4-18-13 Scarlet Town

Bob Dylan and his band were fabulous at Lehigh University.  The journey began when I met my accountant at Tobacco Road on 41st Street by Ninth Avenue, where our bartender, Honey, took our money. We then drove west across Jersey with live Dylan thundering all the way to Bethlehem. Since we were two miles from Stabler Arena, we stopped off for cocktails at the Sands Casino. Unfortunately, we got lost driving around the 2,600 acre Lehigh campus. After forty-five futile minutes, we paid a pizza delivery guy twenty bucks to escort us to the arena.

We strolled into Stabler, stomping to the beat of the “Early Roman Kings.” The acoustics of the venue were crisp, and there wasn't a shabby seat in the house. Dylan crooned a tender “Tangled Up in Blue,” and the warm tone of Duke’s guitar infused the band with a renewed sense of purpose.

The joint was jumping as Dylan"s harp solos pierced the night during “Behind Here Lies Nothing.” Dylan delivered the Holy Grail ,” Blind Willie Mc Tell,” followed by another '80s gem, “What Good Am I?” Oh Mercy!

The Thunder on the Mountain jam raged from fast to slow to loud to soft and back again. Dylan changed gears, shifting the sound this way and that way, and Duke and the boys were right on his tail. But no song captured the essence of the show better than “Scarlet Town.”  Whenever I hear this Tempest delight,  I imagine an old mill town like Bethlehem, where the evil and the good live side by side, and all human thoughts seem glorified.  Dylan’s performance was phenomenal.

I've loved hearing the heavy echo on Ballad of a Thin Man every show for the past four years, but eliminating the echo for this tour is a touch I like. The roaring crowd adored Dylan as he stood before the faithful and marched in place, before splitting for the next cowtown on his schedule.

An hour after the parking lot emptied, my accountant and I were still enjoying brews, shuffling to Tempest, and inhaling the magic of Lehigh. Both the Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia Band played legendary shows here in 1981. We split after midnight and drove straight into pure fog. Arriving in Chinatown by 2:30, we closed the night out with a succulent feast down below at Wo Hop.

Howard Weiner interview with David Gans

 

My interview with David Gans on Tales from the Golden Road 11-11-12.

Go West Young Men! 8-7-82

Thirty years ago today. An excerpt from Chapter Four of Tangled Up in Tunes:

Doug was waiting for me in the gravelly Tennyson Park lot, leaning against his yellow Caddy and spinning a red, white, and blue ABA basketball on his index finger. The windows were rolled down, and “Casey Jones” was cranking. He said, “Howie, I got a proposition for you. You’re gonna love this idea. It’s right up your alley. The Dead are in Wisconsin next weekend at the Alpine Valley Music Theatre. We can get tickets from Ticketron. Howie, picture this: We are outdoors with Jerry in the Midwest next Saturday night. I hear this place is amaaaaazing!  Can you imagine how hot Garcia will be in the Midwest? It’s only a sixteen-hour drive. Let’s do it. Whattaya say?” 

The time had come for us to leave the Tennyson Boys behind. Our pursuit of Jerry’s next transcendent jam was paramount. I informed my parents I’d be heading West with Doug in my Chevy. My parents were fond of the Doug. They knew I was crazy, but if Doug was part of my posse, then there might be some merit to it. In the classic tradition of exploration made famous by Lewis and Clark and perpetuated by Kerouac and Cassidy —  look out, America — here comes Catfish and Schmell!

I pulled up in front of the Schmell residence before noon on Friday. We wanted to tackle the bulk of our sixteen-hour-trip in one day and cruise into East Troy, Wisconsin, triumphantly on Saturday, August 7, 1982. Doug emerged from his house with a duffel bag slung across his torso and a box of Maxell cassettes carefully balanced in his right palm like a tray with Dom Perignon. Stepping into my Chevy, he admired his precious cargo and said, “Howie, these tapes are bad news for Van Halen fans.” It was a smug remark—one that a Garcia junkie could appreciate. Comparing anybody to Jerry was comical to us. We understood Garcia’s virtuosity, and it was our mission to spread the word to non-believers. Despite the fact that the Dead’s latest studio efforts were lame, the legend of Garcia was growing, and his cult following was on the rise.  

