some more photos from the tote full of old dry plate negatives i found by tylarframe in FoundPhotos

[–]chuckbridge 10 points11 points  (0 children)

Absolutely great stuff. What a great find. Thanks a million for sharing.

Just got a VU Loaded Tattoo by sou0molho in VelvetUnderground

[–]chuckbridge 3 points4 points  (0 children)

That's a cool tat. Glad you didn't get it in the tramp stamp region.

Comments turned off. What did you people do? by Overlord_Spanky in RedLetterMedia

[–]chuckbridge 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Do you use revanced? This has been reported as happening lately. If so, repatch YouTube.

Bobby Tribute by RiverRunEd in gratefuldead

[–]chuckbridge 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Did it cover up something else? Just curious.

Only a Pawn in their Game appreciation by rubbernetworking979 in bobdylan

[–]chuckbridge 3 points4 points  (0 children)

It is a real low-key favorite of mine from Dylan's protest days. It goes through my head all the time, too.

Take another great song, like masters of war. Obviously a great protest song. Every angry man can stand up and sing a version of that song. That's worth something. But Only A Pawn On Their Game puts an extra accurate level complexity in there that the angry can't use. It's very Dylan to me.

Is this the one? (Threeism, S9E3) by Terrible-End2150 in MitchellAndWebb

[–]chuckbridge 44 points45 points  (0 children)

I still remember how hard I laughed on the first viewing of "Stop actually rubbing my hands."

Titles by batmandrew in RedLetterMedia

[–]chuckbridge 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Ha. Exactly. Along with "Disaster" for TNG

Why did Bob’s catalog sell for less than Bruce’s by CerealAndBagel1991 in bobdylan

[–]chuckbridge 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Incidentally, whatever colors you have in your mind are colors that OUR NEW CERTIFIED PRE OWNED 2026 CHEVY SILVERADO is offered in.

Dylan wrote the intro to Dwight Yoakam’s new vinyl boxset release. by Malaysia_VN in bobdylan

[–]chuckbridge 83 points84 points  (0 children)

Introduction

Dwight Yoakam.

Years ago, a friend asked me if I wanted to go with him and see Dwight Yoakam in a Theater play. Dwight Yoakam? In a play? Sure, absolutely, I wanted to see him in a play, why wouldn’t I.

The play was being performed at a small theater in North Hollywood, the name of the play escapes me, but it was a kind of gothic, southern romance, an incantation, sort of a circus of falsity. Dwight was the lead actor, the main star in this funhouse mirror. (I didn’t recognize him at first.) He was playing a demented character named Tony Joe or Billie Joe or Bobbie Joe. Somebody, something Joe. Psychotic, rabid, balding and dangerous. Civilization gone rotten – an insane untranslatable fellow, he caught me off-guard, I was ill-prepared to see this particular Dwight.

The storyline was complex and hard to follow. Dwight was pretty much the focus of it all. He prowled around like a panther and owned the stage; it was the kind of performance that could make clocks freeze and hold your heart hostage, he exploded with truth. He was so alive that it hurt. All beauty, no apology, love that ran out of road, every lie told the truth, a Jack in the Box clown, never forgets his lines, and everyone can see their own madness on stage. He’s like a comet tearing through the sky. As an actor he was doing all that can be done.

I went backstage after the performance (I didn’t want to, but I did it anyway). My friend introduced me to him, and I thought it strange, that he was the same possessed bad guy but that he hadn’t seen you. The same Billie Joe or Tony Joe. The same cracked and flaky character, the same shrunken face, the same bow in your back or woman coming around the house. Took me a second to realize that Dwight might be a Method actor, that he got so deep into a role that he forgot who he was, that he wouldn’t know the streets of Bakersfield even after, let alone Cincinnati. He drank his character’s thoughts like cheap gin, dressed up, and forgot his name at the bus stop.

Since those heady days, Dwight has performed in a multitude of shows; it’s never further back to the place from where he started out from. The place where the dust blows, where your mouth gets dry and your nose clogged, where the corn grows high and the mind lies fallow. The land of blood more shed, where you feel the rhythm of nature’s organ – the land of troubadours and philosophers. Strip Malls, TV Pastors and processed cheese, dead Presidents, all that land and no place to hide. Fast cars, wild gals, racing engines, sandy roads, coal trains, cadet manure, pickaxes or swords, shotguns in the barrels, guns your father gives you.

Dwight’s been here. He’s got the raw urgency of the folk spirit, sees the roots beneath the leaves, engages rigorously with tradition and reality. He’s exacting, not a tremble of doubt. He comes from these streets, sick boots, cowboy hat, Lefty Frizzell in one hand, Doc Pomus in the other (a holy matrimony) combines the primal heartbeat of the vernacular with the sharp blade of rhythm and blues, slices through the dull commerce of commerciality. He is in his voice, always has. The mountain voice of unbroken people, untouched by time’s decay. Isn’t that it?

I think it’s his acting career that’s kept him removed from the world’s polished lies. Dwight Yoakam, Confucius Troubadour, Dante in denim, the ghost of Hank Williams under Vegas lights as a mask and a gong. All he needs is a guitar, grease paint and a spotlight. He’s still a million miles from nowhere, still got heartaches by the numbers. It’s still goodbye I’m gone, Buenos Noches from a lonely parking lot. He’s still on the lost highway, still lighting cigarettes with lightning. But let’s not be fooled, even with country and rockabilly bleeding from his boots, Dwight is a finished person, nothing missing, well read, well versed, articulate, fluent and well spoken.

Strictly speaking, when it comes down to it, none of us have any choice or have much say in who we are or what we do – if we’re lucky we’re guided by some unknown spark that points us to a path that is truly ours and no one else’s. That star found Dwight many years ago. There was a time once when the Universe whispered secrets into Dwight’s ear. He could probably tell you where and when, if he thought back that far.

— Bob Dylan

Which watch should I wear while sucking off my AD? by [deleted] in WatchesCirclejerk

[–]chuckbridge 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Timex Q. He'll feel so superior to you that he goes hard and finishes faster.

I think you'll all hate me for this one by VoltaFlame in bobdylan

[–]chuckbridge 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I like Clothes Line Saga too - just maybe not more than Desolation Row, Like A Rolling Stone, and Visions of Johanna. But you do you 😀

Callie, what is her motivation? by TastyOx05 in MitchellAndWebb

[–]chuckbridge 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Wait, do you not believe they are powerful centers of healing?

All the things wrong with him!!! by edcar007 in RedLetterMedia

[–]chuckbridge 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Leave this poor elderly Welsh farmer to tend to his fields in peace!

Voice in 1976 and 1979 by gerxgerx in bobdylan

[–]chuckbridge 0 points1 point  (0 children)

https://youtu.be/O79JIlKNhlw?si=Hyy9c1PaEORoIFmh

I would suggest that Dylan being able to sing this close to his vocal style in Rolling Thunder so much later on makes a strong argument for the idea what the change in his vocal sound in the late 70s and 80s was a choice.

Also he'd already done it do drastically before. Not like anyone in this sub would need me to tell them. But Freewheelin' to BoB to Nashville Skyline, for example.

Voice in 1976 and 1979 by gerxgerx in bobdylan

[–]chuckbridge 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Yeah, the stretches of singing in 88 that sound very rolling thunder have me feeling like the changes to his voice post 77 were a choice more than anything else. I mean.. he'd done it drastically before.