A band of Dylanistas

Scott Dickensheets

Thursday, March 21, 1996 | 11:59 a.m.

Perhaps the ironic high point of my evening among the Dylanistas came during a set of jangly guitar rock by local jangly guitar rockers Inside Scarlet, when John Redfield leaned over and whispered, "I like the music, but I can't understand a word she's singing."

Funny, him complaining about lyric unintelligibility -- considering that he was at Cafe Espresso Roma that Friday night in honor of Bob Dylan, that was saying something. And speaking of saying something, right about then, big Ike offered the band a good-natured tip regarding song selection. "Play something by Bob Dylan!" he bellowed.

Welcome to another high-spirited evening with Highway 61, a year-old social group devoted to the reedy-voiced singer-songwriter. To answer your next question, yes, they're serious, although not too serious. To answer your next question, no they're not freaky '60s holdouts -- not most of them, anyway. To answer your next question, yes, they have lives.

Eric Goldberg, for instance, is an attorney, Sue Lidey a teacher. Among the 50 or so names on Highway 61's mailing list are doctors, computer techies and a professional magician. Some have addresses in such far-off places as Canada, the Netherlands and Massachusetts.

"I think Australia, too," co-founder Leslie Belford said.

As for your next question -- why Bob Dylan of all people? -- the answer is simple: The pump still doesn't work because the vandals took the handles. In other words, "Dylan's always relevant," said Rod Belford, co-founder and not coincidentally Leslie's husband. The others readily agree.

"The conditions he talked about haven't gone away," Redfield said. War, racism, injustice, human folly -- "they've only changed in size and quality." And, as Goldberg pointed out, younger acts such as U2 and Guns N' Roses have found enough meaning in Dylan tunes to cover them.

Anyway, given the host of minor irritants around which pearls of community form these days -- think rotisserie baseball, think David Hasselhoff fan clubs -- a Bob Dylan group is probably one of the less unusual nexus points. They were certainly a welcome island of quirky normality in the sea of goatees and bored faces packing the cafe that night. (I'm thinking particularly of the spectacularly unfashionable turquoise pendant Redfield wore at his throat.)

"We have all kinds of people," Rod said, raising his voice above the hubbub as Cafe Roma filled with Inside Scarlet fans. "We're just having a lot of fun with it."

Funzapoppin'!

Fun was certainly on the agenda that night. "He's amphetamine, I'm dexedrine and he's valium -- and we're the Pills Brothers," Redfield boomed by way of introduction when I walked up.

The fast-talking Redfield -- apparently the unrestrained id of the group -- anchored one side of the main table, which was ringed by maybe a dozen 61'ers and their Dylan song books, recordings and guitars. Others sat at satellite tables, watching unhappily as the band set out candles on the tiny stage.

I say "unhappily" because it was supposed to be acoustic night, you know! Goldberg, Roi Brown and others had lugged their guitars to Cafe Roma, and the 61'ers were planning to rock the house with renditions of their favorite Dylan numbers. "We're usually into song at this point," Rod said. That night, though, the guitars were stacked mutely on a nearby table, their strum and twang interrupted by the appearance of Inside Scarlet.

"We've closed this place a couple of times," Rod says. "They're putting the chairs on the tables ... they have to kick us out."

The singing of Dylan songs is a major component of Highway 61 gatherings. "Eric's a great guitarist," Rod said. Particularly memorable was the group picnic last summer. But it's not the only reason they get together. Members share Dylan stories, make tapes of obscure or bootleg Dylan releases, drink beer.

"Sometimes Dylan might not even come up," Rod said. "Sometimes we'll talk about world events, and we might work our way back to Dylan or we might not. Whatever happens, happens. No night is typical."

As if to prove that, mention of the Dylan song "Don't Ya Tell Henry" started a chain of conversation at the north end of the table that quickly jumped from Henry Ford's fascist leanings to Nazi Germany to laments over the slipshod way schools teach history. Let's see your basic Europopsters exhibit that kind of cultural reach.

Musician Mark Huff, a member of the group revered for actually having opened for Dylan during his last Vegas concert, appeared about then. "Is this the Bobby Vinton group?" he asked. "I was told this was the Bobby Vinton group."

The chickens!

"Bonnie's actually seen his house in Malibu," Rod said, indicating a frizzy-haired woman at a nearby table. She nodded. "He has chickens there," she said earnestly.

"What they don't tell you," Huff interrupted, "is that every hour he comes out with a shotgun and blows some of 'em away. He cuts their heads off just to see 'em run around. He stomps on the baby ones."