Chuck and Paul, neighborhood Deadheads, joined us on our journey to Wisconsin. Chuck was a serious young man–Fred Flintstone in tie-dye. He was also a person of great interest to us because he had a substantial bootleg collection, but a bad reputation when it came to returning borrowed tapes. Our other passenger, Paul Blatt, was a tiny red-headed cat I met at Rockland Community College–a mini-Bill Walton, minus athletic prowess. Cordial Paul spoke in soft squeaky tones and was always willing to roll with the flow of the group.  

Charging on to 80 West, I claimed the fast lane and refused to budge—left hand steering, right hand juggling java, joints, Marlboros, and boots. Endless Pennsylvania seemed bleak – blue collar town followed blue collar town through Amish Country, insane amounts of highway construction and detours along the way. We ran into three thunder storms, or maybe it was the same one chasing after us. Sheets of precipitation rap-tap-tapped off the windshield as I raced past monster trailers and trucks on the bedraggled two-lane highway. The sky darkened by the time we reached Ohio. Feeling famished, we stopped for food at a place in Youngstown that had a menu boasting of gizzards. A grease-stained bucket of rest area Roy Rogers chicken would have to suffice. One more cup of coffee, a hit of speed and one more ’77 Dead tape; I refused to give up the wheel until Cleveland was in the rearview mirror. By 3 A.M., my comrades were snoring as I pulled into a rest area and slipped into a spot between tractor trailers.  Four Deadheads and 100 truckers were motionless beneath the stars, but they were still tearing down the road in their dreams.  

On Saturday morning, we blew by Chicago, purchased a road map, and found a quaint cabin in Lake Geneva by noon. We had stumbled upon a wonderful Wisconsin resort town, and the weather was perfect—ah-hoooo! Cotton-candy clouds in sapphire skies dangled over a crystal clear lake. This expedition turned up nothing but gold, and the impending jam was still a seed in Jerry’s mind. 

Our heroes opened with a Music Never Stopped -> Sugaree ->Music Never Stopped loop. Once again, the band had rewarded me for my dedication with a combination that was never played before and would never be played again. Garcia raged on, peppering away on the set ending “Let It Grow.” Weir shouted the lyrics at Jerry, begging him to deliver: “Let it grow, let it grow, greatly yield.” And yield, Garcia did.  It’s a guitar lover’s feast offering three separate instrumental segments, with the middle one being the longest and most complex. The band executed flawlessly, setting the stage for Jerry’s mid-summer tirade. 

I finished out the year seeing the Dead at Landover, Maryland (9-15-82), Madison Square Garden (9-20 + 21-82), New Haven (9-23-82) and Syracuse (9-24-82), as well as catching the Jerry Garcia Band at the Felt Forum (11-11-82 early & late shows) and in the Wilkins Theatre at Keane College, located in Elizabeth, New Jersey (11-15-82 early & late show). In 1983, I got serious about following Jerry around. 

Tangled Up in Tunes: Ballad of a Dylanhead is available at www.tangledupintunes.com The kindle version is on sale through August 9th for $5.99.

He Was A Friend of Mine: Happy 70th Birthday Jerry

“There's no way to measure his greatness or magnitude as a person or as a player. I don't think any eulogizing will do him justice. He was that great, much more than a superb musician, with an uncanny ear and dexterity. He's the very spirit personified of whatever is Muddy River country at its core and screams up into the spheres. He really had no equal. To me he wasn't only a musician and friend, he was more like a big brother who taught and showed me more than he'll ever know. There's a lot of spaces and advances between The Carter Family, Buddy Holly and, say, Ornette Coleman—a lot of universes, but he filled them all without being a member of any school. His playing was moody, awesome, sophisticated, hypnotic and subtle. There's no way to convey the loss. It just digs down really deep.”

