Note: I’ve realized that I have lots of ideas that seem fun to write about, but that probably don’t warrant full essays. Hence, “Eli’s Extras.” These pieces will emerge sporadically, often, or pretty much never. Hard to say: and if I knew, that would take the fun out of it anyway!
Usually, comparisons between up-and-comers in a profession and the legends that preceded them are unearned and inaccurate. Occasionally, they’re earned, but still mostly inaccurate. Only rarely is the comparison both earned and accurate. Such is the case for Jesse Welles, a brilliant singer-songwriter from Arkansas who is, to my mind, already one of the great lyricists of the past few decades.
You may have seen Jesse on social media, standing in a cornfield with his guitar and singing about Palestine or United Health. His popularity has skyrocketed because of these biting protest songs, some of which he releases within hours of a major world event. They are very good. They are also the obvious reason that people keep calling him ‘Dylanesque.’ He’s a young poet with a guitar singing folk music about politics. Just like Dylan, right?
I mean . . . kind of? But there have been lots of young poets with guitars who sang folk music about politics. Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, Peter Paul and Mary, Neil Young, Billy Bragg. The list goes on. Sure, Dylan is arguably more famous than all of them put together. Yet it isn’t just casuals from Reddit giving Jesse the label of Dylanesque. Music critics and reviewers apply it incessantly, including to his songs and albums that have few or no political overtones.
No, ‘Dylanesque’ doesn’t just mean ‘political.’ No one meaningfully compares Dylan and Rage Against the Machine. There’s a literary quality at work. Just listen to a song like “Middle.” If you’ve listened to much Dylan, you’ll hear it — but what exactly is ‘it’?
I love Bob Dylan, and I love Jesse Welles, and beyond both, I love thinking about the nature of ‘esques’ — what it is that distinguishes style in the work of someone like Joan Didion, Jorge Luis Borges, Franz Kafka, whoever. So: let’s talk about being Dylanesque.
The joker and the thief
Consider the following excerpts from two seminal lyricists, united in genius but entirely different in style. Excerpt #1:
Yesterday All my troubles seemed so far away Now, it looks as though they’re here to stay Oh, I believe in yesterday
This is the first verse of “Yesterday,” by Paul McCartney, widely considered one of the greatest songs of all time.
Now, Excerpt #2:
“There must be some way out of here”
Said the joker to the thief
“There’s too much confusion
I can’t get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine
Plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line
Know what any of it is worth.This is the first verse of “All Along the Watchtower,” by Bob Dylan, though the cover by Jimi Hendrix is better known (and just, you know, better).
Both songs are brilliant. For what it’s worth, Rolling Stone usually ranks them in their Top 50, with “Yesterday” slightly higher. They’re also, I think, both decent representations of the (admittedly diverse) catalogues of both McCartney and Dylan — or at least, of the kinds of lyrics people have in mind when they say ‘McCartneyesque’ or ‘Dylanesque.’
However, these verses are very, very different. There are, of course, lots of interesting comparisons one could make between McCartney and Dylan. But I want to focus on a big one. The meaning of “Yesterday” is abundantly clear. “All Along the Watchtower,” not so much. Over the years, I have listened to it hundreds of times; when a friend recently asked me what it was about, I realized I literally had no idea.
McCartney is supremely good at capturing a very complex feeling or situation — for “Yesterday,” lost love and regret over the mistakes that led to it — in a searingly direct and coherent set of lyrics. The meaning of his words is viscerally clear; it is a mainline to your heart. The song makes you think about heartbreak, and you know that’s exactly what McCartney had in mind.
Dylan, by contrast, is opaque. You hear him sing, and it works, and you can tell he’s really good at writing — but you mostly have no idea what exactly he’s talking about. He conjures an almost archetypal world. His lyrics aren’t surreal, per se. Instead, their meaning seems to sit just beyond the edge of your understanding; you feel as if something is there, waiting to be apprehended, and so you can’t help reaching for it.
But the meaning of a song like “All Along the Watchtower” is a horizon line. You can walk toward it as long as you want, and you may find intense joy in the movement — but you’ll never reach the end, because ultimately, there is no end to reach.
Now, back to Welles. What makes him Dylanesque? Exactly the same thing that made Dylan ‘Dylanesque.’ His lyrics gesture at some grand intent, yet try as you might, you can never quite settle upon it.
For example, here are the first lines from his song “Rocket Man”:
I heard the altar call of the rocket man As he pleaded on the mount Then were we like those who dreamed And the tired tiger jumped through hoops of fire One last time for the crowd Then were we like those who dream
You can see the image he’s building; you feel as though it’s laden with purpose, as if you’re listening to a sermon rather than a song. But what is that purpose? What is the nature of the sermon? You can’t really tell.
A couple more examples. Here’s from “Middle”:
The road warrior Nazareth patriot Sighing Zion in excess While the Lord and God of faces Donned a youthful chain and dress
And another from “Saint Steve Irwin”:
Sail me out of this hell, Virgil They poisoned the well And I can't drink here now Saint Steve Irwin, I'm a child And I'm certain them are wild crocodilеs Won't you choke them out? Everything I'd еver seen Was piled up into a dream I was afraid I would forget Now I remember everything
Like Dylan, Welles’ lyrics are full of superattractors for the interpretive mind: mythical references, Biblical imagery, poetic forms and the occasional line that seems to provide a burst of McCartneyesque meaning.
This latter device is especially interesting to me. In “Rocket Man,” the chorus includes more transparent tattoo-worthy aphorisms, buried within the opacity: “Time is just a thing you live through, baby.”
Dylan would respect the game. “My Back Pages,” for instance, is virtually all obscure. And then, from the mist: “I was so much older then / I’m younger than that now.”
Sighing Zion in excess
To be clear, I’m not saying that Jesse Welles is bullshitting you. Dylan might’ve been, but I don’t think Welles has anything like the same arrogance and self-grandiosity. I should also note that much of Welles’ catalogue is more direct, especially his political work, and that his clear influences extend well beyond Dylan: John Prine, Ty Segall, and Willie Nelson are a few obvious candidates.
Nonetheless, Welles is employing many of the same lyrical techniques that define ‘Dylanesque’ songwriting — the same signposts of infinite interpretability that made Dylan, but not McCartney, a candidate for the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Will Welles go that far? Probably not. But, who knows? The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
omg niche. i think he'll be remembered.
also i didn't really realize how interesting bob dylan's lyrics were thematically?