Today’s song comes from the debut album by an Eighties’
supergroup. I’ve already posted about all the guys in this band but for Jeff
Lynne, who was the lead singer/composer for Electric Light Orchestra, a band that became
tremendously popular in the late Seventies and into the Eighties, but I only
liked them early on—On the Third Day
(1973), when they were so Beatlesque, and Eldorado
(1974), when they were so prog. Lynne, though, was a meister of production and
could create soundscapes that sounded like The Beatles might if The Beatles had
made it to the Eighties. He’s the addition to the other guys—Bob Dylan, George
Harrison, Roy Orbison, Tom Petty—that insures that this album is going to sound
contemporary. He did work with Harrison and Petty and helped them weather that
meretricious decade on their own too. On this record, it’s all to the good. Traveling Wilburys Vol. I is good “adult
rock,” a fun outing for all involved, not least the listener.
But today’s song is the one song on the album that takes a
less playful vibe. It’s predominantly a Dylan song and he does a great vocal on
it, so good, in fact, it makes you wish that there were more of it. Like what
if Lynne had produced one of those less than stellar Dylan albums of the
Eighties? Having a guy like that around might’ve thrown a spark into the
proceedings. In any case, I pick today’s song because its mood jumped out at
me when I played the album not too long ago.
And what is that mood? It’s borderline resentment, that’s
what. I mean, the reason I love this song’s delivery so much is that Bob—who was
a king of put-down songs in his mean Sixties persona—seems to be saying all
this with a grim resignation, putting it out there through gritted teeth. And
those gritted teeth can almost pass as a smile, right? Like, sure,
congratulations are in order and the addressee of this song should be pretty
damn pleased with herself, particularly as she has no reason, at this late
date, to spare a thought for the guy speaking this song. He could become a
borderline sad sack, pining after this no doubt newly hitched woman he still
wants. What’s more, her getting what she wants means he won’t. Congratulations — you finally did succeed /
Congratulations — for leaving me in need. Poof! Happy landings, you
selfish bitch.
Except. Maybe he really doesn’t want her back, it’s just
that, well, her luck is going better than his. And that’s where the resentment
comes in.
Congratulations — you got
a good deal / Congratulations — how good you must feel. See? He’s bemoaning
not just that she’s making him feel bad, by not wanting him, but that she’s
feeling good, or, in any case, better than he is. She’s moved on with someone
else—or something else (marriage, job, big career move), and he’s still saddled
to yesterday’s news.
And Bob sings it with that little catch of self-pity that is
so effective, aided by all that backup vocalizing and Harrison's trademark slide on the intro and outro. We don’t necessarily feel for this guy but, for my money anyway,
I get a big kick out of hearing him gripe. And the second-to-last verse is the
corker here. Unlike most Dylan songs, here the best verse isn’t last; in fact
that last verse drops the ball with that lame “you came out on top / you never
did know when to stop” line. I suppose there’s something to the idea that she’s
a real go-getter (and ballbuster), but, with that line, the guy begins to try my
patience (as he must’ve tried hers too). But this is worth the price of
admission:
I guess I must’ve
loved you more than I ever knew / My world is empty now ’cause it don’t have you / And
if I had just one more chance to win your heart again / I would do things
differently, but what’s the use to pretend?
Oh yeah. First, there’s that sad realization: he felt more
strongly about her than he was ever willing to admit, even to himself. So that
emptiness he keeps feeling—which she’s unlikely to believe in and, in any case,
would never feel for him—is going to be his only companion for some time. So
much so that he’s still at the point where his favorite fantasy is getting her
back—another chance to win her over, to prove what he didn’t manage—or try—to prove
the first time. But, and this is where Bob separates the men from the boys or
the pining sad sacks from the losers with a grasp of the Reality Principle,
even though he can imagine doing it all differently, to a different outcome, “what’s
the use to pretend.” Who is he kidding? Not even himself. Squelch.
So let’s imagine that sound you hear when you drop a
flaming match into some water.
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