Bob Dylan and The Great Comedy of ‘Visions’

wn / 2020
From Essays

On December 3rd 1965 Bob Dylan sat down at a table in front of twenty or thirty reporters for a press conference put on by KQES in San Francisco. The host briefly introduces the songwriter and then turns to the press says “go.” “Oh my god,” says Bob Dylan. Dylan’s spectacular rise to fame in the 1960s led to many instances of which the songwriter engaged with the press. Initially for his strikingly clear folk songs, which garnered wide success, and later on for his more surreal lyrics and songwriting capabilities: the media and the world became eager to understand the poet and his songs. A large of body of this relational dialogue is not only personally inquisitive, but artistic, inquisitive of the symbolic processes in songwriting. Dylan was encouraged to share his beliefs and “messages” for the songs he had become famous for. The 1965 San Francisco interview exemplifies Dylan’s relationship with the press as unconventional and atypical from the popular music star archetype. My aim in this paper is to approach these dialogues with a rhetorical lens to better understand the mechanisms of humor as defense—Defense as in both a process for humbling oneself and deflecting. A rhetorical perspective on this subject will reveal how a songwriter or person in the public eye might attempt to maintain a level of artistic credibility not by discussing their art but by making a mockery of it. The case of Bob Dylan is extraordinary in the consideration of the distance Dylan places between his art and his character, or in other words, his “messages” and his refusal to interact with the press. I argue alongside Kenneth Burke’s theories on rhetoric as well as his, and others, perspectives on incongruity.

Before we look into the comedy of Bob Dylan, I want to look briefly at the string of distortions Dylan created between himself the press. In the 1960s as Dylan soared to fame, many instances of his interactions with reporters and journalists included the songwriter downright lying and dramatizing his own personal background, skewing the facts of his life for a mythologized, kaleidoscopic fiction. This first becomes apparent in the creation of Dylan’s moniker Bob Dylan. Originally born Robert Zimmerman, he contemplated different names of which he liked the sound. Apparently stumbling on Bob Dylan because he liked the “y” in Dylan, and maybe something to do with the Irish poet Dylan Thomas (2004, p. 78-79). Dylan also supposedly lied about his origins frequently (2004), even claiming to have grown up in the carnival. A rhetorical perspective on these fabrications might elicit the question, why was Dylan going around lying about his birthplace and origins?

Foundational in rhetoric are Burke’s notions of identity and identification. Burke rooted his rhetoric in these functions as a vehicle for cooperation and sociality (1969, p. 23). Perhaps Dylan’s first real act of transforming his identity begins in this parade of reinventing himself and diversifying his origin story. One of Burke’s paradoxes arises here. The poet songwriter made himself identifiable to audiences by dividing himself from the media—much of this was done comedically.

Dylan, by hiding and mystifying his personal life may have been strengthening, or supporting his listeners to look at the work and the music, not the man, or the celebrity. Because his work is often lyrically dense—to a degree for which he was awarded the Nobel Prize in 2016— it suffers a higher density of criticism. Bob Dylan was in some ways a protest singer, much like his idols Woody Guthrie or fellow Greenwich man Peter Seeger. Songs like Blowin’ in the Wind or Like A Rolling Stone became famously associated with particular student movements in the 1960s, as well as summing emotive trends for counterculture as a whole. Refusing to comply with industry standards like answering interviewer’s questions suggest Dylan’s public persona was in itself a protest. These first instances of myth-making and question refusal represent this protest, and should be analyzed rhetorically to elucidate Dylan’s perspective on celebrity culture, media structures and artistic criticism.

As a prominent cultural rhetor of the 1960s establishing a kind of ethos as an enigmatic, troubadour type is quintessential to a singer of his nature. Dylan’s interviews and press conferences exemplify his actions to make sure that his ethos was in his control, not the media. Now there’s no telling or even productivity behind discerning whether or not Bob Dylan deliberately performed his persuasion this way. Nonetheless examining both his public persona, and his comedic efforts with the press, make room to show humor as a framing device for identification. Remembering Aristotle’s definition of rhetoric which is persuasion in all available means (Cited in Burke, 1969, p. 49), the rhetor must make persuasion even when they are not around. Furthermore, Burke wrote that “persuasion involves choice, will; it is directed to a man only insofar as he is free” (Ibid, p. 50).

