Uncategorized
New book details the long and winding road trod by the Beatles and Bob Dylan
Where the Music Had to Go: How Bob Dylan and the Beatles Changed Each Other — and the World
by Jim Windolf
Simon and Schuster, 400 pages, $30
I ran into a neighbor the other day and we got to talking and he asked me what I was working on at the moment. I told him I was reviewing a new book about the Beatles and Bob Dylan – the first full-length treatment exploring the relationships between the Fab Four and the bard from northern Minnesota and their influence upon each other. My neighbor replied, “I would never have thought to put Dylan and the Beatles together. It seems like they existed in wholly different universes.”
That’s when I realized the full extent and significance of Jim Windolf’s Where the Music Had to Go: How Bob Dylan and the Beatles Changed Each Other – and the World. “Well then this book is for you – and for people like you who never made the connections between them,” I told him.
For some fans, the links between Dylan and the Beatles are and have always been readily apparent. From a young age, they all got bitten by the rock ‘n’ roll bug, particularly in the form of Little Richard. In his high school yearbook, Dylan wrote that his ambition was “to join Little Richard.” For the Beatles – and especially for Paul McCartney – Little Richard’s sound served as a template, powering “She Loves You” to the top of the UK pop charts via Paul’s version of what Windolf called Little Richard’s “vocal trademark, the rough falsetto whooooo.” When the Beatles played their final full concert at Candlestick Park in San Francisco in 1966, their last song was Richard’s “Long Tall Sally.” Windolf informs us that in the 1970s, Richard’s “Lucille” was the song Paul launched into while auditioning musicians. And in 1988, when the Beatles were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, George Harrison said in his acceptance speech on behalf of the group, “Thank you very much, especially all the rock ‘n’ rollers – especially Little Richard. It’s all his fault, really.”
Windolf – an editor at The New York Times who has published articles, reviews, essays and humor pieces in Vanity Fair, The New Yorker, New York magazine, Rolling Stone and other publications – digs deep into the archives to come up with some new and surprising biographical facts about his subjects, as well as offering some surprising interpretations of how Dylan and the Beatles addressed each other indirectly – and sometimes quite directly – in song.
By early 1964, the Beatles had worn out the grooves on Dylan’s first two albums by listening to them repeatedly while in Paris doing a concert residency. “We all went potty on Dylan,” Lennon later said. Three years hence, the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, whose cover collage was chock-full of portrayals of artists, actors, thinkers, sports figures, comedians, gurus and other pop culture notables. As Windolf notes, standing tall above all others in the topmost row was a relatively diminutive figure in real life – Bob Dylan.
Dylan could not help but hear (and enjoy) the Beatles on his car radio while driving cross-country with friends. And the years following their introduction to each other’s music saw Dylan and the Beatles meet on a number of occasions, first brought together by their mutual acquaintance, journalist Al Aronowitz, who was also responsible for supplying the marijuana that turned a summit meeting into a riotous party. Windolf quotes Aronowitz saying that he was “a proud and happy shadchen, a Jewish matchmaker, dancing at the princely wedding I’d arranged.” (Yiddish also peppered Dylan’s vocabulary. Speaking of his “Ballad in Plain D,” a nasty song about a girlfriend’s sister, Dylan said years later, “That one, I look back at and I say, ‘I must have been a real schmuck to write that.’”)
The Beatles went on to attend two Dylan concerts at the Royal Albert Hall, and Lennon began writing songs that showed the lyrical and sonic influence of Dylan, including “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” and “Norwegian Wood.”
Windolf makes a strong case that “Nowhere Man,” written by Lennon, was the first Beatles song having nothing to do with romance. “In this regard, he was catching up with Dylan, who had written and recorded dozens of songs on subjects other than love.” Windolf goes on to compare the title character of “Nowhere Man” to that of Dylan’s “Ballad of a Thin Man,” the latter’s clueless “Mr. Jones” sensing that “Something is happening here, but you don’t know what it is.”
This dynamic of exchange, with the Beatles responding to Dylan’s work, continued through the their final album, 1969’s Abbey Road, whose penultimate track, written by Lennon, was “I Want You (She’s So Heavy),” whose key phrase, “I want you / I want you so bad…” was lifted right from Dylan’s 1966 hit, “I Want You,” in which the refrain is, “I want you, I want you, I want you so bad.”
