Yahoo Lifestyle How Bob Dylan Viciously Cut His Competition Down to Size
The below has been excerpted from Talkin' Greenwich Village: The Heady Rise and Slow Fall of America's Bohemian Music Capital ©2024 David Browne and reprinted by permission from Grand Central Publishing/ Hachette Books /Hachette Book Group.
As the scene was growing more amped up, in every way, its unofficial clubhouse remained the Kettle of Fish. But with Bob Dylan’s success and the pressure and attention that came with it, the dynamics at those gatherings began to shift. In 1964 Robert Shelton of the Times watched—with a sense of wonderment rare for such a fixture on the scene—as Dylan entered the Kettle one night with the Supremes and members of the British band the Animals, whose sulking, electrified makeover of “The House of the Rising Sun” had given the ballad an audience far beyond the coffeehouse crowd. Those pop stars were a departure from the small, insular posse Dylan generally preferred, one that protected him and, many thought, egged him on as he dissected the peers and strivers at the Kettle on any given night. For extra privacy, Guido Giampieri would close and lock the front door at a late hour.
Dylan’s gang was usually led by Bob Neuwirth, his road manager, side-kick, and would- be bodyguard. An artist by trade and education, the Ohio- born Neuwirth had attended art school in Boston, where he learned to play guitar and banjo and eventually made his way into the Village; Dylan would recall first seeing him in the audience at the Gaslight. Neuwirth’s barbed-wire gibes and hipster persona were also of a piece with Dylan’s. As a source told Rolling Stone a few years later, regarding Neuwirth’s arrival in New York in 1964, “Dylan started to change at that time. Part of it was Neuwirth; he was a real strong influence on Dylan. Neuwirth [was] stressing pride and ego, sort of saying, ‘Hold your head high, man, don’t take shit, just take over the scene.’ He was the kind of cat who could influence others, work on their egos and support those egos.” Neuwirth’s striped pants would soon be seen behind Dylan on the cover of Highway 61 Revisited, the album that announced, as much as any, that the folk revival had passed its expiration date.
Thanks to his work with Dylan on records and on stage, including playing with him at the chaotic Newport Folk Festival, Kooper was often at Dylan’s table and saw how perilous it could be for anyone in the vicinity. “If Dylan focused on you, you were in trouble,” he said. “He could out- think anybody.” David Blue was a recurring member of the posse, although, as Ramblin’ Jack Elliott would recall, he was rarely if ever the brunt of Dylan’s withering gaze or comments. “Blue had a certain kind of stature,” said Elliott. “He was a large guy, way bigger than Bob, and he had a certain composed personality.”
By 1965, Van Ronk was holding his own. The Ragtime Jug Stompers hadn’t worked out, but he retained his Mercury Records contract and, that year, released Just Dave Van Ronk, which again pared his music back to just his voice and guitar. There, he was finally able to unveil his arrangement of “The House of the Rising Sun,” along with a moving rendition of “God Bless the Child.” Though far from a household name in any home, he was nonetheless growing in stature. Shortly before a New York Post reporter showed up at 190 Waverly Place for an interview— where the writer found the apartment strewn with battered guitar cases and a sizable stone owl— a teenager had knocked on Van Ronk’s door. It had happened before, some of the fans com-ing from Cambridge, but this one was from Montreal and wanted to meet Van Ronk for himself. At the Kettle one night, Dylan began offering advice on how Van Ronk could become a far bigger name. Increasingly irritated, Van Ronk finally shot back, “Dylan, if you’re so rich, how come you ain’t smart?”
