Dylan Goes Electric!

The signs are everywhere: Bob Dylan is enjoying a multimedia resurgence, and we need it. Most assuredly, he will not go gentle into that good night. Nor should any of the rest of us.

I've had the good fortune of seeing him play in relatively small venues in the South and, most recently, at the State Theatre in Detroit a couple of years ago.

Last December, I stayed at the Hotel Chelsea in Manhattan, where Dylan worked on a bunch of his electric songs in the heady, tumultuous days of Sara ("Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands"), Edie Sedgwick ("Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat"), assignations, assassinations, race riots and Vietnam. The Chelsea itself is still a very cool, largely uncommercialized (though very well sung) place and location.

Today, I thought of Dylan songs all day -- it's raining in Detroit, warmish for the dirty end of winter, and I'm ready for the weekend. There are so many to choose from, but here's one of the songs that bubbled up -- it cheers me up with its wicked little bite:

"Maggie's Farm"

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
No, I aint gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I wake up in the morning
Fold my hands and pray for rain
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin' me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor.

I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
No, I aint gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
Well, he hands you a nickel
He hands you a dime
He asks you with a grin
If you're havin' a good time
Then he fines you every time you slam the door
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more.

I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more
No, I aint gonna work for Maggie's pa no more
Well, he puts his cigar
Out in your face just for kicks
His bedroom window
It is made out of bricks
The National Guard stands around his door
Ah, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more.

I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more
Well, when she talks to all the servants
About man and God and law
Everybody says
She's the brains behind pa
She's sixty-eight, but she says she's twenty-four
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more.

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I aint gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I try my best
To be just like I am
But everybody wants you
To be just like them
They say sing while you slave and I just get bored
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.