Ancient Bards and Bob Dylan

Some Reflections After Watching "A Complete Unknown"

In medieval European society, bards were a kind of poet employed by a king or chieftain. Bards played for the king, their court, and the community, regaling the people with song. Their “primary function appears to have been to compose and sing (usually to the harp) verses celebrating the achievements of chiefs and warriors, historical and traditional facts, religious precepts, laws, genealogies, etc” (Wikipedia). These poets sang (or chanted) about wars, kings, gods, and sacrifice. And, apparently, if the bard’s patron failed to pay them the proper amount, they also composed satires as punishment (Wikipedia). Being seen as possessing magical powers, bards had considerable influence. That influence even went as far as legitimizing a king’s right to rule because the bard had authority over keeping track of royal lineages.

A few days ago was St. David’s Day—a Welsh holiday you probably don’t know about, but I do, because I’m Welsh and my dad texted to remind me what day it was. In honor of my mostly Welsh blood, I looked online to find out a little more about the day’s history, and I ended up finding an old Welsh poem called Armes Prydein, which, translated, means “The Prophecy of Britain”. In this poem, written in the 10^th century, an anonymous Bard writes about how they’re going to stick it to their English overlords in battle, gain independence, and that St. David—a long dead founder of monasteries—would lead the Welsh victory. That prophecy did not come true, and doesn’t look as if it ever will, but nevertheless captured the spirit of their countryman, so much so that it was written in the ancient Book of Taliesin where it still exists today at the National Library of Wales. This research led me to a question: is there anyone in our modern society similar to an ancient bard?

Last week, I watched a new movie chronicling Bob Dylan—the only singer-songwriter to win the Nobel Prize for Literature—called “A Complete Unknown”. In the movie, Timothée Chalamet plays Bob Dylan during his life between being discovered in 1961 and the release of his album Highway 61 (Revisited) in 1965. The movie was heavy on music and light on story arc, but nonetheless an enjoyable watch, mostly because I’ve been a long-time fan of Dylan’s music and it was great seeing his story come to life on the screen, however many creative liberties were taken. In one of the scenes (minor spoiler alert), Dylan, during the night of the Cuban Missile Crisis—amidst panicked screams and people running for cabs to get out of the city—is portrayed playing a set in a basement night club. We catch the very end of his song “Masters of War”. The beginning of the real song reads;

“Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks”

The song—actually written many months after the Cuban Missile Crisis takes place—powerfully denigrates men in authority who foment war, bidding people to die when they are unwilling to risk themselves.

The ancient bard in the poem Armes Prydein calls to arms the men of Wales to be courageous and wage war against the English, and Bob Dylan’s song denigrates powerful men who make war unnecessarily or unjustly. While both works differ sharply in content, the ancient poem and Dylan’s song function in the same tradition. Dylan’s song reminded the people that America is not characterized by the spirit of glory and conquest at the expense of other people’s lives, but we are a peace-loving nation. This, at once, captures one of the guiding spirits of America and guides our emotions to the proper course. For the Welsh, who had been unhappy being subjugated to English rule, had this collective spirit captured in Armes Prydein and likely caused similar emotional and ideological cohesion in the Welsh people as Dylan’s song did for us. Bob Dylan’s career (at least in his younger years) was uniquely bard-like in this respect. A person once told me Bob Dylan had a voice like a fax machine, and I don’t disagree, but I don’t think Dylan was ever loved for his singing voice. Personally, I’ve always found Dylan compelling because of the poetic nature of his lyrics. He didn’t just make me feel, but he also made me think.

Dylan’s music danced fruitfully on the edge of music as a fine art—music that’s played for its own sake because of its pleasantness and beauty—and music as social and political commentary. Dylan played that high-stakes game masterfully. As we see happen often today, if an artist becomes too overtly political or ideologically dogmatic with their lyrics, they lose their worth and credibility. Dylan, however, always seemed to say things that matter socially without inspiring strong alienations. He makes a person think, without shoving a message down their throat, which, in itself, is an art. Take, for example, his song, “Maggie’s Farm”.

“I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother no more
Well, he hands you a nickel
He hands you a dime
He asks you with a grin
If you’re havin’ a good time
Then he fines you every time you slam the door
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother no more”

I had an uncle who used to pull quarters out of my ear when I was a kid—which made me grin. Is Bob Dylan just simply talking about this common experience and a type of personality? However, then he adds the line, “He fines you every time you slam the door…” That’s odd. Are we talking about families now, or are we talking about the government? Are we talking about cops and the way they give you stupid parking tickets? Are we talking about America? Is American just one big family? Dylan leaves us guessing as to whether we are in the mundane or the meta. The political and social commentary was more overt in “Masters of War,” but similar commentary colored most of his discography. Still, many of his songs are purely for enjoyment or just simple love songs like “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go”. No matter his social and political allusions, his authenticity as a creative musician and artist always shines through, keeping his bona-fides intact.

More current songs do well at working on our emotions, which songs ought to, but fail by directing them towards morbid introspection or overtly towards vice. For example, one of today’s most popular songs is Noah Kahan’s “Stick Season”, where Kahan sings,

“And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks
And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed
And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim
I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas.”

The popular song, if you’ve listened and surrendered yourself to its influence, hardly fails to bring up very strong emotions. But the emotions are then guided towards drinking and dwelling on whatever went wrong in some past relationship.

I’m not saying Dylan is a paragon of virtue in comparison. Dylan didn’t always succeed in turning the heart towards better things. For instance, the song, “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35” sings that “everybody must get stoned”; it’s funny, but not exactly calling a person to better or higher things. Still, today’s songs are worse, and they are not in line with the bardic tradition that’s more conducive to social cohesion. Today’s music is more apt to shape emotions towards the morbid introspection that characterizes the modern individualistic mindset, having the effect of alienating us even further from each other.

Like the ancient bardic tradition, artistic expression must have an external locus of attention, and I think Dylan was one of the best examples of this tradition in modern times. All art ought to speak from a subjective viewpoint to and for the good of the community it’s nested in. And this is going to feel different depending on the locale.

Every community ought to have its own bard, though mine doesn’t have one, and yours probably doesn’t either. I can’t imagine what might remedy the situation, but bards could help bind our collective imagination, show us where we are, and illuminate where we may be heading. For a time, I think Bob Dylan was one of the people who served this position for America as a nation.

Who might be next, and what will be their legacy? What kind of creation brings us to a place higher, toward virtue, or a place lower, toward vice? Perhaps we ought to ask ourselves this question more before pressing play on Spotify, or, if you are an artist, before putting a pen to the page. We’ll make the culture we inhabit with what we vote for with our attention and the things we create with our time, and if that is advice, it’s something I’m saying just as much to myself as I am to anyone else.