"Murder Most Foul," Bob Dylan, American History, and a Playlist for Dark Days
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*a shorter version of this essay was published by No Depression on March 27, 2020

At midnight on March 27, 2020, Bob Dylan released a new song, “Murder Most Foul.”  It is sixteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds long, replacing “Highlands” (1997) as his longest studio recording.  Centering on the November 1963 assassination of President John F. Kennedy, it is a master’s lesson in American history and in music history, rhyming couplets, and very much more.

Musically it is as simple in its rises and falls and refrains as are some of Dylan’s other long compositions — “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands,” “Desolation Row,” “Highlands.”  Complications in the tune would only distract from the power of the words, showcased in Dylan’s clear enunciations and slow singing.  He wants you to understand what he is saying.  The rippling Coplandesque start — and I assume the musicians here — of Dylan’s own keyboards and Tony Garnier’s thrumming bowed bass are slowly joined by Donnie Herron’s gentle fiddlethread weaving it all together, and the softest brush of drums. Is it George Recile? Matt Chamberlain? When was the song recorded? Some think it’s a Tempest (2012) outtake, recorded along with Dylan’s most recently known new songs.  I do not. Neither Dylan’s voice nor the instrumentals match with the sound of the Tempest tracks. On his website, where word of “Murder Most Foul” first broke, Dylan’s statement says simply “This is an unreleased song we recorded a while back that you might find interesting.”  For him, “a while back” could mean anything from something that came to pass in the days of Caesar Augustus to not much farther back than yesterday.  What matters is that we have the song now, to listen to in these dark days.

Why has Dylan released this song now? Does it herald a new album, rumors of which have been bruited about since last winter? Or is it an extended play in every sense of the phrase, its length an attempt at once to mirror the cultural sweep of America’s turbulent history since November 1963, and to give us a lot to reflect on during distracting, deadly days.

 All ballads begin “once upon a time.”  This is a ballad, about the darkest day for the United States of America during Dylan’s lifetime and in the past sixty years: the day on which President Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, with his wife Jackie sitting next to him in the car.  You listen to it as the unchanging sepia image of the young President watches you, his eyes calm, a half smile on his handsome face, his customary pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit and usual pocket square above the song’s title, written in a Medieval font.  Dylan couples the day of Kennedy’s assassination to the 1941 Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in the first lines of “Murder Most Foul,” quoting another President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, to compress and intensify the horror:  “‘Twas a dark day in Dallas, November '63 / A day that will live on in infamy.

 The stanzas roll down like waters, and the sweep and swirl they contain of opinion and culture, observation and judgement, condemnation and comfort soon overwhelms.  The stealth simplicity of short words and rhyming couplets is a large part of what is overwhelming.  Dylan has always been one of the very best singer-songwriters at turning a couplet; he is in the company of Lord Byron and John Milton, William Shakespeare and his fellow Nobel Laureate W.B. Yeats in this.  Think of the way Shakespeare delivers almost a body blow with those seemingly simple rhymed couplets, that say such vital things in the course of a play.  Look at Hamlet, from which Dylan takes the title of this song.  The quotation is from Hamlet’s father’s ghost, the murdered King Hamlet, as he tells his son of his killing at the hands of his own brother, Hamlet’s uncle, Claudius: “Murder most foul, as in the best it is; / But this most foul, strange and unnatural.”  After a wild and tormented scene following Hamlet’s receiving this knowledge, he says to his terrified friends: “The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, / That ever I was born to set it right.”  This couplet is the theme of the rest of the play.  The rhyme makes it fix in your head; the words are short and simple and straightforwardly said, making them all the more intense.

 “Murder Most Foul” slides on through the 1960s from the violent first stanza, with its colloquial phrases (“shot down like a dog,” “in broad daylight,” “blew off his head”) chilling as they pile up and accumulate. The lullaby comfort in the second stanza of “hush, little children” comes thanks to music:  The Beatles, arriving in America in February 1964, and singing five songs including “I Want To Hold Your Hand” on the Ed Sullivan Show“Ferry Cross the Mersey,” Gerry and the Pacemakers’ 1965 hit, the 1969 “Aquarian Exposition” called Woodstock, and the disastrous “Woodstock West” of the December 1969 Altamont Speedway Free Festival, at which chaos reigned and Meredith Hunter died, all appear here.  JFK’s murder never goes away:  it haunts and shades all in the progress of this song, as it has done in America since it happened.  Texas First Lady Nellie Connally’s words to Kennedy right before he, and her husband, were shot, “Mr. President, you can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you,” are in Dylan’s song, inverted to rhyme with “pour the cement.” Jack Ruby, William Zapruder’s film, Lee Harvey Oswald: all appear where they may be unexpected, but they should be expected.  No part of the terrible story is ever gone.