Most chuckled at this blasphemy; they're not into mindless Dylan idolatry. They're still shaking their heads over a former member who loved Bob Dylan -- not just his music, him. "She actually wanted to marry him," Rod said. She's far away from here now. And sure, maybe Rod and Leslie have HWY61 on their license plate, but that doesn't mean they want to knock back beers with Bob.

"I wouldn't actually want to meet Dylan," Rod said. "I hear he's just so weird." Digging the groovy tunes is enough. But if he and Mumblin' Bob ever got stuck in an elevator together...

"I'd talk about something totally different from music," he said. "Baseball, the movies. Because you know he's always getting asked, 'What's the answer, Bob? Is it still blowing in the wind?'"

The band started playing. "This isn't Dylan," Ike mock grumbled.

"It's supposed to be acoustic tonight," Leslie said.

"Get 'em off the stage," Ike snorted, then barked toward the band, "Bob Dylan's on his way."

At least not all the group's instruments went unused; during one Inside Scarlet tune, I heard some jingling behind me. Bonnie was tapping her tambourine against her leg in time to the music. Hey, Mr. Tambourine, ah, Woman, play that song for me...

Tales of Bob

Blame it on me, Ike. You got all dressed up to meet the media and I forgot to assign a photographer. In the interest of full exposure, let me note that Ike -- real name: Jim Eichinger -- was resplendent in rainbow suspenders and a green shirt.

"The first time Bob Dylan did any entertaining in front of anyone," he said through his gray beard, "it was at the Triangle Bar in Minneapolis, at Riverside and Cedar. My godfather owned that bar. He played from 8 to 1, then went out to the street and kept playing."

Dylan stories; they all have 'em. Redfield was turned on to Dylan when a high school teacher brought back a bootleg tape from vacation. His imagination captured, he bought a guitar for $18, learned "four or five basic chords" and began copying what little Dylan he heard on the radio, which was mostly other people covering his songs: "Blowing in the Wind" by Peter, Paul and Mary, "Tambourine Man" by the Byrds.

"I became something of a troubadour," Redfield says. "I'd play in coffeehouses or just sit in the park and play."

After catching on to Dylan through a record club in her teens, Sue Lidey was a so-so fan. Until she saw him in concert with Tom Petty in LA's Pacific Amphitheatre in 1987. "That's when I went from being a sort-of fan to a real fan," Lidey said, mentioning that she has every Dylan record even if she no longer has a record player.

Rod was a Jersey boy and Motown fan -- Four Tops, Supremes -- when, at age 15, he impulse-purchased the "Concert for Bangladesh" album. "I heard his lyrics and stuff ... and that turned me on to Dylan." That was 25 years ago.

He remembers his first Dylan concert, too. He was touring the Northwest by bus a few years ago, using one of those open-ended passes they used to issue. Dylan was touring the area, but at every stop, Rod just missed him. He finally got tickets to a show in Vancouver, only to be detained at the Canadian border because he only had $18 on him.

"They must have thought I was going to try and get on their welfare," he recalled. "I had to talk to Mounties, I had to beg everyone's superiors to let me see this concert. They finally let me go."

Was the performance worth the hassle? "Oh, definitely," he said.

Then there was a guy named Jim slouching into his down vest at the periphery of the main table. "I know this much about Bob Dylan," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger a tiny space apart. "But he wrote the two greatest lyrics I ever heard." Take notes, kids; they are:

* "If you ain't busy being born, you're busy dying."

* "It's all right Ma, I'm only bleeding."

"I'd stack either of those up against Shakespeare," Jim said.

Or against anyone else making music these days. "I just don't see anyone in music who will be around in 10 years," Rod said. Madonna? Where will she be when her already fading sex appeal hits bottom? Michael Jackson? Will his music outlive his latest nose? The rest of the pack are mostly haircut bands and fad-jumpers -- how many of them will have the juice to put together a 40-album body of work?

But that voice! "For some songs you need a ragged voice," Rod said. "Because some of his songs are just so heartbreaking. A voice like Julio Iglesias' just wouldn't cut it."

Message for Bob

One final thing. While it's not widely known that Bob Dylan is a SUN subscriber, Bonnie either found out or intuited it, because she wanted to include a message from her to Bob.

"I know he'll see it," she said, and in the depths of a Diet Pepsi binge, I agreed. The message: "From Molly: Father Time, Sister Rose." I have no idea what it means.