Music Review 2: Bob Dylan's "Shelter From The Storm"

Last week we looked at the latest Matt Redman worship album, "Face Down." Today we will come to our standard format for this feature -- critically examining a single song (though often these examinations will look at other songs from the same album, or by the same artist -- context is important).

Let's look at the Bob Dylan song "Shelter From The Storm" (from his classic 1974 record, "Blood On The Tracks") this evening. Here are the lyrics:

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Not a word was spoke between us, there was a little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Copyright © 1974 Ram's Horn Music

Let's talk about "what it means" first, otherwise I'll lose some of you who don't read poetry and have little patience for anything that isn't clear. Of course, Dylan is famous for refusing to shed light on his lyrics when interviewed. One time he teased a reporter by saying he knew what his songs were about. The reporter said, "What are they about?"
Dylan responded, "Oh, some are about four minutes, some are about five minutes, and some, believe it or not, are about eleven or twelve."
"Shelter From The Storm" is not one of his most imagistic (some would say "surreal" songs), and we can easily see there is a story here. Multiple interpretations are possible, but here's my take:

The narrator (we'll call him "Bob" for brevity's sake) needed saving. A woman saved him. In verse six, something bad happens, something that is only hinted. He lets her down somehow. In verse seven, she is dead. From here on, Bob's repeated verse-ending refrain, " 'Come in,' she said, 'I'll give you shelter from the storm' " is his way of looking back to the time when she'd saved him, given him hope.

In verse nine, he is "crucified." She is not there to save him, and he can only look back with regret. In verse ten, there is the tiniest bit of hope (Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine). He is a stranger in a strange land (there is always an incredible amount of Biblical symbolism at work in Dylan's writing). We see in the last line what we know by now -- Bob is confusing God with the woman.

This mingling of Woman and Saviour occurs throughout Dylan's pre-conversion 1970s music. He'd been taking tentative steps toward Christianity since his motorcycle wreck in 1966. Here are some lyrics from "Sign On The Cross," on his 1967 Basement Tapes:

... I know in my head that we're all so misled
And it's that old sign on the cross that worries me ...
You might think you're weak, but I mean to say you're strong,
Yes you are, if that sign on the cross,
If it begins to worry you.

From the "Blood On The Tracks" record on through his post-salvation gospel album, "Slow Train Coming," (1979), Dylan begins, through his characters, to identify with Christ. Look at our subject lyrics again:

I came in from the wilderness ...

She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns ...

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes ....

On the same record, another classic Dylan song ("Idiot Wind") offers this:

There's a lone soldier on the cross
Smoke pourin' out a box-car door
You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done
In the final end he won the war
After losing every battle ....

Everyone was surprised when Dylan embraced Christianity at decade's end, but in retrospect, we can see that the seeds were there. He returned again and again in the mid-to-late 70s to his identification with Christ, but also to his belief that he could be "saved" through the love of a good woman, as we find here in "Shelter From The Storm." Yet deep down, he knew better all along, as the lyrics to "Shelter ..." suggest.

Let's look at the craft side of this song now. It is a simple folk template -- no chorus, no bridge, only verses (ten, here) that each tell a bit of the story. The last line of every verse is the same, however, and acts as a kind of chorus. The rhyme scheme is elementary:

A
A
B
B

Yet the song is powerful because of Dylan's strong and colorful use of language. Look at verse four, the verse where Dylan establishes how much he needed to be saved before the woman took him in. Look at the verbs:

burned ... buried ... poisoned ... blown out ... hunted ... ravaged ...

Lesser writers use obvious, and usually weak, verbs, which means they must stick it with an adverb to get their point across. For instance, instead of "ravaged," a writer might have used "hurt," only to decide that "hurt" didn't portray how badly his character had suffered, so he would use the adverb that I just used, "badly." Hurt badly.

It sucks. (Or, if I want to use a weaker verb than "sucks" to illustrate my point, I could change the sentence to "It looks bad.") Dylan engrosses us because his command of language is impecible. He knows that good writing is built on colorful, active verbs and solid nouns. If you can't see how "ravaged" improves upon "hurt badly," I will pray for you. Kidding. Sort of.

This is the kind of song that makes intelligent people want to write songs (or poems). Indeed, this is why Dylan succeeded in rock and roll. He's just a rough-voiced folky, but he brought poetry, real poetry, not a bunch of clap-trap sentimental tripe, to the world of popular music. Now, all you would-be writers out there -- Go and do likewise (Ha! Dylan ain't the only one who can appropriate Biblical language!)