Dylan returned the favor, alluding to the Beatles in several songs. In his 1965 song, “Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream,” he sang, “I ran right outside and I hopped inside a cab / I went out the other door, this Englishman said, ‘Fab.’” And Dylan wrote another playful answer song called “Fourth Time Around” to the Beatles’ very Dylanesque song “Norwegian Wood” in 1966. In 2004, in concert in North Carolina, Dylan sang new lyrics to his song “Tears of Rage,” including the lines: “I’ve never been to Strawberry Fields / I’ve never been to Penny Lane,” mentioning two Beatles songs.
The relationship was not, however, perfect, and after years of seemingly drawing creative inspiration from Dylan, Lennon seemingly grew tired of or frustrated with him. In several early songs from his post-Beatles solo career, Lennon’s tone changed from respectful to dismissive. In the anti-war anthem, “Give Peace a Chance,” he referenced “Bobby Dylan” — slyly infantilizing him — in a litany of names of counterculture figures including Timothy Leary and Allen Ginsberg. In his song “God,” he announced that he “didn’t believe’ in “Zimmerman,” using Dylan’s birth name — a possible instance of Lennon’s lifelong case of generalized antisemitism rearing its ugly head.
Lennon explained the move thusly: “Because Dylan is bullshit. Zimmerman is his name.” (To be fair, Lennon also sang that he didn’t believe in “Beatles.”) But the possible antisemitism continued with Lennon’s response to Dylan’s gospel-era hit “Gotta Serve Somebody,” a nasty answer song called “Serve Yourself,” saying “there’s somethin’ missing in this God Almighty stew, and it’s your goddamn mother you dirty little git.”
(The greatest victim of Lennon’s antisemitism, however, was Beatles manager Brian Epstein, whom Lennon teased mercilessly for being gay and Jewish. Yet somehow, when it came time to hire a new business manager after Epstein’s death by accidental drug overdose, Lennon’s candidate was Allen Klein, who graduated from Weequahic High School in New Jersey in 1950, alongside his classmate Philip Roth.)
Despite the apparent rancor, during the lengthy January 1969 rehearsal sessions portrayed in the Peter Jackson documentary film, Get Back, the Beatles jammed on parts of many songs by other artists, none more so than the 15 by Dylan. By this time, the Dylan-Beatles center of gravity had shifted to George Harrison, who had spent the previous Thanksgiving holiday hanging out with Dylan and members of The Band in Woodstock, N.Y., where he started out co-writing songs with Dylan. (Windolf mentions an attempt by Dylan and Lennon to write a song together, but no tape or manuscript has ever surfaced.) When Harrison’s first solo album, All Things Must Pass, was released in 1971, the opening track was a Dylan-Harrison co-write, “I’d Have You Anytime.” And the album also included an early version of Dylan’s “If Not for You.”
At a press conference on the Isle of Wight, where he was to perform in August 1969, Dylan claimed that the Beatles asked him to work with them. “I love the Beatles and I think it would be a good idea to do a jam session,” he said.
While such a jam session never took place, Dylan did invite George Harrison to join him in the studio several times throughout the years. In 2021, Columbia Records released 1970, a three-disc archival set including the complete recording session from May 1, 1970, when Harrison joined Dylan at Columbia’s Studio B in New York. Dylan also famously came out of relative seclusion to take part in Harrison’s benefit concerts for Bangladesh in August 1971. And Dylan realized his lifelong dream of submersing himself in a band when he took part in the 1998-1990 recording sessions of the Traveling Wilburys, a supergroup consisting of Dylan, Harrison, Tom Petty, Roy Orbison and Jeff Lynne. (Tom Petty once said, “George quoted Bob like people quote scripture.”)
Windolf’s book is slightly marred by a few errors and interpretative attempts that needlessly call his analytical credibility into question. He refers to the electric backing band that Dylan toured the world with in 1965-66 as a “four-piece band,” but it was, in fact, always a five-piece band, almost entirely composed of musicians who would morph into the proto-Americana group The Band. He also writes that Dylan’s song “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll” was “based on the true story of a Black housemaid who was killed in 1963 by her rich white employer, William Zanzinger.” In fact, the real-life guilty party was named William Zantzinger. Dylan used his poetic license to change the name to Zanziger in the lyrics for better poetic assonance (and possibly for legal reasons).
