"You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, "Who is that man ?"
You try so hard
But you don't understand
Just what you'll say
When you get home.
Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?"
BALLAD OF A THIN MAN BY BOB DYLAN
Basically that's how I felt Saturday afternoon at the Julian Smith Park Gazebo when I went to hear what was billed as a free tribute to Bob Dylan by some local musicians in honor of his 69th birthday.
I could tell there was something going on, but like Mister Jones in Ballad of a Thin Man, I really didn't know what it was because it sure wasn't a tribute to Bob Dylan.
In fact, I think Bob Dylan would have been mortified how unprofessional the whole affair turned out to be.
The event, billed as "Bobfest" was supposed to have started at 3 p.m., according to both The Chronicle's Applause section and the Metro Spirit.
Needless to say, I was really looking forward to hearing some live performances of Dylan's songs since I have seen him three times in person, shook his hand backstage at Atlanta's old Municipal Auditorium in 1965 right after the Newport Folk Festival boo-ing and own lots of his early vinyl albums including his first Columbia release.
I have loved over the years hearing first-hand Dylan stories told to me by people close to him including Rita Coolidge, Kris Kristofferson, Pete Drake, Marty Stuart, Joan Baez, J.W. Gallagher (Gallagher's guitars) etc.
So just a few minutes after 3 p.m. Saturday I arrived at Julian Smith Gazebo thinking I was late only to find the tribute band members just setting up music stands, plugging in amps, etc. while three people were sitting on the lawn by the gazebo in folding chairs.
This didn't look good right off the bat; no pun intended on the GreenJackets who were getting ready to play a short distance away at Lake Olmstead Stadium where Dylan himself last performed in Augusta.
So I pulled a blanket out of my trunk, spread it out on a hillside and tried to act like I didn't care they were late starting. I watched as a fourth person came up to the other three and asked, "Is this all the Dylan fans in Augusta?"
By a quarter till 4, I was now wondering, "Did they send in the clowns or what?" The organizers were still making trips to their personal cars, hauling huge cases of soft drinks and other personal stuff.
At 3:50 p.m. --- 50 minutes after this Bobfest was supposed to have started --- I absolutely swear to you one of the organizers pulled out a CD and said, "Glenn Miller always works," and then he put in the CD playing Frank Sinatra singing in a sleepy ballad voice, "Fairy tales can come true. They can happen to you when you're young at heart."
While the five of us spectators may have felt "young at heart," I don't think any of us were feeling any younger with these local yokels wasting an hour out of our lives. And I was guessing by then that Bob Dylan surely would not be seeing one red cent of royalties if these "tribute" guys ever got around to performing his songs live.
But, still trying to give some benefit of doubt for musicians who may be trying to do something good and who may be honestly trying to honor a musical legend, I finally went up to the guy who played the Sinatra CD and asked, "Can you tell me why the newspaper said this was going to start at 3 p.m. and here it is 10 till 4 and you're still setting up?"
The guy kept on what he was doing with some wires or something and said with his face down, "The newspaper had it wrong. There was a problem with scheduling."
Now, I have known Steven Uhles for many years, and I know how accurate he tries to get everything right. I had that same entertainment writing job for six years, and I know how difficult it can be juggling all of those times and addresses, etc. But I also knew that the Metro Spirit also reported it was 3 p.m., and it would be very unlikely that both publications would have got the time wrong by the same mistake.
"Who exactly talked with the newspaper about this show," I asked.
The guy kept what he was doing with his face down and said, "What is this? An inquisition?"
"Well, sort of, I guess," I replied. "I might be writing something about this," already thinking about doing this blog.
The guy finally looked at my face --- with me wearing shorts, a casual shirt and ball cap --- and asked, "You're Don Rhodes aren't you?"
"Well, I guess so," I replied. "So tell me, who with your group talked to the newspaper?"
"He did," the guy said motioning to another musician a short distance away.
"So, what was this scheduling problem that got the newspaper to report this concert was to start at 3 rather than 4?" I asked him.
"Oh, it was a scheduling problem I had," he replied at least honestly, but apparently not caring it meant wasting the time of the few spectators who did show up.
Reporters do make mistakes. It's human, but the ones reporters make are usually corrected on the top left hand corner of page 2 of The Chronicle. This guy apparently did not care whether he made a mistake or not, and even worse he was letting his buddies blame the newspaper for it.
That reminded me of several politicians I encountered who would get furious over something I had reported and would declare, "I was misquoted" or "I was taken out of context" when the truth is I had a tape recording proving they had said what they said.
Now if the organizers had a legitimate reason for starting late and would have told the five of us there that they were starting late for a certain reason, that would be understandable. But since they didn't do that, it was time for me to leave.
I later checked with my news buddy Johnny Edwards --- one of the biggest Dylan fans I know in this area --- to see if he had gone by Bobfest with his daughter, Grace, on the way to the GreenJackets game as he planned to do; thinking I possibly did miss out on some great Dylan music.
This is what Johnny emailed and gave me permission to quote:
"I got there at 4:15, thinking I was late. They were still doing sound checks, and someone said it was actually starting at 5. That was bad, because I had to leave at 5:30 to run some errands and make it back in time for the GreenJackets game.
"When it started, they sounded awful. It was some guy named "Taliaferro Slim" and another guy, and Slim couldn't sing very well. He said he was going to play things from all periods of Dylan's career, and then proceeded to butcher several tracks from Greatest Hits Vol. II.
"He kept saying they were waiting on a band called Dis-taster from Athens to show up. He finished his "set," and announced that Dis-taster still hadn't arrived.
"By then, Grace and I had to leave, and, as we went to the car, everyone else appeared to be packing up and leaving, too. An hour and a half later, when we drove by the gazebo on our way to the stadium, it was empty. Very sad.
"If nothing else, though, it gave me and Grace a chance to lounge outside in the nice weather for an hour, better than being inside watching TV."
I don't know, Johnny, buddy. If there was a great Dylan special on TV, I could sacrifice the good weather, because at least I would know that something good was happening there on the tube, and I'd at least know what it was.
Wouldn't I, Mister Jones?
