He did not exactly run away from home as seek out an excuse to leave. No, he hadn’t already absconded from home seven times (at the age of 10, 12, 13, 15, 15 and a half, 17 and 18). No, he hadn’t spent six years with a travelling carnival. No, he hadn’t ridden the freights as a hobo from Gallop New Mexico to New Orleans. No, he wasn’t an orphan. It was all much less colourful than that. He’d been brought up in a Jewish family with a middle-class upbringing and led rather an uneventful life in a small town, but he was obsessed with music and determined to have a life in music. Apart from girls it was all he cared about.
Remarkably, as a young kid, he managed to secure a gig or three backing Bobby Vee on the piano when he’d appeared in the local area. That must have been a real buzz. In 1959, looking for a way of getting into the music business.
Using a course at Minnesota University as an excuse to leave Hibbing he gained the help of his mother (his relationship with his more conservative father being difficult). She arranged for him to go to Minnesota by organising with his cousin Chucky to put him up. Chucky sorted him a room in the frat house at the university where he could stay for free in the summer. Not exactly as exciting as riding freights and touring with carnivals, but it did set him on the road.
On arriving on the greyhound bus he immediately swapped his electric guitar for an acoustic Martin Double O so that he could set about playing in the local coffee houses. It was the start. What he did next was to seek out like-minded people, hang out with musicians, and have the time to develop, learn and evolve.
The liberal arts course at the University of Minnesota was not scintillating enough. Bob focussed more on his music, staying up late to play, listen, drink and party. For the young Robert girls, dope and booze were more interesting than study and he soon dropped out.
As with Dylan, I was caught up in the zeitgeist of the time. These were the days of great divisions in society: a rising rebellious youth, the threat of instant annihilation from nuclear war and dramatic changes in attitudes. The traumas of the second world war were still fresh, but the economy and world were opening up. Change was in the air. Our parents represented something we did not want to be. Bob was riding that wave of change.
The 1950s Beats may have cracked the façade of the rigid conformity and strict hypocritical morality of the prevailing post-war 1950s culture. Rock ‘n’ roll and r&b may have liberated youth into a temporary hedonistic frenzy, but it was the 1960s generation who blew the whole structure to smithereens.
Peculiarly, Robert Zimmerman found himself, sometimes unwillingly, right at the forefront of those shifts in the tectonic plates of society. Who could have predicted that? Who could have known that this young middle-class Jewish kid from a decaying nondescript town in the middle of nowhere would create a persona and develop the skills to take the whole world by storm?
That early Dylan was a chameleon, a sponge, a mirror, a driven force, who was searching for identity, acceptance and fame. He absorbed everything around him with an unquenchable thirst, then reflected it back a hundred times brighter. He took on his surroundings and magnified them. For that young Dylan, integrity was all that counted. Authenticity and cool were the only important things. Robert Zimmerman was an empty vessel into which he poured the ingredients that created Bob Dylan.
Extract: Phil Ochs On Track: Every Album, Every Song
This love of music took him down an even stranger route than anybody knowing him in later life could ever have imagined. At sixteen he did not like the school selected for him and choose a school for himself. He’d seen a poster with a great marching band and decided on that. He was taken with the idea of playing in a marching band. The Staunton Military Academy in rural Virginia hardly seemed the setting for the nurturing of one of the biggest rebels on the planet and avowed anti-war protester. Yet that’s where he went. Not only that but he seemed to love it. He liked the uniform, the regime and discipline and even got into weight-lifting and became more gregarious. Who could imagine?
In the course of his two years in Staunton (1956-1958) he developed a love of country and western. His heroes were Hank Williams, Ernest Tubb, Johnny Cash and Faron Young. During the latter part rock ‘n’ roll had burst onto the scene and Phil became swept up in that too. He was smitten by Buddy Holly and idolised Elvis Presley. He avidly played the radio alternately tuning into Alan Freed and country and western channels.
In 1958 he signed up to Ohio State University and arrived wearing a red leather jacket like the one James Dean wore in Rebel Without A Cause. As he had no idea what to major in he took a range of general courses. He’d only been there a short while before deciding that it wasn’t for him. He fled to Florida and was living rough, ending up bust by the police for sleeping on a park bench. While in the police cell Phil apparently had that epiphany. He decided that what he really needed to do was to become a writer and settled on journalism. He promptly went back to Ohio State and changed courses.