Bob Dylan’s press release regarding the death of Jerry Garcia’s is one of the most poignant, and perceptive pieces I’ve ever read. It always makes me feel the immediacy of Jerry’s passing as if it just happened, and I know that Dylan gets It. In that glorious paragraph, Dylan sketches the essence of Jerry Garcia, the enlightened soul who gave us everything he had.  

I became a Deadhead on January 24, 1981, after experiencing Europe ’72 in the backseat of my friend’s Honda Civic following a New York Islanders hockey game. On that evening, Michael Bossy became the second player in NHL history to score fifty goals in the first fifty games of a season. It was a thrilling live spectacle, but hearing my first Ramble On Rose on the way home stole the show. The Jerry switch in my brain was flicked on when I heard him croon,

“I’m gonna sing you a hundred verses in ragtime. I know this song it ain’t never gonna end.”

In Jerry’s world, the music never stopped. Songs went on and on, and they melted into exotic combinations: Dark Star > Sugar Magnolia > Caution…Playin’ in the Band  > Uncle John’s Band > Morning Dew > Uncle John’s Band > Playin’ in the Band. The jams fearlessly stormed into unchartered territory, but were seamlessly balanced  like mathematical equations. It all roles into one. 

Buddy Holly, Orrnette Coleman, Eddie Lang, Hank Williams, Bob Dylan; Jerry absorbed them all, and cherished the supernatural spirit of everything that was awesome and wholesome about music. Jerry and his cosmic band mates poured sonic inspiration into a psychedelic blender at Kesey’s Acid Tests, launching a distinctive genre of music that was true its roots—The Grateful Dead.

Perhaps, nobody appreciated other artist’s music more than Jerry. Just consider the songs Jerry Garcia Band tackled: Dear Prudence, Tangled Up in Blue, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, Harder They Come, After Midnight, Second That Emotion, Tough Mama, Let it Rock, And It Stoned Me, Russian Lullaby, When I Paint My Masterpiece. I suppose that’s what love will make you do.

Jerry turned me on to Dylan. When the Grateful Dead toured with Bob in 1987, I became the happiest Dylanhead on the planet. A few years later, the Grateful Dead shared the stage with Branford Marsalis at the Nassau Coliseum. That Jerry > Branford jam in Eyes of the World enlightened me to the world of Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Bud Powell.

Songs were sacred to Jerry. That’s why he slowed down the tempo and prolonged the jam. I know this song, it ain’t never gonna end. Every nook, cranny, and crevice in the valley was explored and magnified. When our lives are in spirit, we want to stop time in its tracks. Jerry could stop time: 9-3-77 Englishtown, 8-27-72 Kesey’s Farm, 9-18-97 Madison Square Garden.

I’ll take a melody

 And see what I can do about it.

I’ll take a simple C to G

And feel brand new about it

“He's the very spirit personified of whatever is Muddy River country at its core and screams up into the spheres,” said Mr. Dylan. Thankfully, Muddy River country still rages in these conformist times. You can hear It on the 24/7 Grateful Dead Channel, and you can see It and feel It in every hippie living the life they love at a summer festival. It’s been seventeen years since Jerry’s passing, and  every year, the big fella  looms larger than ever. I savor his angelic voice every day. And his passionately patient solos scream up into the spheres and beyond.

Thank you Dear Mr. Fantasy. Happy 70^th Birthday! You know our love will not fade away. 
Tangled Up in Tunes: Ballad of a Dylanhead is available on Kindle for $5.99 to celebrate Jerry's Birthday. www.tangledupintunes.com

www.tangledupintunes.com

Tangled Up In Tunes Review

This is the review of my memoir which appeared in the Books Upon Your Shelf column in issue 161 of Isis Magazine. I enhanced the text with some photos.

Its been a while since our last books review column, but this month we have four new items to introduce you to. Two of these are already available with two more due in late March and May.

Derek B.

Tangled Up in Tunes: Ballad of a Dylanhead

by Howard Weiner

Pencil Hill Publishing

            Reviewed by Derek Barker

Howard Weiner's "Tangled Up in Tunes: Ballad of a Dylanhead" is a memoir of a ramblin'  man who  has  followed Jerry Garcia, the Dead, and Bob Dylan for three decades. It's an American road rhapsody that  maybe  should  have  been  titled "Heading for Another Joint". After all, that's where the story ends.

