The Next New Bob Dylan

Advice for yet another
next “New Bob Dylan”,
if you wish to save
your immortal soul,
and your vocal chords,
from certain oblivion;

So … James Bay
what more can I say
than … let it go
Here today
yet gone tomorrow
So don’t go singing
the blues about it
Never be the Jester
juggling his harmonica
with a twisted coat hanger
Yet more than a troubadour
a matador versing
them Masters of War
And whilst
he’s looking around
for a new kind of sound
or for what kind of shit
is about to go down
don’t try stealing
his thorny crown
From the watchtower
of your safe and secure
mental health facility
(Are you sick of love
or just love sick?)
watch out
for a Band of Gypsies
with Mr. Jimi in the lead
Apparently he always
got what you want
but that’s not what you need
Remember to never excel
and never exceed
But unfortunately
in your case
it means you’ll never succeed
in being the next
“New Bob Dylan”

Retro San Francisco
thick in the air
like rolling thunder
Be sure to wear
in your slick hair
a flower.
Perhaps even a bandana?
But never take a bus trip
mysterious
with the Four Fabulous,
and a Walrus,
cruising like Carlos
along the Via Santa Anna.
Don’t fly high
Don’t try to kiss the sky
You’ll just land
on your Icarus
Don’t go painting
a self portrait
(not exactly a masterpiece)
To summarise
don’t try to harmonise
with them Black Magic Women
But then . . .
you’ll never have the backing
to be the next “New Bob Dylan”

Can you deeply delve
with such lyrics
to reach the human soul?
Can you pay the darkness
it’s heavy toll
Can you balladeer
to bring a tear?
Can you startle
the sleeping ear to hear?
Can you make the intangible
all too concise and too clear?
Could you be a legend
about to begin?
So don’t be without
and don’t be within
Don’t be a pigeon
awaiting the mighty Quin
Don’t be wined and dined
Don’t be Weinsteined
Don’t be handled
To put it james bluntly
don’t get P. Diddied
As for Paty Kerry
the roaring shrill
of that record company shill
gives me a spinal chill
But . . .
as far as I can tell
you’d be doing well
to get Beyoncéd by Adele
Don’t have a traveling band
who can take a heavy load
with wheels of fire
rolling down the road
Actually … stay off the road
You might get Jack Kerouac’ed
Or … like the Weathermen
simply explode
As for me … don’t think twice
I’m just New York bitchin’
about the next “New Bob Dylan”
cooked up in Hell’s Kitchen

With all the snap
and crackle of K-pop
yet uplifting and spiritual
like a Richard Dawkins gospel
Yes, your songs
are just lovely
I could listen to them all day
whilst shopping
at the supermarket
with a supermarket trolley
(would it be an insalate
to say you are my dolci?)
To be … or not to be
a self styled authentic?
Or just a selfie obsessed pop star
of the empty pathetic?
Do you have the ability?
Could you ever be
a Poetic Titanic
who runs into
an Allen Ginsberg-er?
to create a bohemian stir
and/or rhyme a crime like …
“pin this triple murrr-der”
The exclusive prerogative
of the real Bob Dylan

Yes . . .
we’ve heard you holler
and moan in rendition
I have heard you roar
Did you hear me snore?
Truly . . .
it brought me to tears
But could you prick the ears
and the conscience
of a double minded nation?
Perhaps Dylan would’ve chosen
Patti Smith or Tracy Chapman
to be the new him?
If the New Doctor Who
can be a woman?!