While studying journalism he was listening to rock and pop music and started studying politics with a particular interest in the situation in Cuba with Fidel Castro, Russia and the American government. Politics was quite a departure and eye-opener for Phil. He’d come from a very unreligious and unpolitical background, not used to discussing real issues in depth. He took to politics with zeal and became obsessed like all new acolytes.
According to his brother Michael, they used to have long debates about music and politics. Phil was still into his country singers and Michael was more into rock ‘n’ roll and rhythm & blues. The one person they both agreed was Elvis Presley; he was god.
Looking back to the early John Bucklen tapes, recorded in 1958 on a portable reel to reel tape recorder, of a young Robert Zimmerman, seventeen years old, still at school, pounding out his homage to his idol Little Richard, there was no inkling of the folk legend he was shortly to become. He wanted to become a rock star. That teenage Dylan was a rebel, assuming an image based on James Dean and Marlon Brando. He formed a number of loud rock ’n’ roll bands, the Golden Chords and Shadow Blasters being two, in which he pounded the piano oblivious to audience response. In the first of his chameleonic changes he assumed the name and wild persona of Elston Gunnn. Despite his naked enthusiasm the bands didn’t take off, indeed, had nowhere to go, but they did bring him some local notoriety and attract the girls. He was very into girls and rock music was both a magnet and aphrodisiac. A big motivator. This increasing rebelliousness led to fractious relationships with school, the tight-knit Jewish community and his father.
By the age of eighteen, he’d wrung the little Minnesotan iron ore town of Hibbing dry. He’d learnt the rudiments of guitar and piano, formed a number of bands, and absorbed a huge range of musical styles and traditions from rock ‘n’ roll, r&b to country music and standards – the mainstay of the local radio station, all of which were going to contribute and inform his progressions over the course of the ensuing years. Groundwork was being laid. Bob’s tastes were eclectic – his first musical heroes being Hank Williams and Little Richard.
Here we have to start to unravel the man from the myth. Robert Zimmerman was already outgrowing the little mining town of Hibbing in Minnesota. As soon as he was able, he looked for a way out of there. A fresh-faced boy, looking younger than his years, not yet needing to shave, set off on the start of his adventure.
Everything about Bob Dylan was false, a construct, apart from his natural talent. His persona was nothing more than a vehicle to transport him to where he wanted to go.
Young Bob Dylan was ruthless. He drained everyone around him dry, wringing out their songs, their chords, their tunes, friendships and love. I’m not implying that this was intentional or in any way mean, merely necessary. In order to get to where he needed to be he had to grow, blossom and change. Nothing was more important. Bob was helplessly riding a tsunami that he himself created. At times, for the people involved – Suze Rotolo, Joan Baez, Phil Ochs, Martin Carthy and Dave Van Ronk, to name a few – it must have felt as if they were being used and abused.
That fledgling Dylan (Robert Allen Zimmerman) was on a roller-coaster that kept changing tracks. Seemingly, he had no compunctions about leaving people and whole movements behind. Parents, lovers, friends and fellow musicians bit the dust. He moved on when the need arose, without scruples and ne’er a backward glance. The chameleon had to grow and move. That was his nature, all he knew.
The biographies are numerous, the details mauled over, magnified, twisted, sensationalised and made to fit the required template. Hard to disentangle reality from myth. There lived a legend largely generated by Bob himself in his quest to create credibility and breakthrough.
Life for a musician was cutthroat. Most fell by the wayside. Talent was not the only criterion necessary. Having the correct image, credentials, friends, disposition, drive and luck were also a necessity. What Robert Allan Zimmerman lacked he created for himself out of thin air.
Phil Ochs: Every Album, Every Song – Paperback on Sonic Bond Press. Available through Amazon or other book stores!
Phil Ochs was one of my great heroes. A singer who told it like it was, fought for justice and created a range of rousing, well-crafted songs in the process. Back then he was a shining light. His light still shines brightly and never have we needed it more.
For sixty years I’ve been mesmerised by Phil’s fantastic songs. To be able to write this book has been a real labour of love.
Miss you Phil! Still miss you!
