Final Turkey Adventure Segment
She looks at me with these two cold blue eyes. She says, “That’s probably true.”
And I say, “But, Patty, I got—well—Patty—.“ I get an inspiration. I get her to walk outside with me and there is my car. It looks like a chicken coop with wheels. I say, “Patty, I’m going to tell you the truth. I got trapped by seven-thousand, five-hundred-and-fifty turkeys.”
She looks at my car. The feathers are still falling off the Ford and three turkeys had sat on my shoulders during the melee. She looks at me. She says, “You are a slob!”
I say, I’m a slob? The turkeys! I didn’t do it!”
She says, “Alright, let’s go. It’s date time.”
I had to wipe off the door handle and she got in. She had her dress on under her store uniform and now she was all dressed up. It was a very bad scene. The turkey in the back seat had gotten excited too.
I was supposed to take her to dinner. We pulled up in front of this restaurant and we walked in. What do you think the special was that night? I don’t even have to tell you. With gravy and stuffing.
As soon as we had our table I got up and went to the men’s room. I started wiping stuff off my shoulder. There was an attendant in there with combs and cologne. He came up and he said, “How are you, sir?”
I said, “I’m fine.”
“Can I help you, sir?” He takes out his spot remover. “What is that?”
I said, “Well—“
He said, “It can’t be what it looks like.”
I said, “It is.”
He said, “Chicken?”
I said, “Worse than that.”
“No, no, worse than that.”
He said, “What is it?”
I said, “Turkey.”
He said, “Turkey! That’ll never come out!”
That’s right. It never came out. Today I’ve got an electric blue, turkey-spotted sports coat in my closet. If turkey ever really comes back as a decorative item, I’m ready.
Turkeys ended, stay tuned for next kid story.
Part 3 of 3 of Ferry’s “Hard Rain.”
AFTER HEARING, VIEWING, CONTEMPLATING SO MUCH, I REMAIN CONFUSED.
(I’VE HEARD/VIEWED FERRY’S “A HARD RAIN” DOZENS OF TIMES)
Dylan’s studied and satisfying refusal to alter his equanimity, avoiding the emotional excess his words seem to insist on for the listener, seem to emphasize the steady power of his meaning –its timeless folk-origins. While Ferry has transformed “A Hard Rain” into an over-the-top emotional affectation, an extravaganza not made to persuade but to enthrall—a new esthetic object.
From Dylan, Ferry has made a new, stirring mental construct, a new object of obsessive originality—fabulous, awe-inspiring, mesmerizing in his fierce-eyed repetition from which one cannot avert ears or eyes. And yet, of course, he has not killed off the Dylan itself—he’s only transmogrified our notions—leaving us with the old revered Dylan plus the newly fabricated Ferry.
Recently, at my goading, my wife, who’s not a big Dylan fan, watched Ferry’s “Hard Rain” for the first time, proclaiming it “brilliant!”
In an Internet review of Ferry, Douglas Wolk writes: “A Hard Rain” is one of the most awesome Dylan covers ever, the kind of interpretation that leaves its source bruised, hung over and covered in Sharpied taunts. Ferry ripped apart Dylan’s apocalyptic tapestry fiber by fiber and reconstructed it in Day-Glo plastic thread; his performance’s deliberately affected mannerisms….
In an Internet essay, Robert Forster commented: “Ferry, though, pulled off a stroke of genius. With ‘A Hard Rain’, he took one of Dylan’s greatest and most revered early works, a stark and compelling piece of protest-era song-writing, and put it into the glam-rock blender. And by God, it worked. ‘A Hard Rain’ being a three-chord folk song, Ferry not only saw the possibilities of pounding it into a fantastic three-chord rock song, but the opportunity to add all the touches so characteristic of his work at that moment: grand camp gestures that the song just had to lie down and take.”
Sympathetic/poetic vs ironic/bombastic.
I am both conflicted and seduced by these
diametrically opposed artworks.
Bryan Ferry’s “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall” is the strangest, best Dylan cover ever.
Th-th-that’s all, folks!