 There are literary references aplenty, like the reminder of Tom Robinson’s being shot while —allegedly — running away from prison in To Kill A Mockingbird coupled with Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man.  The King James Bible, other Shakespeare plays, and classical allusions are here.  Movies appear too, most notably Gone With the Wind (1939), with Rhett’s famous last line to Scarlett altered to call her “Miss Scarlett” as her slaves and suitors alike called her in antebellum days; What’s New, Pussycat? (1965), Woody Allen’s first-produced antic screenplay set in Paris and with the theme song Tom Jones made famous; and Tommy (1975; based on The Who’s 1969 opera by Pete Townshend). I love the reference to Terry Malloy, Marlon Brando’s battered longshoreman hero of On The Waterfront (1954), based upon Budd Schulberg’s novel which was, itself, based upon Malcolm Johnson’s Pulitzer-Prizewinning stories “Crime on the Waterfront,” written in 1948 for the New York Sun. for Play Billy Joe Royal’s “Down In The Boondocks” for Terry, Dylan suggests.

 Parse the references for yourselves if you like to; I love better the flood of music, the litany, that shapes the end of “Murder Most Foul.”  Dylan catalogues a long list of artists and songs.  The repetition of “play” in his litany reminds us of everything the word means.  “If you want ta remember, you better write down the names,” Dylan sings.  He wants us to remember, and listen, and remember.  The recommendations are like those he made, and played, in his XM Radio show Theme Time Radio Hour (2006-2009). From Patsy Cline to Oscar Peterson, Stan Getz to Jelly Roll Morton, the playlist of “Murder Most Foul” is one to ease hard times.  It ends with songs and reminders of the end of the American Civil War and, perhaps, of Casablanca (1942) and of England’s “Glorious Revolution” of 1688, a burst of jazz — and, then, with itself.

”Murder Most Foul”

by Bob Dylan

 *these lyrics below are my transcription, as the official lyrics have not yet been released by Special Rider Music, Bob Dylan’s music company.  Even the putative lyrics are, however, © Bob Dylan and Special Rider Music.

 ‘Twas a dark day in Dallas, November '63
A day that will live on in infamy
President Kennedy was aright, alive [a-ridin' high]
Good day to be livin' and a good day to die
Bein’ led to the slaughter like a sacrificial lamb
He said, “Wait a minute, boys, you know who I am?"
"Of course we do, we know who you are,"
Then they blew off his head while he was still in the car
Shot down like a dog in broad daylight
Was a matter of timing and the timing was right
You got unpaid debts, we've come to collect
We gonna kill you with hatred, without any respect
We'll mock you and shock you, and we'll grinnin’ [put it] in your face
We've already got someone here to take your place.
The day they blew out the brains of the king
Thousands were watching, no one saw a thing
It happened so quick there, so quick, by surprise
Right there in front of everyone's eyes

Greatest magic trick ever under the sun
Perfectly executed, skillfully done

Wolfman, o wolfman, o wolfman howl,
Rub-a-dub-dub, it's a murder most foul.

 Hush, little children, you'll understand

The Beatles are comin,’ they’re gonna hold your hand
Slide down the banister, go get your coat
Ferry ‘cross the Mersey and go for the throat
There’s three bums comin’ and they’re dressed in rags
Pick up the pieces and lower the flags
I'm goin' to Woodstock, it's the Aquarian age

Then I’ll go ta Altamont and sit near the stage
Put your head out the window, let the good times roll
There's a party going on behind the Grassy Knoll
Stack up the bricks, pour the cement
Don’t say Dallas don’t love you, Mr. President
Put your foot in the tank and then step on the gas
Try to make it to the triple underpass
Blackface singer, whiteface clown
Better not show your faces after the sun goes down
Up in the red light district, they got cop on the beat


Living in a nightmare on Elm Street
When you're down on Deep Elem, put your money in your shoe
Don't ask what your country can do for you
Cash on the barrelhead, money to burn
Dealey Plaza, make a left-hand turn
I'm going down to the crossroads, gonna flag a ride
The place where faith, hope, and charity died
Shoot him while he runs, boy, shoot him while you can
See if you can shoot the invisible man
Goodbye, Charlie, Goodbye Uncle Sam