Phil Ochs was the ‘The Prince of Protest’ in the sixties. The only real rival to Bob Dylan, he was the archetypal Greenwich Village topical songwriter. Whether protesting the Vietnam War or campaigning for civil rights, workers’ rights and social justice, Phil was always there.
Phil was the man to take up causes, write songs, play at rallies and even risk his life. His clear voice and sense of melody, linked with his incisive lyrics, created songs of beauty and power. As his career progressed, with lyrics and music becoming more highly poetic and sophisticated, he still never lost sight of his cause.
Towards the end of the sixties he joined with the YIPPIES in protest against the Vietnam War. But idealism became Phil’s downfall. He was an idealist who could see no point in continuing if he was unable to make the world a better place. Phil lost all hope and descended into depression, which, along with excessive alcohol consumption, led to his suicide in 1976.
Shortly before he took his life, Phil asked his brother if he thought anyone would listen to his songs in the future. Well here we are; sixty years later, still listening.
The songs of Phil Ochs are every bit as relevant as they ever were and they are making the world a better place!
was the ‘The Prince of Protest’ in the sixties. The only real rival to Bob Dylan, he was the archetypal Greenwich Village topical songwriter. Whether protesting the Vietnam War or campaigning for civil rights, workers’ rights and social justice, Phil was always there. Phil was the man to take up causes, write songs, play at rallies and even risk his life. His clear voice and sense of melody, linked with his incisive lyrics, created songs of beauty and power. As his career progressed, with lyrics and music becoming more highly poetic and sophisticated, he still never lost sight of his cause. Towards the end of the sixties he joined with the YIPPIES in protest against the Vietnam War. But idealism became Phil’s downfall. He was an idealist who could see no point in continuing if he was unable to make the world a better place. Phil lost all hope and descended into depression, which, along with excessive alcohol consumption, led to his suicide in 1976. Shortly before he took his life, Phil asked his brother if he thought anyone would listen to his songs in the future. Well here we are; sixty years later, still listening. The songs of Phil Ochs are every bit as relevant as they ever were and they are making the world a better place!
Bob Dylan 1962 to 1970 On Track (Decades) Paperback
Life for a musician was cutthroat. Most fell by the wayside. Talent was not the only criterion necessary. Having the correct image, credentials, friends, disposition, drive and luck were also a necessity. What Robert Allan Zimmerman lacked he created for himself out of thin air.
Looking back to the early John Bucklen tapes, recorded in 1958 on a portable reel to reel tape recorder, of a young Robert Zimmerman, seventeen years old, still at school pounding out his homage to his idol Little Richard, there was no inkling of the folk legend he was shortly to become. He wanted to become a rock star. That teenage Dylan was a rebel, assuming an image based on James Dean and Marlon Brando. He formed a number of loud rock ’n’ roll bands, the Golden Chords and Shadow Blasters being two, in which he pounded the piano oblivious to audience response. In the first of his chameleonic changes he assumed the name and wild persona of Elston Gunnn. Despite the enthusiasm the bands didn’t take off, indeed, had nowhere to go, but they did bring him some local notoriety and attract the girls. This increasing rebellious led to increasing fractious relationships with school, the tight-knit Jewish community and his father.
By the age of eighteen, he’d wrung the little Minnesotan iron ore town of Hibbing dry. He’d learnt the rudiments of guitar and piano, formed a number of bands, and absorbed a huge range of musical styles and traditions from rock ‘n’ roll, r&b to country music and standards – the mainstay of the local radio station, all of which were going to contribute and inform his progressions over the course of the ensuing years. Groundwork was being laid. His first musical heroes being Hank Williams and Little Richard.
Here we have to start to unravel the man from the myth. Robert Zimmerman was already outgrowing the little mining town of Hibbing in Minnesota. As soon as he was able, he looked for a way out of there. A fresh-faced boy, looking younger than his years, not yet needing to shave, set off on the start of his adventure.
