Cool, cranky counsellor for seven decades,
Uncompromisingly honest and true,
Reluctant, slight but mighty mouthpiece
For our turbulent and troubled times.
Dishevelled, denim clad darling of Newport
Damned for declining work on the farm again,
And for demolishing and trampling on
The creaking doors of dull convention,
All before your first quarter century was done.
In two short years you changed the world
With that thin, wild mercury sound,
And poetry never more thrillingly
And controversially
Accompanied by electricity;
And then, mysteriously, you disappeared,
Resurfacing a backwoods family man
With new, but still astounding, songbook.
From basement jams and blood on the tracks,
Through rolling thunder and stadium tours,
I kept the faith;
And when a silver cross in San Diego
Drove you into the arms of Christ;
The onstage sermons may have grated,
But the venom and vengeful tone
Unleashed a sound of searing power.
Admitted Eighties drought and Wiggle Wiggle,
And blistering late nineties comeback
Came and went before a new century
Spawned reappraisals and new discoveries,
Sinatra tributes and mad Christmas album.
Through all your twists and turns
Of style, direction and belief,
And inveterate bloodymindedness,
Your integrity and talent has shone bright;
A body of work by aged twenty five
Enough alone for a lifetime’s legacy,
Yet you are the gift that keeps on giving,
Murder Most Foul but life most fair.
And then your voice, despised by many,
And, I’ll grant, an acquired taste,
From plaintive whine of ardent youth,
Through contented country croon
To veteran’s half spoken growl,
Child of a lifetime of heavy smoking
And punishing concert schedule,
Yet your phrasing remains unrivalled
In its clarity and passion.
No Oscars, Golden Globes,
Grammys or even Nobel Prize,
Will mean as much to you
As does the gratitude
Of the thousands of artists
Who have come after you
And cite you as a mentor.
Like Johnny Cash for you,
You are my north star and guiding light;
So, carry on being busy being born, Bob,
It’s still not dark yet;
We all gotta serve somebody I know,
And, for me, it’s you, my solace
In my hour of deepest need,
May you stay forever young
And your tour never end.
Tony Quarrington 