Frankly, Miss Scarlett, I don’t give a damn

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What is the truth, and where did it go

Ask Oswald and Ruby, they oughta know
"Shut your mouth," said a wise old owl
Business is business, and it's a murder most foul

Tommy can ya hear me, I’m the acid queen
I'm riding in a long, black Lincoln limousine
Ridin' in the backseat next to my wife
Headin’ straight on in to the afterlife
I'm leaning to the left, I got my head in her lap
Hold on, I've been led into some kind of a trap
Where we’ll ask no quarter, and no quarter do we give
We're right down the street from the street where you live
They mutilated his body and they took out his brain
What more could they do, they piled on the pain
But his soul was not there where it was supposed to be at
For the last fifty years they've been searchin' for that
Freedom oh freedom freedom over me
I hate to tell you mister but only dead men are free
Send me some lovin' tell me no lie
Throw the gun in the gutter and walk on by

Wake up little Susie, let’s go for a drive

Cross the Trinity River let’s keep hope alive
Turn the radio on, don't touch the dials

Parkland Hospital only six more miles

Ya got me dizzy Miss Lizzy ya filled me with lead
That magic bullet of yours has gone ta my head

I’m just a patsy like Patsy Cline
Never shot anyone from in front or behind
I've blood in my eye, got blood in my ear
I'm never gonna make it to the new frontier

Zapruder’s film I seen right [night] before

Seen it thirty-three times maybe more
It's vile and deceitful it's cruel and it's mean
Ugliest thing that you ever have seen
They killed him once and they killed him twice
Killed him like a human sacrifice
The day that they killed him someone said to me "Son,
The age of the Antichrist has just only begun."
Air Force One comin' in through the gate
Johnson sworn in at two thirty-eight
Lemme know when you decide to throw in the towel
It is what it is, and it's murder most foul

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What’s new, pussycat, what’d I say,
I said the soul of a nation been torn away
And it's beginning to go into a slow decay
And that it's thirty-six hours past Judgment Day

Wolfman Jack he's speaking in tongues
He's going on and on at the top of his lungs
Play me a song, Mister Wolfman Jack
Play it for me in my long Cadillac
Play me that “Only the Good Die Young”
Take me to the place Tom Dooley was hung
Play "St. James Infirmary" and the court of King James
If you want ta remember, you better write down the names
Play Etta James too, play "I'd Rather Go Blind"
Play it for the man with the telepathic mind
Play John Lee Hooker, play "Scratch My Back"
Play it for that strip club owner named Jack
Guitar Slim, “Goin’ Down Slow”
Play it for me and for Marilyn Monroe.

Play "Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"
Play it for the First Lady, she ain't feelin’ any good
Play Don Henley, play Glenn Frey

Take it to the limit and let it go by

Play it for Carl Wilson, too

Looking far, far away down Gower Avenue
Play tragedy, play "Twilight Time"
Take me back to Tulsa to the scene of the crime
Play another one and “Another One Bites the Dust”
Play "The Old Rugged Cross" and "In God We Trust"

Alan Lomax, letter excerpt, 1938

Alan Lomax, letter excerpt, 1938

Ride the pink horse down that long lonesome road
Stand there and wait for his head to explode
Play "Mystery Train" for Mr. Mystery
The man who fell down dead like a rootless tree
Play it for the reverend, play it for the pastor
Play it for the dog that got no master
Play Oscar Peterson, play Stan Getz
Play "Blue Sky," play Dickey Betts
Play Art Pepper, Thelonious Monk
Charlie Parker and all that junk
All that junk and all that jazz
Play something for the Birdman of Alcatraz
Play Buster Keaton, play Harold Lloyd
Play Bugsy Siegel, play '“Pretty Boy Floyd
Play the numbers, play the odds
Play "Cry Me A River" for the lord of the gods
Play number nine, play number six
Play it for Lindsey and Stevie Nicks
Play Nat King Cole, play "Nature Boy"
Play "Down In The Boondocks" for Terry Malloy
Play It Happened One Night and "One Night of Sin"
There's twelve million souls that are listening in
Play Merchant of Venice, play Merchants of Death
Play "Stella by Starlight" for Lady Macbeth
Don't worry Mr. President, help's on the way

Your brothers are comin,’ there’ll be hell to pay

Brothers, what brothers, what’s this about hell
Tell them we're waiting, keep coming, we'll get them as well

Love Field is where his plane touched down

But it never did get back up off the ground

Was a hard act to follow, second to none
They killed him on the altar of the rising sun

Play “Misty” for me and "That Old Devil Moon"
Play "Anything Goes" and "Memphis in June"
Play "Lonely At the Top" and Lonely Are the Brave
Play it for Houdini spinning around in his grave
Play Jelly Roll Morton, play "Lucille"
Play "Deep In a Dream", and play "Driving Wheel"
Play "Moonlight Sonata" in F-sharp
And "Key to the Highway" for the king of the harp
Play "Marching Through Georgia" and "Dumbarton's Drums"
Play darkness and death will come when it comes

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Play "Love Me Or Leave Me" by the great Bud Powell
Play “The Blood-Stained Banner," play "Murder Most Foul."