He did not exactly run away from home as seek out an excuse to leave. No, he hadn’t already run away from home seven times (at the age of 10, 12, 13, 15, 15 and a half, 17 and 18). No, he hadn’t spent six years with a travelling carnival. No, he hadn’t ridden the freights as a hobo from Gallop New Mexico to New Orleans. No, he wasn’t an orphan. It was all much less colourful than that. He’d been brought up in a Jewish family with a middle-class upbringing and led rather an uneventful life in a small town. But he was obsessed with music and determined to have a life in music. It was all he cared about. He had managed to secure a gig or three backing Bobby Vee on the piano when he’d appeared in the local area. That must have been a real buzz for a young kid. In 1959, looking for a way of getting into the music business, he persuaded his mother to help him out. Using a course at Minnesota University as an excuse to leave he gained the help of his mother (his relationship with his more conservative father being difficult). She arranged for him to go to Minnesota by organising with his cousin Chucky to put him up. Chucky sorted him a room in the frat house at the university where he could stay for free in the summer. Not exactly as exciting as riding freights and touring with carnivals, but it did set him on the road. On arriving on the greyhound bus he immediately swapped his electric guitar for an acoustic Martin Double O so that he could set about playing in the local coffee houses. It was the start. What he did next was to seek out like-minded people, hang out with musicians, and have the time to develop, learn and evolve. The liberal arts course at the University of Minnesota was not scintillating enough. Bob focussed more on his music, staying up late to play, listen, drink and party. For the young Robert girls, dope and booze were more interesting than study and he soon dropped out.
Bob wasn’t new to rock music. In High School, performing as Robert Zimmerman, his bands were rock bands. Robert Zimmerman was a rocker. He idolised Little Richard. As a teenager, he even appeared in Bobby Vee’s backing group playing piano. One of his earliest songs was an ode to Little Richard. It was only when he left home and moved to Minnesota that he traded his electric guitar in to purchase an acoustic model and came under the thrall of folk music in order to busk in the local clubs. Back in those days, his early muses were Woody Guthrie, Robert Johnson and Hank Williams. He absorbed their influences, both musical and lyrical, to create the incarnation that, when he moved to Greenwich Village, became Bob Dylan.
By the time he arrived in New York as a 19-year-old in the freezing winter of January 1961, he was already performing a range of folk and blues and had begun songwriting. But the love of rock music hadn’t died. His first single, ‘Mixed Up Confusion’, recorded on 14 November 1962, featured a full electric band.
He wasn’t going to have another shot at rock music until December 1964, when, together with his adventurous record producer Tom Wilson, they had a first attempt at a folk rock fusion. They conspired to overdub a Fats Domino-style piano rock sound onto Bob’s earlier acoustic recording of the traditional folk song ‘House Of The Rising Sun’. Bob wasn’t happy about the result and the track did not see the light of day until much later (finally making an appearance on an interactive CD-ROM in 1995 – Highway 61 Interactive).
Tom Wilson was enamoured enough with this dubbing experiment to apply it to Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘The Sound Of Silence’, which sparked their career into the stratosphere. Bob, meanwhile, had turned his attention to the sound created by fellow folkie John P. Hammond (son of the great blues folklorist John H. Hammond). John had created an electric blues album featuring three members of Ronnie Hawkin’s backing band – The Hawks. The music was raw, blues-based rock with a folk base. That was the sound that Bob favoured.
Excerpt- New things do not come out of nowhere. They ferment out of various sources, slowly bubbling and fuming in nascent juices until they burst forth in naked inspiration. Thus, it was with Dylan’s new baby. He gathered the ingredients, allowed them to stew and marinade until they were ripe, then boldly, gleefully and even recklessly, thrust this new progeny into the spotlight.
Into the gumbo soup of Dylan’s electric storm, the various ingredients had been brewing for years. All that was required was the spark of genius to ignite the inferno. Like Shakespeare’s witches, he threw in the ingredients: the eye of rock ‘n’ roll, the newt of folk, the heart of Beat poetry and the glands of social comment. Hubble bubble toil and trouble, rhythms click and poems double. Out of this cauldron of fusion, something vital and highly original emerged to send rock music, and youth culture, reeling into the latter years of the sixties revolution. Dylan was the catalyst and Bringing It All Back Home was the vehicle.
Everything came together in one glorious burst of sublime energy. Dylan rose like a nascent rock god out of the drab folk costume of previous incarnations. Coupled with this new glistening image was a rampant new sound. To understand how this came about, we have to appreciate the history and forces that were at work.