Weiner, or "Catfish" as he's known to his friends, seems to have spent much of his life rambling   around   the   States, sometimes for his job, but more often to attend concerts, firstly to see Jerry Garcia and later Bob Dylan (100 Dylan, and 200 Dead and Jerry Garcia Band shows). The man might ramble but the book certainly doesn't, and I found it to be a good read.

There could maybe have been more analysis or commentary on the concerts- that would have made the book more informative, but probably less easy to read. And anyway, I guess song analysis is not the aim of the book.

Just when he thought his road days were over, Weiner witnessed the horror of 9/11 first-hand from a street corner in Downtown Manhattan. That night he decided to quit his day job and revisit his road-tripping Glory Days; pursuing his muse like never before.

The book opens in 2008 with Weiner in Minneapolis to see Dylan's November 4, Election Day concert. "Dylan's voice was gruff like an old carnival barker at the end of a double shift," Weiner writes. "Either you were drawn to the rumbling or you were repulsed, but everyone listened. Dylan's mysterious web of charisma hypnotized the audience." The book's real beginning starts with Chapter Two, "It's Alright Ma (It's My Life Only)". The best way to provide a flavour of this book is to let Howard Weiner take up the story:-

"I'd been born eighteen days prior to JFK's assassination and given up for adoption immediately," Weiner writes. "My new parents, Lenny and Doris Weiner, picked me up in Cheverly, Maryland, and drove me back to Brooklyn-my first road trip. By the time I was three, my adopted mother had died of an illness on December 31, 1966, and my father and I moved into my grandmother's shoebox apartment on Walton Avenue in the Bronx. My earliest memories, however, are not of grief or longing for my mother, but of the sounds of my father's records ... Infatuated by the soundtrack of West Side Story, I could see the jets and Sharks rumbling on a city playground, and I dreamed of a girl named Maria."

' ...I was turned on to The Beatles by my teenage cousins, the Baskin boys-Jeffery, Seth and Keith. They lived with my Uncle Murray and Aunt Ruth in a yellow house surrounded by a healthy yard with enormous trees. It was the last home on a dead-end street in Deer Park-an unpretentious high-rise ... I was amazed that they each had their own bedrooms-I was holed up in a single bedroom with Dad and Grandma ... I nagged Dad until he bought me my first two Beatles records: "Let It Be" and a 45rpm single of `All You Need is Love' with `Baby You're a Rich Man' on the fipside. The plastic inserts that had to be placed in the record holes of 45s were funky. Yellow, red, and green, the inserts resembled flattened ship steering wheels with gaps on the outer rim. It was as if their sole purpose was to forever lodge themselves in our memories so we would never forget 45s after they were passe."

"...Dad remarried, and we relocated ... Weekend road trips with the family became frequent. I didn't ask my parents for much, but I demanded respect; the radio must be playing. Sometimes I successfully negotiated sitting shotgun so I could  scan  the  dial.  Music  and motion became  an intoxicating combo Icould never shake. The names of the bridges and roads sang sweetly like a rhapsody..."

"The first station I tuned into was 66 WNBC New York. Some of the jingles that made an indelible impression upon me were: `Indian Reservation,"Love Train', `Crocodile Rock', `Song Sung Blue', and a song sung nasally-'Lay, lady, lay; lay across my big brass bed.' I was drawn to Dylan's nasally twang, but he didn't receive much exposure on the AM dial. I began to dig more of Zimmy's stuff after receiving an eight-track tape of Dylan's "Greatest Hits Volume II" as part of a larger shipment from Columbia House. Cost? Only 99 cents! Enrolment was a breeze and membership was bliss. Busting open a piggybank? Unnecessary. However, due to a seemingly innocuous stipulation in my relations with Casa De Columbia, I had to purchase seven new albums or tapes at inflated club prices over the next three years. Gotcha, cha-ching! Welcome to the American Dream-fantasize now, pay later, or defer forever. And enjoy those groovy tunes."

