On the Road with Bob Dylan (26 page)

“From who?” Kemp says suspiciously.

“Blakley, Elliot, Ronson,” Ratso pauses, “and Dylan.”

“Well you can get the first ones for sure,” Kemp assures.

“Well, what about Dylan!” Ratso urges.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not trying to sweat on you,” the reporter screams, “you know that.”

“Well,” Kemp softens, “what’s the question?”

“How the tour has been,” Ratso improvises, “you know, his reaction to the tour so far, just the general kind of thing …”

“That’s bullshit!” Kemp screams.

“I know it’s bullshit but it’s what they want. Do me a favor. Ask Dylan. I really need two paragraphs from him, you know, something like that saying why he’s the loosest he’s ever been ….”

“We’ll see,” Kemp says ominously. “Call me back later.”

Ratso hangs up and paces the floor. He’s got a deadline coming
up in about twelve hours, he’s hundreds of miles away from the people that he’s got to interview, relying on that goddamn phone. As if by magic, it rings.

But it’s only
Rolling Stone
again, this time Abe Peck, the San Francisco-based editor of the music section. Ratso and Peck are old friends, in fact, Ratso introduced Abe to the
Rolling Stone
people and in some way feels responsible for his getting his present position. Of course, it was Abe that assigned Ratso to the Rubin Carter story.

“What you filed is kind of rambling, really,” Peck pronounces. “It doesn’t report on the evolution of the tour. If you read that piece you have no idea what the dates are. Look, here’s the situation. We have a tour here that has turned from a tour where Dylan says, We’re gonna play for the people,’ only doing small halls, to a tour where they’re knocking off $150,000 a night. The major unanswered question that has nothing to do with color or Rolling Thunder or a student that runs away from home like you have in your piece. You should be more factual. The news of this tour is the change from what their story was—”

“Levy told me it was never intended to be small clubs,” Ratso protests. “That was the rumor, from Columbia.”

“Your job is to cut through the gossip. Why were Kemp and Imhoff being so reluctant, because of the mysterious nature of the tour or to create hype? Did you see the new
Variety?
There’s an article here about the tour that seems to be the right question to ask. The headline says, ‘Is Dylan Interested in Money? Small Clubs Give Way to Arenas.’”

“Read it,” Ratso yells.

“OK” Peck plows in:

“All right, stop, I’ll get the article,” Ratso yells.

“Look, someone created the hype, the illusion. Even
Variety
said they were gonna play small halls. The point is they’re doubling up, playing two concerts a night, doing $100,000 nights. You’re lacking hard info on the mechanics of the tour, on the success or failure of the original concept of this tour. The central theme of the piece should be, it seems to me, that two weeks into this tour it became clear that the concept had changed. Look, the first eleven shows of the tour in seven cities brought an estimated 75,000 customers between $7.50 and $8.50 so the grosses are almost $600,000. That’s not intimate clubs. Why the change? Who changed? Who started the myth of small clubs? What does Dylan feel about the myth? That’s one theme.

“The other theme is the continuation of the music. Has the music changed? Was it good in the beginning? Are they growing as an aggregate? Rumors of superstars coming? How’s Ginsberg? How did Joni get there? We have to be finished by Tuesday afternoon, starting inquiries at this point is very late. Then we need much more stuff from Dylan. You’ve been saying to me and Chet that you have great access. Then why the fuck doesn’t he talk to you? What have you been doing for two weeks with Dylan?”

“I had great access in the city,” Ratso rails, “we hung out nearly every night. But we got on the road and Kemp starts treating me like a nigger.”

“So write about that if you can’t get the interview.”

“Kemp’s job is to keep me away,” Ratso’s voice is a shrug.

“Who says it? All those good parts of your first piece are missing in this second one. I think right now it is just a collection of anecdotes.”

“I dug that second piece more than anything I’ve written.”

“That’s not my feeling. I’m not saying only to do a business piece. Look, these guys went out on tour and told everyone, whoever, they told, blah, I love Rubin Carter, I’m busting my ass to get
this guy out of jail. Suddenly they’re playing two shows in big fucking halls. How’s this happen? Look we need about a thousand more words. OK?”

Ratso assents, slams down the phone, and picks it right back up. The phone in Kemp’s room in Niagara Falls rings twice.

“Hello,” a soft feminine voice answers. It’s Susan, Louie’s girlfriend from Minnesota. Ratso starts babbling to her about the crisis, the deadline, the needed quotes, the car being broken into, and his fight with security.

“Would you like to speak to Louie,” she suggests, and passes the phone.

“You got a problem out there, huh?” the familiar fish peddler’s voice booms across the miles.

“Louie, they just called me,” Ratso tries to sound frantic, “they said they don’t like the piece. Doesn’t have any detail and they said that I told them I have access to him, that I’m holding stuff back from them, read me a piece in
Variety
putting down the way the tour’s been promoted, shit like that. They’re really sweating on me.”

“What do you want me to do?” Kemp finally responds.

“Help me out a little,” Ratso squeaks.

“I helped you out plenty. You talked to all those other people, you got quotes, use them.”

“I didn’t talk to anybody,” Ratso whines. “Would you give me a quote, at least?”

“No,” Kemp thunders. “On what?”

“I’ll ask you some questions,” Ratso senses an opening.

“No, call those other entertainers.”

“They can’t help. They want to know why it was changed from small halls to large arenas.”

“That’s all they’re concerned about,” Kemp says contemptuously.

“Yeah, isn’t that stupid,” Ratso laughs. “Who changed it? How is Dylan responding to the changes?” Ratso mocks the list of questions.