The Romantic frame to the ‘artist’ is powerful—despite being abused by cultural industries. Sean Zwagerman for the Journal of American Popular Culture writes: “the Romantic frame is an attitude toward artistic production which privileges inspiration, genius, spontaneity, and the ineffable, and diminishes practice, planning, aptitude, and craft” (2020, n.p). Dylan does not need so much to show off his discipline for practicing and playing. For his sounds and style were distinctly stripped back and nuanced with tradition. Dylan instead adopted, or perhaps, grew into, a Romantic frame—one inspired by his predecessor Woody Guthrie, who famously travelled across the country singing and writing songs for all people all over. This spontaneity and vagabond-like attitude also comes from Kerouac’s On the Road published in 1957, which Dylan cited as a major influence in his life. Rhetorically, Dylan’s fabrications work to establish ethos, and this is very ironic, as this occupation of myth-making is deceitful. Nonetheless, lies are creative. Despite the silliness, Dylan as creative trickster worked on writing his own myth either for inspiration or kicks.

Whether Dylan is intentionally mystifying his past to sanctify his work, and establish ethos by consecrating a Romantic poet narrative, some of these trivializations are very funny. One suggestion is that Dylan was simply having fun with the press. More importantly however, was the disconnection Dylan emphasized between him and them. Early on Dylan could see through their motives. An example of this comes from Dylan’s harsh interview with a Time Magazine reporter in which he states “There’s no ideas in Time Magazine, there’s just these facts.” Thereby Dylan’s compliance with journalism as a whole is almost entirely humorous, insincere or at the worst, rude and cynical. Dylan wants to separate these two worlds, facts from ideas. In this instance with Time Magazine, he is rather ruthless. As we will see in San Francisco, humor arises more frequently instilling a light-hearted, however confusing atmosphere.

In the San Francisco press conference in 1965 we see Dylan met with one of his grand problems. The first question of the interview asks Dylan about his clothing on the cover of Highway 61 Revisited. The reporter inquires of the symbolism of the t-shirt, what is the meaning behind the Triumph tee shirt Bob? What is the philosophy? This initial interaction sets the pace and accurately depicts the general relationship Dylan has with the press in this time and later years of the 60’s. Reporters want to know what it all means, even down to the article of clothing. Bob replies how he doesn’t really remember, and thought nothing of it. The photograph for the album was taken casually outside of his hotel one day. “Well, I’ve thought a lot about it” says the reporter, meaning the philosophy behind the Triumph motorcycle tee shirt. This example displays the press’ relentless occupation of labelling, and dissecting popular music and popular music icons. For Dylan, to explain the texts, as the press demands, is synonymous with finishing the texts. This relates to the Time Magazine encounter. The press is associated with finding facts, however, an artist is interested in ideas, ideas of which transcend history. The irony here is that the press inquire on these artistic ideas in order to deduce a material, factual truth, which of course, is impossible. Furthermore, the situation becomes funny as the reporter asks about a tee shirt. This reporter might be much more satisfied if he considers the tee shirt less philosophically. Bob Dylan likes motorcycles.

Amidst the countercultures and media-hyped networks of the 1960s, dialogues like these were typical between musician and reporter. Magazines, newspapers, editorials—all wanted to give the world an answer or explanation for the times of frenzy and unrest. For example, the Beatles were often tasked with explaining the rise in hallucinogenic drugs like LSD or marijuana. In an interview from 1968 one reporter asks them if they were “endorsing it.” To which Lennon replied “We’re manufacturing it.” This humorous example shows a sarcastic deflection from an accusatory type line of questioning, The Beatles, Dylan, and others, often experienced. Lennon’s quick witticism jumps from one set of terms—endorsement— to a much more intense set of terms—manufacturing, exercising Herbert Spencer’s foundational work on the cognitive shift in humor (Cited in Zwagerman, 2020, n.p). Lennon both protests and dismisses this question of whether or not the Beatles condone drug use with his sarcastic remark. While a normal answer from a celebrity of that level of fame would responsibly say “No we don’t condone LSD.” Instead, Lennon deepens the dialogue and exposes the inappropriateness of the question. Why are we turning to pop singers for life lessons anyway?

Owen Lynch writes that humorous communication can consist of superiority, relief or the interpretation of incongruity (Lynch, 2002). Under these conditions, specifically “interpretations of incongruity,” we can see how humor shares substance with protest. Lynch writes that “Jokes and laughter may also stem from the recognition that something is inconsistent with the expected rational nature of the perceived environment” (p. 428). For Dylan, this is embodied quite clearly in his line from Ballad of A Thing Man: “Because something is happening here but you don't know what it is, Do you, Mr. Jones?” Dylan actually can be heard snickering earlier in the same verse of this song. In the San Francisco press conference a reporter comically asks him “Who is Mr. Jones?” to which Dylan replies: “He’s a pinboy.” Dylan’s fictional Mr. Jones (ignoring the controversy and speculation of this song) serves to show the humor Dylan has with the press and news media. Throughout the song and psychedelic lyrics, whatever they stand for, Dylan never claims to know “what is going on” either.