By  Chapter Three, "The  Golden Road  (To Unlimited Devotion)", Weiner has been introduced to the guitar playing of one Jerry Garcia:- "Hip to FM ditties like `Casey   Jones' and `Ripple', I used to think of the Grateful Dead as   just another good-time group with a Grate name ... Gripped by  "Europe  '72" the Grateful Dead's triple album, I surrendered my mind to the mysterious sounds. The Dead garnered country, bluegrass, jazz and Delta blues, tossed it in a psychedelic blender, and served it with rock and roll sensibility. These  songs  exuded a strange American presence. No simple label could do them justice. I'd cracked a musical language barrier.

Those with absolutely no interest in the Grateful Dead should be aware that Bob Dylan doesn't arrive in Weiner's story until  Chapter Seven (page 83 of 256). Weiner discovers Dylan quite by accident or, as the chapter's title states, by a "Simple Twist of Fate". It all starts for Weiner when he pushes home a tape in a friend's car. The tape is "Blood On The Tracks":- "I knew an epiphany when I was in the middle of one," writes Weiner. "...I wanted to rewind the tape and absorb what I'd heard so far ... The Dylan switch in my brain was flicked on." Weiner's revelation was superbly timed:- "My universe was perfectly aligned," Weiner continues. "I had found Dylan, and Garcia had bounced back from his coma and was finding his stride again. In May of 1987 it was announced that Dylan and the Dead would tour together again-except, this time, Jerry and the Boys would serve as Dylan's backing band, in addition to playing their own show. I could hardly believe it. Lady Luck was my soul mate."

Weiner had this to say about the July  12,1987  East Rutherford concert- "The Giants Stadium concert was an affirmation of my faith in the creative powers of Dylan and Garcia.  Nobody  could  have  grasped  the historical repercussion that this concert would have on Dylan's career, but I knew something was happening. I'd witnessed Dylan busy being born again, his career resuscitated by the Dead, in the swamps of East Rutherford"

After working as a travelling salesman, and moving home for what seems like the hundredth time - always taking his music collection and his three cats along for the ride -Weiner headed back to New York City. It was 1997 and his father and Jerry Garcia had both recently passed away. Weiner got a job selling copiers and rented a duplex in the desirable Yorkville neighbourhood on the Upper East Side. Things were going well until 9/11. Life would never be the same for New Yorkers after those two planes hit their target. The event would   provide the catalyst for a change in Weiner's life:- "I decided to leave my day job," he wrote. "I could better serve the world spreading music, even if it was karaoke." Weiner began spending a great deal of time on the Internet back amongst the Dead community and he very soon "pined for [his] glory days of touring with the Dead". On November 19, 2001, Weiner saw Dylan play at Madison Square Garden. When Dylan sang "'You can't repeat the past. I say, 'You can't? What do you mean, you can't? Of course you can." Weiner saw this as a "call to action". He writes, "My vision wasn't clear, but I knew it involved Dylan's Never Ending Tour and a road map." And so his Dylan road trip was about to start.

Still living in NYC and working as a karaoke host, Weiner began attending Dylan classes at The New School, New York. The classes, called "Discussing Dylan", were run by my old friend and ISIS subscriber Robert Levinson. In May 2005, near the end of the first Dylan semester, Weiner attended  a  clutch of Dylan concerts. The shows he witnessed were so good that he decided this was it; he was going to write a book about Dylan's Never Ending Tour. "Tangled Up in Tunes" is the result of that notion. However, as I've already stated, the book is not solely about Dylan, as the subtitle "Ballad of a Dylanhead" suggests

In May 2008 Weiner was accepted into The New School MFA Creative Writing program and in 2010 he received his Degree. The story ends on September 1, 2009 in The Joint, Las Vegas, with the author's 100th Dylan show. "It would be a confirmation more than a celebration-a continuum of my existence," writes Weiner. "I love the life I live, and I'm gonna live the life I love. The lights went out and Dylan appeared on stage. "When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way...Selah

Howard Weiner  created and hosted the radio show "Visions of Dylan" for WBAI 99.5 FM, New York,2006 - 2008. In 2010, he received an MFA Degree in Creative Writing from The New School, New York. All passages quoted in the above review are used with the permission of the author.