Windolf also claims that Dylan “preferred that the people he encountered not see him as a Jew, and the Dylan name helped him skirt the issue of ethnicity at a time when antisemitism was all too common.” That’s a common take, but one contradicted by the fact that one of the very first original songs Dylan sang in coffeehouses was “Talkin’ Hava Negilah Blues.” Why would someone trying to build a wall between his Jewish heritage and a made-up all-American identity choose to write and play such a song publicly? Plus, Dylan wrote several early songs that refer to Biblical stories (“When the Ship Comes In”) and the Shoah (“Masters of War”).
While changing one’s name in show business had at one time been an attempt to assimilate, simplifying an ethnic name or simply shortening it or making it catchier was a common show-business practice (and still is today). Even one of the Beatles chose to “jazz” up his name: Richard Starkey became Ringo Starr. And Richard Penniman wasn’t trying to fool anyone about being Black by calling himself Little Richard.
Nevertheless, Windolf makes a convincing case that Dylan and the Beatles played off each other in many ways, in and out of their music, such that their achievements overlapped in real time and continued to impact their lives and songs for decades to come. And, along with that, to shape and mold the very essence of popular culture for the last 60-plus years.
The post New book details the long and winding road trod by the Beatles and Bob Dylan appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
Israel names a street after renowned Yiddish poet Abraham Sutzkever
The Israeli city of Netanya has renamed one of its streets Rechov Avrom Sutzkever (Abraham Sutzkever Street), after the renowned Yiddish poet and Vilna partisan.
The event on June 10 marked an important cultural moment, recognizing the legacy of a poet who devoted his life to Yiddish language and Jewish culture. During his lifetime, Sutzkever was celebrated not only for his poetry, but also for editing the storied Yiddish literary magazine Di goldene keyt (The Golden Chain) for 46 years. His work remains a fixture in the field of Yiddish literature today.
Sutzkever was born in 1913 in the shtetl of Smorgon, in what is now Belarus. During World War I, his family moved to Siberia, where his father, Hertz Sutzkever, died. In 1921, his mother Rayne moved the family to Vilnius, where Sutzkever attended cheder.
Sutzkever survived the Vilna Ghetto. He was a leader of the “Paper Brigade” that rescued Jewish cultural treasures from the Nazis and later became the only Jewish witness called by the Soviets to testify at the Nuremberg Trials.
His poetry chronicled his childhood in Siberia, his life in the Vilna ghetto and his escape to join the Jewish partisans. In 1947 he settled in Palestine, later Israel.
In Israel, he continued to create, publish and preserve Yiddish culture for decades. Yet, despite his immense influence around the world, he remained less known in Israel because he chose to write and fight for the Yiddish language rather than switch to Hebrew.
This is the first time a street in Israel has been named after him. Even Tel Aviv never did so, despite the fact that Sutzkever lived there for many years and the city was once a hotbed of Yiddish cultural activity, due to the influx of Yiddish-speaking immigrants who settled there after the Holocaust.
The street-naming ceremony was attended by the Mayor of Netanya, Avi Slama; representatives of the Lithuanian Embassy; public figures, artists, and members of the family, including Sutzkever’s granddaughter, Hadas Kalderon.
In the past decade, Kalderon has been instrumental in keeping Abraham Sutzkever’s memory alive, most notably through two documentary films: Ver Vet Blaybn? (Who Will Remain?) in 2021, and Black Honey: The Life and Poetry of Avraham Sutzkever in 2018.
Kalderon told me that she was very moved by Netanya’s decision to name the street after her grandfather, in a garden overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. “It was not only a tribute to Sutzkever himself, but also a powerful moment of recognition for Yiddish language and culture within the State of Israel,” she said.
The post Israel names a street after renowned Yiddish poet Abraham Sutzkever appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
At the dawn of the World Cup, the story of the Jews who helped bring soccer to America
When the North American FIFA World Cup starts in Mexico City on June 11, the story will largely be told through the familiar lenses of Lionel Messi, the geography of the 48 participants and three hosts, and — because 75% of the games will be played there — the continuing rise of soccer in the United States. But there is another, less familiar story woven through the tournament: the long, strange and often overlooked history of Jews in North American soccer.
