yours, well, it´s practically part of the landscape now, isn´t it?
      - I hope not to bother anyone ...
     - Do you mean outside or down here? We´ll see. For now, stay on the floor or grab a chair, as you like. Garth, ready to record the next one? – he asks Hudson as he turns his back on me again.
      - All ready -answers Garth-. But what´s up with Richard? Shall I go up and get him?
      - Let him sleep, don´t need piano or drums for now. Let´s go with some of the songs you mentioned before, guys ... How about beginning with I forgot? Let´s make it more Cash than Elvis, ok?

      Garth connects the tape recorder and Robbie starts up with a brief electric intro, followed by the bass, the organ and the acoustic guitar ahead of that longest of long first syllables which Dylan drags out as if resigning himself to the persistence of memory:

I forgot to remember to forget her
I can't seem to get her off my mind
I thought I'd never miss her
But I found out somehow
I think about her almost all the time
The day she went away
I made myself a promise
That I'd soon forget we ever met

      And here I am to listen to it, leaning back against the wall, smiling … And promising myself quite the opposite. 


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