The book, a 6" x 9" Trade Paperback, was self-published by Pencil Hill Publishing on January 6, 2012. It is available direct from www.tangledupintunes.com at $14.00. "Tangled Up in Tunes: Ballad of a Dylanhead" can also be bought from Amazon.com (both  physical  and  Kindle)  and  from
Amazon.co.uk (in Kindle format only).

April 6, A Day That Will Live In Epiphany

4-6-82 (30 years ago today) driving through a blizzard for my first road trip to see the Dead in Philly
4-6-87 (25 years ago today) Listening to Blood on the Tracks for the first time

Excerpts from Tangled Up in Tunes: Ballad of a Dylanhead

As I awoke in my bedroom, I sensed an unseasonable chill in the air on the morning of April 6, 1982. Opening the drapes, I was stunned by what I saw—marshmallow mounds of snow reflecting the amber glare of the sun. A day earlier, the trees were sprouting leaves, but now they sat like flagpoles on an Alpine ski course. Without much warning, Nanuet was blanketed by eighteen inches of powdery precipitation overnight. The freak blizzard may have delayed the arrival of spring, but it would not deter my plans to see the Grateful Dead in Philadelphia.

I called the Zolottlow brothers to ensure we were pressing on. The vote was unanimous: we would rendezvous with the Dead in Philly. Doug had planned on joining us, but he was stuck in Albany with the April blizzard blues. Waiting at the foot of my driveway with my flannel shirt billowing in the howling Nor’easter winds, I wondered how many hours the 118-mile journey might take. Seymour’s tiny white Honda sputtered up Carnation Drive, appearing smaller than ever in the only partially plowed street, glinting against the wintry landscape. 
Slip-sliding our way south, Seymour navigated us through a treacherous twenty-mile stretch of the Palisades Parkway. The insanity of traveling in these hazardous conditions was an intense rush. Once we reached the New Jersey Turnpike, all roads ahead were clear. Mother Nature had spared the Garden State—smooth sailing to Philadelphia. I let out a vigorous, “Yeeee-haw!” This was my first road trip anywhere without my parents.

Slicing through the swamps and industrial wastelands of New Jersey, we passed the Oranges (East and West) and the Amboys (Perth and South) on our way to Exit 4, where the Walt Whitman Bridge and the City of Brotherly Love beckoned in the near distance.
Part II: http://visionsofdylan.blogspot.com/2012/02/deadhead-born-this-morning.html

4-6-87 Blood on the Tracks
There was something peculiar about stepping into the driver’s seat of Phil’s light brown Chevy Impala. I felt like I was cheating on my beloved Chevy, which was in the shop receiving an overdue tune-up. The seat and mirror of Phil’s car were aligned out of my comfort zone. I also forgot to bring a Dead tape along for the ride. Heading towards the village of New Paltz for my morning caffeine fix, I pushed in Phil’s tape, hoping I’d hear some Jerry. The tune was familiar. Dylan was singing “Tangled Up in Blue.” I pulled into the lot of McPeady’s, the local ma and pa shop, and scored a pint of dirty java that should have been served in a cup with a skull and crossbones warning label. Two sips could make you want to start training for a decathlon . At the time, I was masquerading as a student at SUNY-New Paltz. I had lots of spare time.

Heading home on Route 32 North, a familiar chord riff flowed gently to my ears. Dylan’s voice interrupted the serenity, “We sat together in the park, as the evening grew dark.” Oh my. This was my first rendezvous with the real “Simple Twist of Fate.” Up to this point, I’d only heard JGB’s unhurried cover. Dylan’s singing was sharp. The words were delivered with an intense poetic cadence. The acoustic accompaniment was spacious and lush at the same time—absolutely hypnotic, like leaves floating from trees. Dylan’s essence filled the car. This version was superior to the JGB version that I was fond of.

