On the Road with Bob Dylan

by Larry Sloman

  “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.”

  “I can’t speak for him on that,” Kemp hurries. “Call me back later.”

  Ratso walks to the restaurant and grabs a fast bite. Back in the room, he grabs his copy of Hustler and starts to read when the phone rings again. Flippo this time.

  “I just spoke to Kemp,” Ratso reassures, “I got ten minutes on the phone with me asking questions and charges about the expenses and shit.”

  “Great.”

  “I also told him I need a quote from Dylan. My fucking phone bill’s gonna be astronomical. There’s no paging system in the Hilton, every time I have to get transferred I get disconnected. Kemp told me everyone on the tour is on salary. The film crew is fifteen people alone. One of the reasons they play large halls is to pay for the film that’s getting made. They see daily rushes, big sessions where they all sit around. I play a Rolling Stone reporter in the movie.”

  “That’s secondary,” the editor snaps, “get the fucking story.”

  “I can’t control it,” Ratso shrugs, “they just come in, barge in, I was interviewing someone on the street and they come up and start filming the interview.”

  “Well, manipulate them, man. All I care about is the story, Larry. Dylan’s the key. You got to have Dylan. Are you aware that Blakley’s sleeping with Dylan?” Flippo says tongue-in-cheek.

  “No,” Ratso scoffs.

  “That’s a fact.”

  “What do you mean that’s a fact.”

  “I know it from somebody on the tour. Now look, I’m not totally stupid, Larry.”

  “I hear she’s a dyke,” Ratso lies.

  “I don’t know about that now. I heard this from a fairly good authority. That’s the only reason Bob took her along.”

  “That’s not true,” Ratso protests.

  “She ain’t the greatest singer in the world,” Flippo smirks. “G
ot to admit that.”

  “I love her, I think she’s a great songwriter.”

  “But she can’t sing. She’s a fair songwriter. No one can tell you she can sing. She’s not an Emmylou Harris by any means. So what’s her charm then. I’ll tell you what her charm is. Round heels.”

  “What’s that?” Ratso asks.

  “That means she bends over backward. You touch her and she falls over backward, that’s Southern. Dig it.”

  “That means she fucks?” Ratso plays dumb.

  “Round heels,” Flippo’s screaming, “she can’t stand up straight. She falls over.”

  “And what happens when she falls over?”

  “What do you think happens when she falls over?” Flippo fumes. “Jesus Christ.”

  “You think I can fuck her?” Ratso asks innocently.

  “Well if she has round heels …”

  “Wouldn’t that be a great story,” Ratso gushes.

  “Yeah, but you ain’t Dylan, that’s the problem.”

  “Yeah, too bad, just think I could wire myself for sound and get an interview in bed.”

  “Let’s not worry about that now,” Flippo cautions.

  “What a good concept though,” Ratso continues. “Somebody really told you that about her and Dylan, huh, somebody on the tour. A performer?”

  “Let’s not play twenty questions here.”

  “Give me a hint,” Ratso begs.

  “I can’t tell you …. Well, have you seen any indications of that?”

  “No,” Ratso emphasizes, “I thought he was sleeping with Neuwirth.”

  “Look,” Flippo gets serious, “the hours are creeping down. You had two fucking weeks. That story had a lot of holes.”

  Ratso yawns. “What’s going on in the real world?”

  “I want to know what’s going on in the tour,” Flippo yells. “He ain’t playing small halls, he’s grossed almost $600,000 in less than two weeks ….”

  “He hasn’t made any money,” Ratso reports.

  “C’mon.”

  “Look, there are seventy people on the road all being paid salary.”

  “How much?” Flippo snaps.

  “They won’t tell me that.”

  “Ask them. Ask Baez. She might tell you. It’s worth the fucking chance, man.”

  “Well, seventy people on the road,” Ratso calculates, “let’s say the average salary is …”

  “Two hundred a week,” Flippo butts in.

  “No, more than that. The fucking stagehands make more than $200 a week. They couldn’t get anybody for $200 a week. Maybe $350 a week plus everyone gets $20 a day per diem.”

  “OK, seventy people at $300 a week, that’s $21,000 a week. So how does $100,000 a night, c’mon, he’s grossed about $600,000. Twenty grand a week, that’s peanuts.”

  “Wait a minute. Staying at hotels costs at least $30 a night for rooms. That’s $2,100 a night. Times seven. They have to pay every night even if they don’t play. That’s $14,700 a week for rooms,” Ratso figures.

  “And the gross so far is almost $600,000,” Flippo reminds.

  “Wait, we ain’t done yet …”

  “Look man, he ain’t playing to save the whales, we know that. I mean this is not a benefit tour. How do you take $596,000 for two weeks and justify that for expenses. C’mon, really.”

  “I got $10,000 a week in per diems,” Ratso’s still figuring.

  “Ain’t much.”

  “Equipment, buses, and stuff costs.”

  “Not much, minimal.”

  “OK, what’s he paying the musicians, we don’t know that.”

  “OK, that’s what we need to know,” Flippo stresses, “where is this fucking money going. He’s making it hand over fist, now why is he doubling up? In these big halls, man. Why is he playing for 25,000 a day?”

  Ratso yawns.