The discussions concerning Mr. Jones also featured Dylan claiming that he is not only a pinboy, but he wears suspenders. Elsewhere Dylan has said that Mr. Jones is “just a fella at a truck stop.” These nonsensical answers provide a unique persuasive technique Dylan is using. Dylan attacks the press who are inquisitive, reaching, prying and so on, by making up this fake character. To Dylan, the press stand outside of his messages and his songs. His esoteric lyrics further confuse and frustrate them. The symbol-making Dylan undertakes in the creation of Mr. Jones, whether he is real or not, act as a humorous protest for which can further romanticize his career.

Protests certainly act as a kind of recognition with something that is inconsistent, or unjust within society. When Dylan uses absurdity with reporters it must be recognized he is also refusing to answer the question, despite the laughter and relief of tension provided to the room. For example during the San Francisco press conference, a reporter asks Dylan if he would label himself and his role for those “well-over thirty.” Albeit, this reporter has fairly lucid self-awareness as he states his recognition that Dylan doesn’t like labels and “maybe rightfully so.” Dylan replies “I would label myself as well under thirty, and my role is to stay here as long as I can.” Despite formally answering the reporter’s question, Dylan initiates incongruity with his response, because obviously the reporter was looking for more. Interestingly, Kenneth Burke described terministic screens as reality builders. Language inherently “selects reality” and thereby “deflects” it (Burke, p. 45). When Dylan responds that he is “well under thirty,” he is intelligently deflecting that reality which the reporter prompts. Furthermore, Dylan reflects the reporter using the same terms as he has just himself used.

There are more than a few responses in interviews that solidify Dylan’s public persona as a protest or incongruous with typical expectations. Each “era” of Bob Dylan featured a shift towards the next which was incongruous with expectations. Dylan was established and celebrated as the leading folk revivalist in popular music for songs like Blowin’ in the Wind, Masters of War, or A Hard Rains A-Gonna Fall. However in latter 1964, Dylan pushed away from the activist leader and recorded the simple sounding folk album Another Side of Bob Dylan. Nat Hentoff for the New Yorker writes that Dylan was enlisted as a prophet and finger-pointer, instigator social movements. On Another Side Dylan wants to abandon that role. “I want to write from inside me, and to do that I’m going to have to get back to writing like I used to when I was ten—having everything come out naturally. The way I like to write is for it to come out the way I walk or talk” (Hentoff, n.p).

Dylan also more notoriously shifted gears when in 1965 he famously “went electric.” This echoed in condemnation from the purist folk scene, as well as triggering boos at the Newport Folk Festival 1965. Robbie Robertson, who played guitar in Dylan’s band in 1965 stated the following in an interview for Esquire, on how Dylan acted with his critics: 'Well, the audience isn't really liking this very much, we should change it up.' But he didn't budge, and we stuck with him, and in time it's been proven that the world was wrong and we were right. That's quite a feeling.” Dylan captures some of this audience feedback in the San Francisco press conference. After being asked by a reporter if he was booed, Dylan tells them of the places that didn’t boo them, and says they must have a lot of money, to go to a place and boo somebody “I could never afford it,” he claims.

Bob Dylan’s romantic and comedic rhetoric, of which he juggles between his music and public persona, shows indirect, or symbolic protest against his opposition. Dylan makes the press his enemy in many situations. In fact, when a reporter begins to ask Dylan directly about question and answer type interviews, Dylan gets frantic with a loose ash from his cigarette. He goes on to say eventually that we all different ideas of the words we are using. Dylan’s persistent use of humor in interviews is not totally antagonistic. Humor is the perfect vehicle for giving the press what they want: an answer. Whether it’s Dylan explaining that he’s a “song and dance man” or not a folk artist but a creator of “vision music,” Dylan puts his own artistic endeavours, and rhetorical credibility in the medium of the press.

Works Cited

Burke, K. (1966). "Terministic Screens". In Language as Symbolic Action, 45.Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

——(1969). A Rhetoric of Motives. University of California Press.

Dylan, B. (2004). Chronicles, Volume One. Simon & Schuster. New York

Hentoff, N. (1964). Bob Dylan, the Wanderer. The New Yorker. (n.p). Accessed by web.

Lynch, O. (2002). Humorous Communication: Finding a Place for Humor in Communication Research. Communication Theory, 12(4), 423–445. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-2885.2002.tb00277.x

Zwagerman, S. (2020). Comedy is What We’re Really About: The Grateful Dead in a Comic Frame. The Journal of American Popular Culture. 19(2) https://www.americanpopularculture.com/journal/articles/fall_2020/zwagerman.htm