The next song had the same mesmerizing qualities of the first two. Dylan’s voice was filled with sorrow: “Oh, I know where I can find you, in somebody’s room. It’s a price I have to pay. You’re a big girl all the way.” Nothing had struck me like this since I discovered the Dead. My life was about to change.

I wanted to rewind the tape and absorb what I’d heard so far, but a wounded Dylan attacked: “Someone’s got it in for me; they’re planting stories in the press.” Each succeeding thought swallowed the previous one in magnitude until the final chorus climaxed with Dylan venting, “You’re an idiot, babe; it’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe.” No Punches were pulled—this was as real as it gets.

The Dylan switch in my brain was flicked on. What about those other albums—albums  that gave birth to “Like a Rolling Stone” and “Mr. Tambourine Man?” There had to be plenty of gold in those mines. I also realized that I’d reached a traffic circle in Kingston, New York, eighteen miles past New Paltz. Phil was probably wondering where I had disappeared to with his car, but I knew he’d be psyched about my epiphany. I rewound the tape and listened to those four brilliant songs on the way back.
www.tangledupintunes.com

Barb Jungr Returns Man in the Long Black Coat to New York

Barb Jungr, the fabulous British singer, is back in New York City to perform her widely-acclaimed Bob Dylan show, Man in the Long Black Coat, at the elegant Metropolitan Room for a three-week run starting on April 10th. Barb's unique interpretations of Bob's songs are absolutely Dylanesque. On her latest CD, Man In The Long Black Coat, Jungr seamlessly mixes Dylan's best known songs with offbeat offerings like "Trouble in Mind," "Sara," and "High Water."

Jungr reconstructs "Trouble in Mind," slowly building it from something that sounds like Peggy Lee's "Fever" to a resounding and inspiring gospel hymn—the type of performance that can only be pulled off by an artist that understands the subtleties and nuances of Dylan's rarest compositions. Her rendition of "Man in the Long Black Coat" is sublime. In one verse she snarls like Dylan, then her voice soars like Joan Baez. The arrangement captures the suspenseful tone of Dylan's original with dynamic, rich texture.

In addition to her ten-year affair with Dylan's oeuvre, Jungr is known for her daring interpretations of compositions by Bruce Springsteen, Leonard Cohen, David Byrne, Neil Diamond, Hank Williams and Elvis Presley. Jungr is a dazzling live performer who delivers an indefinable X-factor with each show. This style mirrors what Dylan does with his own songs in concert.

Time Out New York rated Man in the Long Black Coat the top cabaret show of 2011. Adam Feldman wrote, "The extraordinary English singer didn't just cover Bob Dylan's songs, she uncovered them and discovered them with exuberant musical insight."

If you love Bob Dylan's music, or if you love the thrill of a great live performance, Barb Jungr's show is a must see. Barb serves up the all the iconic songs with fresh twists: "Like A Rolling Stone," The Times They Are A-Changin'," It Ain't Me Babe," "Blind Willie McTell." Man in the Long Black Coat performs a total of 15 times: Tues-Fri April 10, 11, 12, 13, all at 7pm; Sat April 14 at 9:30; Tues-Fri April 17, 18, 19, 20, all at 7pm; Sat April 21 at 9:30pm; Tues-Fri April 24, 25, 26, 27, all at 7pm; Sat April 28 at 9:30pm. The music charge is $25, plus a two-drink minimum.

For reservations call 212/206-0440 or order online www.metropolitanroom.com

For those attending the shows on Saturday, April 14th and April 21st, join Barb and prominent Bob Dylan experts for two intimate pre-show Fireside Chats at 8 PM. The shows start at 9:30.There's no additional charge for the Fireside Chats for the first 30 persons who purchase their tickets online. Just use the password Dylanchat .

In addition to meeting Barb, you'll be able to participate in revealing stories, gossip, and gospel with Q 104's KEN DASHOW (April 14) , Dylan author Howard Weiner (April 14 & 21), and another special guest who will be announced for April 21st.

People don't live or die/ People just float

She gone with the man in the long black coat

www.tangledupintunes.com