Today the Trump
he is sound biting
Things are looking bleak
Storm clouds are a-ragin’
from the Golden Tower
of worldly power
to a once peaceful Ukraine
Temperatures are a-risin’
The times … once again
they are a-changin’
as the master’s apprentice
is climbing
the Capital spire
with his pants on fire
The homogenization
of global ambition
Flames in the sky
Smoke on the Amazon
A deep purple complexion
upon the face
of an oblivious generation
playing Jeopardy!
with eternity
From the creed of greed
a middle-class event
of mass extinction
Workers getting thin
competing with poverty
from without and within
Would the next “New Bob Dylan”
even know where to begin?
Maybe Ed Sheeran
should give it a spin
But he’d need to get some
street mongrel into him
“Rage is at the heart of Rock ‘n’ Roll”
Replace the Ginger Poodle
with some Pitt Bull
and then take a turn at being
the next “New Bob Dylan”

With an Iron Age
of culture clashing
Lords of War and their
hound dogs rampaging
Child soldiers
child labour
The stain of slavery spreading
Plastic floating
The Arctic melting
The toxic oozing
like the Seven Sisters
of Petroleum flowing
The entitlement
of enlightenment
from a new millennium retreating
Nations extolling submission
and the suppression of women
Who could imagine?
Once upon a time
the Good Samaritan
crossed tribal lines
Is that now a crime ?
Yes, the times
they are a changin’
Yet ancient hatreds
still clinging
to crimes unforgiven
On Wall Street
sparks are flying
from the sacred cow
Whilst the Groom
at the altar waits
goodness hides
behind locked gates
And yes .. thank you Bono
rage is at the heart of Rock ‘n Roll
We could surely do
with a next best Bob Dylan
sometime about now
Not some housebroken
lame tame ginger poodle!

In the face
of abstract division
dreaming big
with high definition vision
could you stand your ground?
The question is …
is Love all there is?
Does it make the world go round
to a homespun country sound?
Or … ought there be a law
against you coming around?
You should try sounding
a bit more like Johnny Rotten
But without the nasal monotone
rather than Beyoncé
on hillbilly testosterone
Could you appeal to a Swiftie?
Then perhaps . . .
you’d pass the audition
as the next “New Bob Dylan”

. . . Or not
Or are you just a fizzle
hoping to T. Swizzle
with Taylor Swift
(A pay day with Tay-Tay?!)
Don’t be condemned to drift
Never ever go all the way
Stay safe and warm
in ignorant bliss
Don’t peek out
from a manhole cover
Don’t get caught by the farmer
with the farmer’s daughter
Don’t be silly
And never ever sound hillbilly
like a Traveling Wilbury
Don’t keep bad company.
Don’t go to see the Gypsy
Don’t live like a refugee
(If you actually make it to thirty
perhaps I’ll listen to you … maybe?)
Or live in harmony
with the Cosmic Sea
where there’s no need
to be so Tom Petty …
Whom I trust
is resting peacefully
And good luck to John Mayer!
I’m dead grateful
that he’s the new Jerry Garcia
And baby . . .
before you learn to walk
you should run
like a son of a gun
from Allentown
where they make you crawl
Take old Bobby Bare’s advice
and become an ‘All American Boy’
Then . . . perhaps
you could be the next
“New Born Bruce Springsteen”?

But only if you’re
a bona fide U.S. citizen
So never forget
there is hope for you yet
for the Boss himself was once
the next “New Bob Dylan”
But . . . to his eternal credit,
he told the record company
to internally shovel it
Yes . . . everybody’s
got a hungry heart
Don’t let it be processed
Keep it wholemeal
lest it be ripped apart
There’s a dearth
of pure food … and love
upon this rock ‘n roll earth
So don’t go riding
that supermarket cart
for all you’re worth
like a celebrity cook
spruiking his latest
recipe cook book
At this pivotal moment
pop stars being paid
being paid to spruke
a political candidate
or some food delivery service
a music industry show
from the world capital of blow?
Now turn that thorny crown
upside down.
Become the ‘Footloose Man’.
Just don’t ask for shelter
in a summer swelter.
For Trump & The Clan Manson
have been dancing
and romancing the brown stone
like a prayer
to the White Madonna
all bound for Mu Mu Land
But then again
what would I know?
For I was once a believer
that Justin Bieber
should’ve been
the next “New Bob Dylan”.

