The Next New Bob Dylan (Revisited)

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

Don’t drink!
Don’t smoke!
Don’t go riding the dragon
like Daenerys Targaryen
Or that painted lady
from the brow
of the Super Brain
(in the words of David Bowie)
Don’t flirt with Queen Mary
who is just like a woman
and definitely
do keep your shirt on!
Don’t go jamming
way past midnight
with freewheelin’ musicians
In fact . . . put simply
don’t be a bum
Best you choose to chew gum
Absolutely no need
to be handsome!
You being prettier
than Marilyn . . .
Marilyn Manson

qu’est-ce que c’est
in a boy band kind of way
Mixing the fixing
with gravity
and a hotel balcony
can only lead
in one direction ⬇️
But dude . . . hey
I do hope and pray
that one day
the press don’t say that
“The Next New Bob Dylan
found face down in the nude!”
on the Costa Brava
at the Cleopatra Hotel and Spa
with a sign hanging
on your door saying
‘Por Favor – No Molester’

So don’t pout
and swagger
Don’t move like Jagger
Don’t do a number
with some rapper
Not till your career
is down the crapper
Or do a number
with Snoop
wrapped in rice paper
Don’t twist and shout
Not until you know
what it’s all about
Or did an algorithm
on a company computer
knock you out?
You were custom made
for this digital age
Soulless music offered
to stoneless infidels
by the rolling idols
of artificial intelligence
with lyrics meaningless
So … needless to say
even a King of Pop’s ransom
couldn’t pave the way
not for a single day
for you to be a bona fide
next “New Bob Dylan”

So don’t go wooing
the maidens fair
with songs of eternal devotion
Don’t go to wild parties
at the house of Molly Meldrum
that raffish Australian
( … unholy moly!)

Don’t sleep in late
past the rising sun
And man . . .
don’t even consider
playing the zimmer
with the Tambourine Man
(going by the pseudonym
‘Robert Allen Zimmerman’!)
Who couldn’t possibly be
the next “New Bob Dylan” ?

Don’t roam
the streets of Roma
with Ramona
in roman sandals
past the Colosseum
from whence the Vandals
first took the handle
Better head
to the Sistine Chapel
and light yourself a candle
Don’t get stoned
with them rainy day women
You can’t afford the scandal
And definitely
don’t go mixing it up
with that Texas medicine
It’ll just mess you up
and leave you immobile or
or a raving imbecile
(even more so)
But … then again
perhaps you should acquire
a taste for railroad gin?
It’ll help you
to grow some fluff
on your chinny-chin-chin
But perhaps you should wait
until you start shaving
if you’re to be the real deal
the real thing
the New & Improved
Next “New Bob Dylan”

Don’t get caught
mixing up the medicine
Don’t get taped
jamming in a basement
Don’t get homesick blues
all over the pavement
Don’t go choke on coke
and a disco biscuit
in the Viper Room
Don’t even dare think
about the government
Or are you the latest
Beat Prophet of Doom?
A musical sage
born to ramble
with the wisdom of age
who’s able to stand his ground
when booed from the stage
by the deadly ungrateful
So don’t ever be a folkster
on the outer
with an electric guitar
Don’t ever try rocking
the Festival at Newport
like some blasphemous
Judas Priest
being sacrificed
for a righteous feast
You’d just be rolled
and stoned for it
Being the next best
“New Bob Dylan”
could be a whole lot
harder than you think!

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’s 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 Santana
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
the people’s poet laureate
and Nobel Prize winner
for Literature

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 just like 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 Africa and the Middle-East
The once peaceful Ukraine
has become
a Superpower Feast
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 Fred Sheeran
should give it a spin
But he’d need to get some
street mongrel into him
Rage is the spark
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
rapidly 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 and 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
selling his latest
recipe cook book
At this pivotal moment
pop stars being paid
being paid to promote
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 taken over the plantation
whilst you’ve 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 swirling ship
sailing a bubbling cauldron
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 whimsical nonsense
you call meaningful lyrics
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 hoarding

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
do you 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
of high voltage amplification
That white noise
of desolation
humming along
to Taylor and Katy
Not to mention … again
Fred Sheeran
Through the silent scream
of a jacked in 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
Perhaps 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 finally 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
and give of your best?
I hate to ask …
but would you pass
the Fentanyl Test?

Did you sing
“We are the World”
with Michael Jackson’s
motley 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 in Lloret de Mar
mixing cocktails
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 Nobel Prize

Except for
the disgruntled poet
who doesn’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?
Most of all
don’t say anything 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, steal, and borrow
Are you busy being born
…or a-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 © 2017-25

Music Celebrities & Trump Artworks 🎨
courtesy of Multiple Michael © 2025

——DYLAN——

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

where Salvador & Gala Dali
raised the ceiling.

Title Artwork; David Redpath © 2019-2025

Photography;
David & Linda Redpath © 2019 – 2021