I'm coming in on the second half of a small intimate performance by Bob Dylan. This part is apparently storyteller/Q&A time. Dylan tells the audience a story about Tom Petty, who he worked with in the Traveling Wilburys. It seems one time Dylan and the rest were having some heavy discussion and Petty's tired comment was just (and here Bob did a flawless impression of Petty's voice) "all right all right all right all right all right all right..."
Later, Bob is saying his goodbyes and signing the side of a mattress for his hosts. On one side he's already written "SOLO", the other side I can't see but I assume he writes "TOUR." I start wondering what CDs of his I have around that I can get signed and wouldn't that be cool etc.
Next part of the dream takes place in Boston, with my family. It's very cold; we question why we came. My sister is unhappy. Accommodations are limited so I lie down directly between my parents; as not to favor either.
This leads to a late arrival at an airport and I'm running behind everyone else and can't find them. I ask some clerks where my flight (train) is but am told the doors are closing. I find my way to a waiting area that resembles the Superdome, but while it is packed, it is not unclean and chaotic. My friends in the band FC area seated in a front row, waiting. They don't see me at first so I decide to fake a magical, sudden appearance by jumping from above them right in front, like I fell out of the sky. I continue my antics then by pretending that I'm the first humanoid ever, crawling out of the primordial muck, and I add to the dramatization of this imaginary historical event with guttural growls. By the end of this, I think only BA still remains seated watching. A security type is also watching, and he suggests I go straight to a hospital.
The train finally pulls in (plane is forgotten) and the strangely small awkward doors open for me. In case I'm uncertain if this is the right one, the engineer uses the PA to loudly announce, "Stupid, this is it," as if the entire travel center knows I'm late and lost. I board the train/subway car to watch the driver suck tobacco through some type of device that is partly his mouth and partly a dentist's drain. I try to mimic the action as a goof.
Later in the dream, I recount the humorous Dylan anecdote to MI. I also open MV's bass case to find that he has swapped out with a similarly unique 6 string electric guitar.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
The Best of Kermit / Jeff Lynne & David Byrne / Death
At my parents' house, some gathering, my father is playing records and/or trying to fix something. I go to my old room, which is oddly similar to how it used to look. I find this audio cassette set I'd gotten for free somewhere, a 3 tape set of records by Kermit the Frog. I go into the den to show my sister, as I'm excited and am also thinking I can make a copy for my nephew, but she is not that interested. My interest also decreases when I remove the tapes from the set case to find the individual records are not of Kermit, but rather, of some other mysterious muppet called "Tessie," who is apparently trendier in hipster circles since he wears a toupee. Unfortunately his voice, I seem to remember, is annoying, so I can't imagine a 3 tape set of him holding much promise.
Outside in a crowded area at night, near some building, lots of high school characters figure. I see someone slightly resembling G, who then suddenly not only greatly resembles but definitely IS G. Do not get to say hi, talking to DJ. Sit up on steps next to PB. I know he's retired but figure he's still active so I ask him what music stuff he's involved in. He nods to acknowledge my deduction and also mentions he's 55 years old, which is younger than he is.
George Harrison and Jeff Lynne appear to be making records in a closet similar to my own, and I make some flattering comments and am eager to be there and learn. GH leaves and I sit in a main room with JL. I tell him that when I was younger, the ELO song "It's a Livin' Thing" scared me because I didn't know what he was referring to in the chorus. He tells me now that he was referring to "love." I feel foolish for not knowing. At one point I badly mimic the opening violin line on a nearby piano.