Don’t be boarded by pirates
smuggling stolen recordings.
Don’t be tied to the mast
of a magic ship
sailing a cauldron swirling.
Nor upon the bloodied tracks
of a slow train coming.
Perhaps it would be best
with all that makeup on your face
you become a mime artist?
A fitting outlet
for all that lyrical nonsense.
So don’t speak too soon,
if at all,
or till the wheel
stops spinning.
Perhaps you’d better start
swimming … with Lead Belly?
And with all the humility
of a one hit celebrity,
so classless and P.C.
(I can only but agree),
being streamed for free.
Yes, a next “New Bob Dylan”
is something to be.
But you’re still
just a download
as far as I can see.
But certainly, wear a
Next New Bob Dylan T-shirt,
courtesy of the Committee
for the Mongering of Music,
like a wandering
billboard whording.

Say … have you ever heard
of Louden Wainright III ?
He too thought being called
the next “New Bob Dylan”
was somewhat absurd.
When actually, he was a next new
Louden Wainright, the third.

Are you one of a kind ?
Can you stand the test of time?
Is your singing,
considered by some
(Frank Zappa for one)
a crime against humanity?
If so don’t be a lo mofo
(Frank Zappa a mother also).
Be inventive. Create a bio.
Write yourself a new intro.
And don’t be the next
“New Faux Bob Dylan”

Say … are you on the run
from Pat Garett’s gun?
Hey, you’re welcome to stay
in Mississippi
a day too long
Hey hey, did you ever write
and play Woody Guthrie a song?
My … My …
did you ever try
measuring the distance between
right and wrong ?
No ? So don’t go
knocking on heaven’s door
Don’t give or take more
from entrée to encore,
with a standing ovation.
Don’t ford the rivers
of corruption.
Don’t ever ask the
homeless question
of a ramblin companion,
with words that ring
the chimes
of freedom flashing.
Or go seeking an answer
on the wind
for a conflicted generation,
wanting no more
of a hot and cold war.
And don’t be inflicted with
righteous indignation.
Do support the troops, who
with the help of politicians,
are just making a mess.
And with your every aspect
object to
the rebellious conscientious.

Don’t be a tragic romantic
drinking rum
in a Portugal bar
Don’t scrawl … then publish
the manic hectic
and eclectic
Voilà à la ‘Tarantula’
Don’t keep asking
where to score
once more,
of poor Señor~Señor
You should perhaps
give it a spell
and go play William Tell,
with William Burroughs
the Junior
(who doesn’t remember you
at all at the Chelsea Hotel).
I’ve been looking
but not seeing
the Schwartz to be on stage
for the Last Waltz.
And yes … imitation is
the sincerest form
of self-flagellation
And though my ears
are bleeding
keep giving it a crack
(Ouch!)
and you could well be
the next “New Bob Dylan”

Even K.West thinks it best
that you give it a rest
I know because he told me
And not to go giving
Beyoncé a Swiftie,
when she richly
deserves a Grammy.
But then, she’s already got
a wardrobe full of them
Just like Bob Dylan
Remember always
there’s a slow train coming
The Jester singing scripture
But there’ll be pigs high
in the skies
the day Major Lazer
(or Peking Duk,
for that matter)
wins any Prize
for Literature
At the self-servery
a static emanating
A white noise of desolation
humming along
to Taylor and Katy
Not to mention … again
Ed Sheeran.
Through the silent scream
of a jacked in screen teen
would a millennial
even listen
to a next “New Bob Dylan”?