Mostly that’s been in the United States where players and owners have included a larger proportion of Jews than in Canada and Mexico. By my count, no Jewish players have represented Mexico, and only two Jewish men have represented Canada at senior international level and one of them, Tomer Chencinski, only did so once, in a friendly game where Canada lost 2-0 to Belarus in Doha. (Daniel Haber played 5 international games in his career).
For whatever reason, whether more closely linked to Europe, denied entry to other sports, or just arbiters of excellent taste, Jewish Americans have been at the forefront of soccer in the United States for over a century. The first American to play for a major European team was Eddy Hamel for Ajax Amsterdam in 1922. Hamel was a New York-born winger who became a star for Ajax in Amsterdam during the 1920s. An injury forced his retirement in the 1930s and, after the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands, he was deported and murdered at Auschwitz in 1943. His story remains one of the most tragic intersections of Jewish history and world football.
Jews also comprised the largest soccer crowd in America when 46,000 New Yorkers watched Hakoach Vienna play New York All Stars in 1926. That record stood for over 50 years but it also encouraged a number of members of the Hakoach team to emigrate to the US and start a New York team that was a crucial part of the American Soccer League of the era.
Later, in the 1970s, the National American Soccer League — the glitzy NASL — became a success thanks to the glamorous New York Cosmos. As head of Warner Communications, their CEO Steve Ross, born Rechnitz, was the person who brought Pele over and made the league the star-studded affair it became. After Herman Sarkowsky co-founded the Seattle Sounders, the continent was almost ready for football.
When the NASL faded and folded, soccer dwindled as a major sport in the United States. Alan Rothenberg saw an opportunity to revive the sport by hosting the 1994 World Cup and founding the MLS as a reset. As president of the U.S. Soccer Federation and the chief executive of the World Cup USA 1994 organizing committee, he made both of those happen and laid the foundations for the current shape of U.S. soccer.
The success of the MLS was not a foregone conclusion, though; indeed, it barely survived to the millennium. It was founded in 1993 but only started playing in 1996 — losing an estimated $350 million between its founding and 2004. The league initially turned to Don Garber, a former NFL executive, in August 1999 but even he couldn’t turn it around. By late 2001, it looked like the league would fold like its predecessors but it was able to secure new financing from owners Lamar Hunt, Philip Anschutz, and the Kraft family to take on more teams. Over the past 20 years, it has become robust, enjoying the general boom of all things soccer, riding the coattails of the English Premier League.
Without Robert Kraft and Anschutz, Major League Soccer might not exist today. During the league’s precarious early years, the two billionaire owners absorbed enormous losses to keep the fledgling competition alive. Kraft, the owner of the NFL’s New England Patriots, was also a central figure in bringing the 2026 World Cup to North America. As chairman of the United Bid Committee, he played a crucial role in securing the tournament for the United States, Canada and Mexico.
If Kraft represents one side of the Jewish soccer story, Chuck Blazer represents another.
The larger-than-life American soccer executive helped expose corruption inside FIFA, serving as a key witness in the investigations that ultimately toppled some of the most powerful figures in world football. Yet Blazer was a product of the very system he later helped unravel. His spectacular rise and fall remains one of the strangest chapters in soccer history, a tale of luxury apartments, exotic pets and global corruption.
Unlike baseball, basketball or boxing, soccer never became known as a major arena of Jewish achievement in the United States. Perhaps that has been due to the historic lack of status for soccer in the country. Despite the excellence of Yael Averbuch West for the USWNT and a number of Jewish players for the USMNT including Jonathan Bornstein, Benny Feilhaber, Dan Calichman, DeAndre Yedlin, Kyle Beckerman and the maverick Yari Alnutt there have been no soccer equivalents of Sandy Koufax or Hank Greenberg.
The stalwart defender Jeff “Goose” Agoos came closest with 134 international appearances and six more for the U.S. soccer Olympic team. But playing with a mediocre USMNT, he enjoyed few legendary moments. In fact, arguably no professional moments outshone the bizarre story of his 1989 NCAA championship ring in his junior year, the season that he played in the Maccabiah. On Dec. 3 of that year, his Virginia Cavalier team (playing for future USMNT coach Bruce Arena) met the top ranked, undefeated Santa Clara team in a freezing cold stadium in Piscataway, N.J. The teams were still tied 1-1 after FOUR overtimes and, with no penalties on the books, they shared the spoils. It was the third time that two teams shared the championship and has never happened again.
