As we celebrate the 50th anniversary of The Band's "Music From Big Pink," history demands that we appreciate its leadoff track, "Tears of Rage."
Some friends and I were just discussing when anger is appropriate: One said that Serena Williams should not have been penalized for smashing her tennis racket and calling the referee a thief at the U.S. Open, if John McEnroe had not suffered for similar offenses; I agreed that although most of us overindulge in rage, if you're not angry at injustice, you're not paying attention.
Richard Manuel composed the music to "Tears of Rage" and sang the "Pink" version; Bob Dylan had written the lyrics the previous year, when he and The Band were creating the demos now known as the Basement Tapes. I think it's one of Dylan's most personal songs, written during the final illness of his polio-afflicted father, Abe Zimmerman, from Abe's point of view. Abe died at 56 on June 5, 1968, a month before the release of "Big Pink." He had a right to his rage.
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We carried you in our arms on Independence Day
> From his parents, little Bobby got a glimpse of the American freedom that he would exploit like no songwriter before him.
But now you throw us all aside and put us all away
> Sounds a lot like "put the folks in Sunnyview."
Oh what dear daughter beneath the sun could treat a father so
To wait upon him hand and foot and always tell him no?
> Dylan often substituted words to deflect too-obvious associations: "cup of meat" for "cup of tea," "supplied with sleep" for "supplied with sheep," "daughter" for "son" (and he did squeeze "sun" in there). Bobby always tells his folks he'll call or visit, but like many youths gone wild, he doesn't. Some commentators have seen this line as a reference to the daughters of King Lear.
Tears of rage, tears of grief
Why must I always be the thief?
Come to me now, you know we're so alone
And life is brief
> Dad says Bobby makes him feel like a thief when he even asks Sonny for a little attention in his solitude. A classic parental guilt trip, but life was indeed briefer for Abe than for most.
It was all so very painless when you ran out to receive
All that false instruction which we never could believe
> Dylan substituted "painless" for "painful," putting the emphasis on the son's convenience rather than the father's hurt. Nice. The false instruction must have been the kind Dylan received from pinkos like Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. Why, Bobby even recorded in a pink house! And perhaps Abe, who had taken the trouble to give Baby Robert Zimmerman an additional Hebrew name at birth, suspected that in a few years Dylan would be adopting Christianity, the worst kind of false instruction.
And now the heart is filled with gold, as if it was a purse
But oh what kind of love is this, which goes from bad to worse?
> Nasty: Abe implies that Bobby, who always used to write home for money, looked at his father in his golden years as a source for literal gold, rather than love or experience. Through selfishness, a bad son became worse.
We pointed you the way to go and scratched your name in sand
Though you thought it was nothing more than a place for you to stand
I want you to know that while we watched you discover no one would be true
That I myself was among the ones who thought it was just a childish thing to do
> Bobby's parents gave him direction and a name, which he rewarded by childishly planting his feet upon "Zimmerman" and obscuring it so he could rechristen himself after some godless Welsh poet. Well, at least Bobby discovered that other people would be no truer to him than the son had been to the father's heritage.
Tears of rage, tears of grief . . .
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Text note: I refer to the lyrics sung so achingly by Richard Manuel, which, though differing a bit from the words Dylan sang on the Basement Tapes, must have been approved by their author.
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Sound note: Yes, I bought the newly issued Bob Clearmountain remix of "Music From Big Pink," the 45rpm 12-inch 2-disc vinyl version -- sourced from the original 4-track tapes and, I'm guessing, digitally mastered. The sound is warm, respectful and, uh, clear. And sometimes we receive interesting insights, such as how the original mix of "Tears of Rage" blunted an exciting final dissonance by fading it out a few seconds early. But I'm distracted by the addition of modern digital reverb, which is none too subtle. And the remix just lacks the feel and soul of the scratched-up Capitol LP I bought for 49 cents eons ago. So the original's the one I'll continue to spin while sitting up late. Because life is brief.