Talkin' Greenwich Village: The Heady Rise and Slow Fall of America's Bohemian Music Capital
To Dylan biographer Anthony Scaduto, Van Ronk theorized that Dylan zeroed in on particular targets for a reason: in Van Ronk’s mind, they all wanted to “get rich,” too. Whatever the motivation, the atmosphere could be fraught. “The level of ‘rapping,’ as we called it, was tough,” said Arthur Gorson, the manager who sometimes found himself amid the Kettle gang. “People fell by the wayside. They would talk about songs and someone would say, ‘Hey, man, you can’t use that word—I used that word.’ Eric Andersen was slightly damaged by Neuwirth’s taunts.” Andersen would later pen “The Hustler” about Neuwirth and those times in that bar. In the fall of 1965, Dylan him-self would unveil “Positively 4th Street,” a stern single that sliced and diced someone—or some group—who hadn’t supported him. He never specified who, but some in the Kettle posse wondered if it were one of them.
One especially tense evening, Andersen witnessed Dylan lacing into Phil Ochs. As Dylan drifted from topical writing, Ochs fully embraced it—and was being lauded for it within their world. Reviewing Ochs’s performance at Newport in 1964, Shelton opined that he was “rivaling Bob Dylan as a pro-test spokesman.” Broadside also weighed in, commenting, “Ochs is much more deeply committed to the broadside tradition.” With one album under his belt and a second, I Ain’t Marching Anymore, due in the early months of 1965, Ochs was primed to be an even more socially conscious voice of his generation than Dylan was, and the two men had a “love- hate thing,” as Paxton put it.
At the Kettle one evening, Dylan and Ochs got into a verbal match that ended with Dylan dismissing Ochs as merely a singing journalist (which, in Dylan’s defense, wasn’t too far from the truth at that point in Ochs’s career). Andersen, who had grown close to Ochs (he had encouraged Andersen to add more verses to “Violets of Dawn”) and would often crash at the apartment where Ochs lived with his wife, Alice, was suitably offended. As Andersen observed (and Scaduto also reported), Dylan turned on Ochs another night as well: “You oughta find a new line of work, Ochs. You’re not doin’ very much in this one.” As an appalled Andersen recalled, “He said it right to Phil’s face and really insulted him, and I said, ‘Stop picking on him. Cut it out.’” Dylan, said Andersen, retorted, “Look, I’m buying all the wine here. I can say whatever I want to say. What do you want me to talk about, the sunset over the Hudson and the deep blue sea?”
For a brief period, Ochs and Dylan were both managed by Albert Grossman until Ochs felt he wasn’t receiving the attention he deserved, and late in 1965 he asked Gorson to take over. (In a poke at the name of Grossman’s company, ABG, Ochs asked Gorson to use his initials for his own management firm, which became AHG.) But Ochs had an emerging star power of his own: cov-ering his January 1966 debut at Carnegie Hall for the Times, Shelton felt that Ochs still needed some seasoning and admonished his melodies and guitar playing but noted that the audience was “predominantly teenaged.”
Later that year, in preparation for recording Pleasures of the Harbor—a lavishly produced record intended to be his moment of arrival as a full- on record-ing artist—Ochs introduced songs like “Outside of a Small Circle of Friends” and “Flower Lady” at Carnegie Hall. The latter—seemingly about a mysterious middle- aged woman who would walk into Folk City and sell bouquets of flow-ers, supposedly purloined from cemeteries—was set to one of his most sumptu-ous melodies. He and Dylan weren’t far apart in some ways: they’d both grown up with rock and roll and eventually turned to acoustic music. With Kooper adding one of his recognizable keyboard parts, Ochs even recorded a plugged-in remake of his antiwar rouser “I Ain’t Marching Anymore.” But he and Dylan remained mirror images of the Village, the acoustic and the electric, the old world and the new world, circling each other and staring each other down.
David Browne is a senior writer at Rolling Stone--and author of eight books, including ‘Talkin' Greenwich Village: The Heady Rise and Slow Fall of America's Bohemian Music Capital,’ who moved to New York to attend NYU and never left. He started covering the city's music scene long ago for the New York Daily News.
Get the Daily Beast's biggest scoops and scandals delivered right to your inbox. Sign up now.
Stay informed and gain unlimited access to the Daily Beast's unmatched reporting. Subscribe now.