This year’s USMNT squad does include the only Jewish player at this summer’s tournament — reserve goalkeeper Matt Turner. If, as coach Mauricio Pochettino plans, Turner exclusively warms the bench, he will take his place alongside many of America’s notable Jewish soccer figures who have furthered the game, even if not on the field.
The post At the dawn of the World Cup, the story of the Jews who helped bring soccer to America appeared first on The Forward.
Uncategorized
‘Remember the Liberty’ has become code for ‘Israel Is Evil’
The first tragedy of the U.S.S. Liberty attack is that it happened at all. The second is that Israel’s critics have weaponized it to spread hate.
When Rep. Thomas Massie of Kentucky stood on the House floor on June 8, the 59th anniversary of the attack, and called for a Congressional probe into the incident, he wasn’t seriously trying to bring the truth of some long-buried historical secret to light. Massie, who in 14 years never once brought up the U.S.S. Liberty on the House floor, was using the latest cudgel in the Israel-haters’ arsenal to level one last official blow at a country he loathes.
“I’ve got a call to action for everybody here,” said Massie, speaking of attack survivors who were in the audience, “Honor these individuals. Quit ignoring that they exist. Let’s have an investigation. It’s long overdue.”
Let’s put aside the fact that there have been numerous official investigations into what exactly happened on June 8, 1967, the second day of the Six Day War, when Israeli aircraft and torpedo boats attacked the Liberty off the Sinai Peninsula, killing 34 American service members.
These investigations concluded that the tragedy was a friendly-fire incident. The Israelis initially mistook the Liberty, an intelligence-gathering vessel, for an Egyptian warship. After the smoke cleared, they accepted responsibility, apologized and paid $12 million in compensation to the victims.
Of all the explanations, it’s perhaps the least satisfying but the most logical. During the Vietnam War, happening at the same time, an estimated 11% to 15% of casualties were from friendly fire.
Massie’s call for a new investigation would be more believable if he then didn’t go on to recite the alternative one-sided narrative of the incident long pushed by some survivors and now taken up with gusto by Israel haters Candace Owens, Tucker Carlson and others.
To them the attack was deliberate: The Israelis ignored the large American flag the Liberty was flying and began shooting.
“It was intentional murder by the country of Israel,” said Massie on the House floor, “either as a false flag operation or because they simply didn’t want anybody observing what they were doing that day.”
What Massie and his fellow conspiracy theorists are alleging is a crime, but none of them has sufficiently proven a motive. Why would Israel attack the ship of its most important and powerful ally?
The false flag theory — the idea that Israel wanted to sink the Liberty, blame Egypt or the Soviet Union for it and draw America into the war — makes no sense.
The war was all but won by June 8. Moreover, as the historian and former Israeli ambassador to the United States Michael Oren relates in Six Days of War, the Israelis actually stopped firing initially when they suspected the ship was American.
The Israelis sent helicopters to investigate, but heavy smoke obscured the ship. Meanwhile, as Israeli torpedo boats closed in, a U.S. Navy crewman, perhaps not hearing his commander’s orders, opened fire.
The Israelis, now convinced it was an enemy ship, unleashed torpedoes, killing 25 Americans.
Massie left all this out of his narrative. He quoted then-Secretary of State Dean Rusk, who said at the time, “the attack was, quite literally incomprehensible,” implying that a murky conspiracy underlay it all.
But he didn’t include the rest of what Rusk said: That what happened was “an act of military recklessness reflecting wanton disregard for human life.”
In other words, Rusk’s full quote doesn’t suggest intention, but gross carelessness, which is a far cry from premeditated murder. It was chaos, miscommunication, uncertainty, incompetence, fear — the fog of war.
But to Massie and others, there’s no need to establish a coherent motive for why Israel attacked its harmless friends, because in their minds that’s just who Israelis are.
If Massie wants another investigation, fine. But I find it hard to believe that any investigation that doesn’t find Israel guilty of murder in the first will ever satisfy him or the people for whom “Remember the Liberty” is shorthand for “Israel is evil.”
The post ‘Remember the Liberty’ has become code for ‘Israel Is Evil’ appeared first on The Forward.