  “Man, you were too easy on Kemp in this story,” Flippo continues. “You were apologizing for him. You were kind to him, said he was a valuable friend to Dylan. You back off when Dylan and Neuwirth both say, Well man, this is what Lou has to do.’ That’s bullshit, he doesn’t have to do that. That’s crap, there’s no fucking excuse for doing what Kemp is doing to the press.”

  “Can I quote you?” Ratso asks.

  “Kemp is just on a fucking ego ride, that’s what it is. What else, if you’re Dylan’s right-hand man, what’s going to happen to your mind. You get sucked into his orbit if he needs to deal with you by being halfway friendly here and there. It gets you in fairly close then he just kind of gets you to do what he wants to do, man. That’s obvious, I’ve seen that for years.”

  “Who?” Ratso challenges.

  “From Bill Graham to Imhoff. I don’t have time to go into it now.”

  “I’m sleeping only three hours a night, man,” Ratso boasts.

  “What are you doing all that time that you’re not reporting?”

  “I’m trying, I’m getting beat up, my car’s been broken into …”

  “Who beat you up?”

  “I wasn’t beat up but I was roughly escorted out by the security guards at one concert.”

  “Put all this in the story,” Flippo stresses. “Obviously Kemp and Imhoff are not your typical sterling Walt Disney characters and that needs to be brought out. What you filed here was not reporting.”

  “It was feature stuff.”

  “Yeah, feature material that is not long enough to sustain as a feature. But we have to think about this issue, like what cities have they played, that kind of crap. That should have been in the goddamn story. What I want is fucking news.”

  “Last time you said you wanted more color. You wanted what the buses looked like. I have that.”

  “You still have not said how many goddamn buses there are.”

  “There are two buses,” Ratso screams, “I had that in the goddamn article.”

  “You had one, Phydeaux.”

  “I said a caravan of two buses and a mobile home.”

  “What kind of buses are they? Greyhound? Detail, detail.”

  “One is a regular fucking Delmonico bus, should I say that?” Ratso can’t believe this.

  “Details, yeah, this is the news section. Don’t worry about the length, if it’s good we can make it go as long as it needs to.”

  Ratso hangs up and starts pacing the room, stopping for a shot of Expectorate. Time is wasting, he thinks, I gotta get to Dylan. He picks up the phone again.

  “What do you want to know? Have you written the article yet?” Kemp growls.

  “I spoke to Flippo, they want a quote from Dylan.”

  “I gave you information. Yeah, well what they want and what they get may be two different things,” Kemp growls.

  “I’d like it too, personally.”

  “Saying what? What would you like the guy to say?” Kemp challenges.

  “I don’t want to put words in his mouth.”

  “Well, what is it you want to know from him?”

  “I told you what I want to know. I want to know what he thinks about the tour so far, playing large halls—”

  “I told you,” Kemp interrupts.

  “But that’s not him.”

  “That’s it, you know. The guy’s not accessible to everyone that wants to talk to him. You know that, that’s the facts of life.”

  “I know he’s accessible to me.”

  “Not whenever you want to talk to him.”

  “Well, I’ve laid low for two weeks,” Ratso points out.

  “I don’t want Bob bugged about these things. These are questions that fall in my area and I’ve answered them. I told you what he likes, what his preferences were and I told you what I was doing on the basis of what had to be done in order to—”

  “What do you mean? Like, he likes to play small halls.”

  “He likes to play small halls,” Louie repeats, “that’s his preference.”

  “I’d like to ask him what he thinks about the show so far, if he thinks it’s good,
why he feels so comfortable.”

  “I think those are dumb questions, why does he feel so comfortable?”

  “Why is he so animated?” Ratso rewords it.

  “Those are bullshit questions,” Lou scoffs.

  “I don’t think it’s bullshit,” Ratso raises his voice, “I’ve never seen him so comfortable on stage before.”

  “I don’t think Bob should have to be subjected to questions like that.”

  “Hey, did you tell the People guy what questions to ask him?” Ratso wonders.

  “If you had an interview you could ask what you feel but you don’t have an interview so you’ll just have to settle—”

  “When can I have an interview?” Ratso interrupts shrilly.

  “When can you have an interview? I’ll put your name on the list.”

  “What list?”

  “The list of the other ten thousand people that requested it before you. You’re constantly badgering me for the same shtick.”

  “I’m just trying to do my job,” Ratso repeats.

  “Do it then, you can see the guy’s loose, that’s the important thing.”

  “You know as well as I do that I can say it but if he says the same thing it means more than if I say it.”

  “OK, well,” Lou concedes, “but the facts are what they are.”

  “Do you think he’d feel I was intruding if I asked him questions like that?”

  “I don’t want to subject him to questions,” Lou decides. “If he wants to do an interview with you, he’ll call you, OK.”

  “Could you ask him,” Ratso pleads. “I don’t want an interview, give him the message. I just need about two paragraphs now, I don’t need an hour.”

  “Another thing you haven’t put in your articles that I think you should put in is the low-keyed way the tickets are being sold for the benefit of the people in the street. So it’s a nonhype easygoing type of thing.”

  “Tell me the way it’s done,” Ratso reluctantly gets out a pen.

  “Jerry Seltzer’s the guy that runs ticket sales. He goes into a town approximately five, six days ahead of time, with the tickets already printed up. For example, Worcester went on sale today for a Tuesday show. We put them on sale with handbills, just handbills and follow it up on a couple of stations once in a while with a couple of short radio spots in outlying areas, where we want people to have a chance to get tickets also.”