If it’s of any consolation
that inner drive-thru
for perfection should
by way of reason
eventually steer you
in the right direction
I heard recently
there is a vacancy
so perhaps you should go
and join One Direction?
With screaming teens
and clever machines
to make you sound good!
And dancing instructors
to instruct you how to
prance like wood in a hood
Pehaps you should transition
if you can
to short circuit
the attention span
of the jaded & fickled fan?
Even delete your social media
and start all over again,
so you can be a free thinker
(Or have you been googled
by Eve’s i apple … deep
in the Amazon Jungle?)
Now that’s a plan!
Drape yourself
over a Kardashian.
Invent a new reputation
Then we can can, and ban
the next “New Bob Dylan”

In D.C. City, did you play
for Martin Luther King
at the Civil Rights Rally?
Did you ever follow the river
to get to the sea ?
Will your ship ever come in?
Or are you just
another grifter?
Talk is cheap
so don’t be a Chet Faker
Will you ever
be given shelter
from the storm ?
Did you acquit
or convict the drifter,
who was ravaged in the corn?
Did you defend
‘the Hurricane’ Carter?
Have you seen this world
through eyes reborn ?
Did you venture
inside the museum
to prosecute infinity?
No ? So don’t sing
about your time of dying
with such regularity
and longevity.
Did you Farm Aid,
or are you just Kool Aid?
An acid washed
retro hipster
laced with heroin chic
and Old Cyanide
Did you sing
“We are the World”
with Michael Jackson’s
motly children?
Can you sing for me
one more time
“We are the Problem”?
We could sure do
with a genuine
next ‘New Bob Dylan”

Did you ever pick a side?
Then don’t go
rolling the stone
with no direction home.
Just leave it alone
or you just might end up
back Lloret de Mar
a cocktail waiter
behind the bar
But still …
you gonna have to
serve somebody
So don’t go finding
the dignity
of humanity
in poetry.
Literally
no country pie surprise
that slice
of the Peace Prize
Except for
the disgruntled poet
who don’t know it.
Dylan’s lyrics be Art
as they come from,
and speak to
the heart
So don’t sing songs
of injustice
and captivity
Not unless you own it!
And naturally
with death’s honesty
Have you taken
responsibility?
Or are you just a component?
For most of all
don’t say nothing about it
Don’t think it
… Don’t speak it
Don’t even breathe it
And certainty
don’t reflect
from the mountains
so all souls can see it
Could you possibly be
a universal libertarian?
Making a stand
for freedom of expression
freedom of thought
freedom from oppression
To you . . .
would people listen
upon the prayer wheel
of inspiration ?
Is it too soon
for the Dia Lama’s
authentication
that you are the real deal
the true reincarnation
of the next
“Reborn Bob Dylan”?

Don’t be tame.
Step into the frame.
It’s only fame.
Don’t be played
like a pawn in their game
Do not be the one,
the man the authorities
came to blame.
You sound so
politically corrected
Kind of forlorn and lame
I don’t know whether
to cry … or yawn?
Perhaps you don’t wear black
like a priest riding a mount
If you’re going
to deliver a sermon
at the Grammys
make it count
And never do duets . . .
not without rehearsing at least,
with the lyrics
pinned to your chest
Don’t stray into
the belly of the beast
Don’t go mining hades for tales
of woe and constant sorrow
Don’t be a harbinger
of tomorrow
Don’t ride
with Billy the Kid
down a dusty trail
to Durango
Don’t try to fly
from El Dorado
with contraband cargo
Don’t be the Joker
Don’t be the Thief
who even from Judas Priest
would beg, steel, and borrow
Are you busy being born
…or busy dying ?
And with no conscience at all
don’t go answering the call.
Don’t go opening the door.
Don’t try scaling the heights
of Mount Zion.
Don’t go spying the view
from battle ground Armageddon
before the flood
with a hard rain a-comin’
But then again
if you don’t do these things
and more … young padawan
you wouldn’t be the real deal
the next “New Bob Dylan”

~ by David B. Redpath © 2017-2025

A happy Vacuna Corona to all
from the Cleopatra Hotel & Spa
. . . Costa Brava.

where Salvador & Gala Dali
raised the ceiling.

Photography;
David & Linda Redpath © 2019