In Search of Dylan

  In light of the opening of a recent museum exhibit honoring Bob Dylan, I have been on a mission to identify our generation’s Dylan-figure.  Dylan was able to eloquently address the problems facing the youth of the war-torn Sixties—the civil rights movement, the fear of Communism, corrupt politicians, and the war itself.  Dylan was, and continues to be, the champion of the underdog, the voice of the oppressed.  His best work is born of a struggle against injustice.  Eminem, at the present, falls short of that mark.  But our Dylan is out there, perhaps the last place you’d look.

  In spite of being an heiress to wealthy hotel barons…wait, no.

  During his short life, our generation’s Dylan could be found in Harlem, Queens, the Baltimore School for the Arts, Los Angeles, and Riker’s Island penitentiary.  Our champion was a self-proclaimed thug, a thug from the ghetto.

  Tupac Shakur was born with revolution in his blood.  His mother was a Black Panther.  His biological father was unknown, but his father-figure was a crack dealer.  Several times, Tupac and his family called homeless shelters home.  He knew “underprivileged” when it was called “poor.” He knew struggle and oppression; his message was a personal one.

  Shakur was often in trouble with the police, but his message remained positive.  He urged Black America to keep its head up, question authority, and respect its women.  He urged young urban women to earn that respect and to respect themselves.

  Tupac, unlike Eminem, began tackling tough issues right out of the blocks.  In his solo debut, “2pacalypse Now,” he took on careless single mothers in “Brenda’s Got a Baby.”  On his sophomore effort, “Keep Ya Head Up” advises inner-city youth to do just that.  His third CD, “Me Against The World,” runs deep with social commentary in tracks like “So Many Tears,” “Lord Knows,” “Dear Mama,” “Can U Get Away,” and the title track.

  In his life, Shakur only released four CDs.  Since his death in 1996, his estate has put out four more, with the fifth scheduled to drop later this month.   Even from beyond the grave, Tupac continues to relate to the problems of the listeners he left behind.

  Dylan and Shakur both had a certain spirituality running through their work.  Each had a near-death experience, which heightened their relationship with God.  In 1966, Dylan was involved in a near-fatal motorcycle accident.  After being shot five times in November of ’94, Tupac’s lyrics were often a place where his lifestyle and his belief in God converged. 

  In 1966, Dylan published “Tarantula,” a collection of poetry.  In 1997, Shakur’s book of poems, “The Rose That Grew from Concrete,” was released.  They are poets, and they will be remembered as such.

  You might not be able to relate to the way that Tupac Shakur was raised, the troubles he faced in the inner-city, the decisions he made, or the life he lived.  But his art reflects the society that produced him.  And, like it or not, it is a society that we are participants in. 

 -From Pulse
  December 9, 2004

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Bob Dylan & Eminem

  Last week I read an Associated Press story about a museum exhibit opening in Seattle.  It’s an exhibit on Bob Dylan, glorifying the songwriter for his political activism, his social commentary, his struggle against injustice, and his contribution to the American literary canon.  And justly so, I believe.  The man is a genius.

  I have been a closeted admirer and fan of Dylan’s for years.  And I think it’s time I go public.  His songs are sermons.  His message is Messianic.  If poetry and politics intersected at a single point, there you would find Bob Dylan.

  The aforementioned AP story began with a quote from a New York Times reviewer of one of Dylan’s albums.  It was from 1967.  “It will be a good joke on us if, in 50 years or so, Dylan is regarded as a significant figure in English poetry.”  The joke is on them.

  It was on Thanksgiving Day that I read this story, sitting around with my family, and it sparked an interesting conversation on the voices of our generation.  It was a conversation riddled with questions that only time can answer.

  My dad asked if, in 40 years, Eminem would be regarded with the same esteem that Dylan is today.  And I don’t know if he will.  But if it is to be, his approach and Dylan’s are decidedly different.  Dylan began his career writing and singing politically-charged folk songs, written in plain language.  Eminem began with shocking lyrics, beautifully crafted, but absent of social relevance. Only recently has he ventured into the sordid realm of politics.

  Eminem’s latest CD, “Encore,” features the song “Mosh,” which speaks out against Bush and the war in Iraq.  The video, in all its animated glory, can be seen on MTV.  Inarguably, it is a protest song, cut from the same cloth as those that earned Dylan his place in the lexicon of Americana.  And it could be the beginning of the new Em.

  But if Senator Mathers is going to become the mouthpiece of our generation, let the record show that he is something of a late-bloomer.  It’s a safe bet that his place in that broad spectrum of American societal genius will fall somewhere between Lionel Richie and, well, Bob Dylan.

  Eminem’s true value thus far has been poetical.  The fluidity of his rhyme schemes is simply unmatched.  His ability to use rhyme to establish meter is a lesson for all writers.  Never before has a writer’s work been so heavily reliant on rhyme-done-well.

  The only thing standing between Eminem and lasting legend is his perspective.  In his mind and his lyrics, he is the perpetual victim—the underdog.  That may have been true in the beginning but, after four consecutive best-selling CD’s, it’s no longer the case.  There are victims out there, and Eminem is not among them.

  What makes Bob Dylan a legend is the light he shines on injustice.  He is John Steinbeck and Gandhi.  Em ain’t yet.

  But that champion of the underdog is out there.  Next week we’ll talk about him.  I’ll see you then, here.

-From Pulse
  December 2, 2004

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