Next it's time for David Byrne and me to chat. We're talking about songwriting, he asks me if I've written any, I say yes and he hands me an acoustic and tells me to play it. "2 measures," he says but that seems awfully short so I decided on the last "8 bars" of Our Day Will Come, and actually play and sing the last verse and outro. DB grabs another guitar and tries to follow a little. I'm worried that I'll be drowned out by a record JL is putting on nearby, but it turns out to be a quiet, unintrusive instrumental piece. I sound ok and DB seems to appreciate it. Instead of starting another song, I tell him I saw him hanging out at CB's Gallery (in reality it was Seventeen.) He looks different now, younger, dark hair again. He says he had a bicycle injury and pulls up a pants leg to show me a grotesquely swollen, watermelon-size upper thigh. There are some hippie pharmacists behind a counter near him when he backs up and shows me. DB talks about how he has to get it drained now and then, and that he sends the medical results out as gifts as a joke sometimes.
There's a short final sequence where I'm walking down 92nd in Queens Village in daytime near my grandparents' old house, which has now become a recording studio in the dream. A lot of techie types are running about out front, self-importantly making sure they control everything that comes near, and this bothers me. Something about their cleaning and throwing antics reminds me of New Orleans.
Another night recently I had a small fragment in which I'm hearing someone playing Pee Wee Ellis' tune "The Chicken" so I follow the sound, pick up a nearby upright bass and start playing the Jaco bassline along with this piano player. I'm listening to him to hear if he is indeed playing the tune I thought it was, and when he goes to D7, I'm certain. At some point in this dream, I look up from the street and there, about 6 stories up, peering down from the roof, a stylized sort of Grim Reaper/Angel of Death type appears to be looking down at me, just letting me know he's there. The way I'm situated, he's upside-down, since my back is to the building he's peering down from.
Outside in a crowded area at night, near some building, lots of high school characters figure. I see someone slightly resembling G, who then suddenly not only greatly resembles but definitely IS G. Do not get to say hi, talking to DJ. Sit up on steps next to PB. I know he's retired but figure he's still active so I ask him what music stuff he's involved in. He nods to acknowledge my deduction and also mentions he's 55 years old, which is younger than he is.
George Harrison and Jeff Lynne appear to be making records in a closet similar to my own, and I make some flattering comments and am eager to be there and learn. GH leaves and I sit in a main room with JL. I tell him that when I was younger, the ELO song "It's a Livin' Thing" scared me because I didn't know what he was referring to in the chorus. He tells me now that he was referring to "love." I feel foolish for not knowing. At one point I badly mimic the opening violin line on a nearby piano.
Next it's time for David Byrne and me to chat. We're talking about songwriting, he asks me if I've written any, I say yes and he hands me an acoustic and tells me to play it. "2 measures," he says but that seems awfully short so I decided on the last "8 bars" of Our Day Will Come, and actually play and sing the last verse and outro. DB grabs another guitar and tries to follow a little. I'm worried that I'll be drowned out by a record JL is putting on nearby, but it turns out to be a quiet, unintrusive instrumental piece. I sound ok and DB seems to appreciate it. Instead of starting another song, I tell him I saw him hanging out at CB's Gallery (in reality it was Seventeen.) He looks different now, younger, dark hair again. He says he had a bicycle injury and pulls up a pants leg to show me a grotesquely swollen, watermelon-size upper thigh. There are some hippie pharmacists behind a counter near him when he backs up and shows me. DB talks about how he has to get it drained now and then, and that he sends the medical results out as gifts as a joke sometimes.
There's a short final sequence where I'm walking down 92nd in Queens Village in daytime near my grandparents' old house, which has now become a recording studio in the dream. A lot of techie types are running about out front, self-importantly making sure they control everything that comes near, and this bothers me. Something about their cleaning and throwing antics reminds me of New Orleans.
Another night recently I had a small fragment in which I'm hearing someone playing Pee Wee Ellis' tune "The Chicken" so I follow the sound, pick up a nearby upright bass and start playing the Jaco bassline along with this piano player. I'm listening to him to hear if he is indeed playing the tune I thought it was, and when he goes to D7, I'm certain. At some point in this dream, I look up from the street and there, about 6 stories up, peering down from the roof, a stylized sort of Grim Reaper/Angel of Death type appears to be looking down at me, just letting me know he's there. The way I'm situated, he's upside-down, since my back is to the building he's peering down from.
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