*on April 6, 2020, the official lyrics for “Murder Most Foul” were posted at bobdylan.com





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Anne Margaret Daniel
"Murder Most Foul," A New Song From Bob Dylan
Orlandi.jpg

While we were sleeping, Bob Dylan dropped a seventeen-minute song into our dreams.

These are the times that try men’s souls. Work is hard to concentrate on, and also hard to hold onto; our poisoned planet fights back with rising seas and new disease; creeds are outworn; governments flail and fail to govern and defend us; parents are terrified for children and vice versa.

Since he was a youth, Bob Dylan has had the phrase “voice of a generation” hung about his neck like the Ancient Mariner’s albatross. I’ve always wondered, though: what generation? Dylan speaks and sings for people who loved him in 1962, who’ve come along since then, and for those born long before, as well. With “Murder Most Foul,” he leaves no question that his voice is ours: Boomers and Zoomers and folks in between, all of us terrified and angry and wanting to help and heal and survive. The murder of John F. Kennedy shattered America to pieces; we’re still broken. The American Dream: did it ever exist? If it did, unironically, Kennedy’s assassination swept away that phantasm’s last traces.

Longer than “Tempest,” longer than “Highlands,” “Murder Most Foul” rolls down like waters. It’ll take many hearings, soakings really, to begin to take in what he’s singing, the story he’s telling, the irrefragable questions he’s asking. The violent horror of Kennedy’s killing, sung gently, in Dylan’s clearest voice in a decade, is indescribable. Don’t listen to what I say about it. I am just grateful for “Murder Most Foul,” and hope it heralds a whole album of new songs — which has been rumored since last winter. Delighted to be telling you about it. Listen for yourself.

Bob Dylan, “Murder Most Foul,” via Bob Dylan / Sony Music Entertainment 2020

Bob Dylan and his band, Beacon Theatre, NYC, December 5, 2019 photograph © Andrea Orlandi

Anne Margaret Daniel
Bob Dylan's "Blood On The Tracks" Notebooks
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Now somebody else is going to be allowed to see what I said to myself.

                                    — Bob Dylan to Paul Robbins, 1965

 

         Bob Dylan said this in 1965 about his novel Tarantula, which was not officially published until 1971. One reason for the delay was that Dylan didn’t want it released; already a famously private public personality, perhaps he’d had second thoughts about letting anyone else see what he said to himself.

         Literary archives are the most intimate way for a scholar to gain access to a writer’s creative process.  The Bob Dylan Archive in Tulsa, Oklahoma, now open for research on a strictly regulated basis, provides astonishing revelations about Dylan’s care in drafting, revising, rewriting, and perfecting.  In pristine acid-free grey boxes and brand-new mylar sleeves rest notebooks, shards of note pads, hotel stationery, business cards, even bits of brown paper bags, covered in Dylan’s small, hard-to-read handwriting.  As James Joyce did, Dylan writes on anything and everything to hand, when the words and phrases strike, which seems to be any time, all the time.  I could absolutely have stayed forever and never realized the time, but my purpose, on a first visit, was to review the Blood On the Tracks song drafts written in two spiral notebooks that have, until now, been inaccessible….

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* Please read the rest of this article in hard copy as the cover story in Hot Press Annual 2019, published on November 29, 2018. Thank you.

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Copyright © 1974 Ram’s Horn Music. Renewed, 2002 Ram’s Horn Music. Additional lyrics, Copyright © 2018 Ram’s Horn Music.  Courtesy of THE BOB DYLAN ARCHIVE® Collections, Tulsa, OK.

Anne Margaret Daniel
FIRST AND PERHAPS LAST POST
There is a chicken in this image.

There is a chicken in this image.

Hello, friends.

I doubt I will be blogging here, but if I do, you will be the very first to know. Thank you for visiting.  

The chicken’s name is, or was, Stripe.

Sarah Salcedo