“They’re not large arenas. They’re medium-sized halls.”

“Yeah, Lou, but if you do two shows a night in 12,000-seat arenas
that’s 24,000 seats at $8.50 a seat. That’s money, not small clubs.”

“So what’s the question?” Lou sounds impatient.

“They said the original theme was to play for the people. I had a quote from Bob saying that small halls are more conducive to my kind of music so the question is, has the concept of the tour changed? Now Levy told me some shit about that.”

“What he say?”

“He said we had a lot of expenses and you had to do large halls.”

“That’s it,” Kemp jumps in. “In order to cover the large expenses of the entourage and the film we have to play some larger halls to meet expenses.”

“So you have to pay for the film. How much does that cost?”

“I don’t give out any figures,” Kemp snaps back.

“But a lot, huh?” Ratso presses. “How many people are on the film crew?”

“That’s it,” Kemp seems anxious to go, “a large entourage.”

“How many people?”

“We’re carrying a total of about seventy people.”

“And that’s at twenty dollars per diem,” Ratso adds helpfully.

“Well, there are a lot more expenses than that, a lot. They get room, board, transportation, and all supporting services. The musicians are on salary. They all get paid, everyone’s getting paid but Bob, he’s the only one who’s not getting paid.”

“No shit,” Ratso whistles.

“Yeah, he hasn’t asked for nothing. He’s not looking for nothing. But all these other people are getting paid so lots of money gets paid in both salaries and expenses.”

“Let’s run this down,” Ratso gets professional. “There are two film crews, support people in New York who all work for the film crew, so you’re talking of a film crew of fifteen people.”

“That’s right.”

“Nobody has this information,” Ratso bursts, “you should tell the people this.”

“I don’t think it’s anybody’s business,” Kemp argues.

“People are asking about that,” Ratso screams. “This
Variety
piece starts by asking those nasty questions.”

“That’s the only reason. If it was up to us, we’d just play really small halls but we have to pay for the film and all those other people. If it was up to Bob, he ain’t looking for nothing.”

“If it was up to Bob, he’d play in the street,” Ratso gets carried away.

“That’s right,” Louie agrees.

“Would you say that,” Ratso smells the headline.

“Say what?”

“If it was up to Bob he’d play in the streets.”

“You said that, I didn’t say that,” Kemp explodes.

“All right, I’ll say that,” Ratso concedes.

“I ain’t gonna say that.”

“Will you say something like that?” Ratso prods. Kemp seems to hesitate. “Ask Susan!” Ratso suggests.

“What can we say, you got that thing …” Kemp muses.

“Say something I can quote,” the reporter eggs.

“OK, uh,” Kemp pauses, searching for the phrase, “I’m the one that has to be concerned with the balancing of the budget so I’m the one that deems it necessary in order to cover expenses to play bigger halls so we can afford smaller ones. If it was up to Bob we’d play all small halls.”

“Because it’s more conducive to his music,” Ratso parrots.

“That’s right.”

“What’s his reaction to the large halls so far?”

“Sue says you should talk about the crowd and how they feel,” Kemp changes the subject. “What was your question?”

“Bob’s reaction so far to the tour and shit. Could you have him call me or could you get in the room with him and call me …?”

“No, he don’t want to be bothered,” Louie decides.

“Ah, man, they’re really sweating on me,” Ratso says in disgust.

“I just gave you some good stuff.”

“They want quotes from him, you know that.”

“I know, I know,” Louie concedes, “I ain’t gonna bother him now with this shit. You should be able to whip this stuff in shape.”

“I need quotes from him,” Ratso whines, “you know that.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Kemp softens. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“Tomorrow morning, my deadline is at noon.”

“Ah, they always change those deadlines,” Kemp says cavalierly.

“Let me ask you another thing. Who started this whole small-club thing?”

“It was small halls.”

“They told me the first eleven shows, in seven cities, paying customers totaled $600,000 gross.”

“What they know, they know,” Kemp counters, “but Bob hasn’t made a cent and isn’t making any money on this thing. It’s still in the red.”

“Let me say that, let me say that,” Ratso bubbles.

“Well, Bob isn’t making a cent on this thing so far,” Louie repeats, “and with all the expenses of the film crew and the large entourage, his prospects of making money are not good. He can make more money in one night if he wanted to than he will on this whole tour. All right, so that’s a quote, use that quote, that sums it up. All the money’s going to pay the expenses of the other entertainers, salaries, etcetera.”

“Did you read the
Variety
piece yet?” Ratso asks. “The headline says ’Is Dylan Interested in Money?’”

“We don’t give a shit if they’re that fucked up,” Kemp spits, “that’s their problem.”

“They also asked why the price went from $7.50 to $8.50,” Ratso prods.

“Because we’re not covering our expenses,” Kemp answers impatiently. “We’re having a hard time between the movie and the large amount of expenses related with all these people we take with
it. Everybody’s getting a salary except for Bob. And we felt that at $8.50 it was still a bargain compared to what other people were selling for more money.”

Ratso’s running out of questions and it’s nearly eight and he still hasn’t eaten but he can’t resist one more stab. “Talk to Bob, Louie. Maybe you could get a quote from him. The question is, how is he? What’s his feelings, given the fact that he said in the last—”

“I answered that question,” Kemp interrupts.

“You can’t answer for him,” Ratso rails.

“Well, I’m answering it the way I see it.”

“I’m asking for his view. Ask him how he sees it. And I want to get his reaction to the music so far. I know he loves Ronee’s segment.”