Bob Dylan is not what one would call a recording studio perfectionist. Generally, he's known for finding the right feel instead of producing polished perfection. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to knock the man. Nor am I casting aspersions on his work; there may be a few lumps of coal here and there amongst the gems, but its overall quality and range is inspiring. Dylan's influence on twentieth century culture is unmistakable.
Dylan has learned a few tricks over the course of his four-decade career, and I noticed something in "Things Have Changed," his Oscar-winning song from the movie "The Wonder Boys," that gave me pause. The movie relates the story of an aging English professor/novelist, and the song is a world-weary existential lament. It's full of great Dylanesque rhymes, like:
Lot of water under the bridge, lot of other stuff, too
Don't get up gentlemen, I'm only passing through
and
Gonna get lowdown, gonna fly high
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie
What really caught my ear, though, is the last line of the last verse: "I'm not that eager to make a mistake." Dylan's phrasing breaks the line into two parts: "I'm not that eager to"--pause--"make a mistake," and right at the pause, someone--I think it's the jokester himself on rhythm guitar--plays a blatantly "wrong" chord for a beat or two, just long enough to make you notice it, before falling back into harmony with the rest of the band.
My first thought was that it was just someone being sloppy and missing by one fret the placement of a chord on the guitar. Then I thought how unusual it was to hear such a thing, because recording studio technology makes it so easy to fix little bloopers like that. Then I thought, "No, that's typical Dylan, just letting the take stand as it was recorded, warts and all." Finally, I realized the possibility of the "wrong" chord being consciously placed to emphasize the lyric line that followed--and laughed at myself for thinking about whether or not Dylan had made a "mistake" instead of appreciating the combination of words and music.
Such creative use of dissonance seems underused in today's popular music, despite its increasing use over the last hundred years or so in classical music. The complexity of jazz also sets the stage for creative use of dissonance, and some artists have even used it to establish their own unique sound. (Try, for example, to imagine the work of Thelonius Monk without dissonance.) More recently, some might say that music from the punk and grunge movements made creative use of dissonance, but I don't really think so; theirs was more of a dissonant posture, and the music, while raw, was more about energy than about harmonic structure.
"Dissonant" dates from 15th century Latin, and literally means "to be apart in sound." However, I think a case can be made for use of the word in a visual context as well as an aural one. For example, painters have used visual dissonance throughout the twentieth century; the cubist movement comes to mind immediately, and there's also Chagall's upside-down roosters, Picasso's portraits with eyes on the same side of the nose, and the way contrasting colors were used to jarring effect in the op-art and pop-art movements.
Some might say that the increasing use of visual and orchestral dissonance is a response to the ever-increasing noise of an industrial society. Perhaps it is. However, it seems the use of dissonance in music is most effective--at least to our Western ears--when used sparingly, for emphasis, like seasoning in a special sauce. I now find myself smiling at the brief dissonance in "Things Have Changed." It makes me stop and listen, and reminds me, strangely, of how Gershwin used dissonant trumpets in "An American in Paris" to create the effect of honking horns.
American popular culture is still quite heavily influenced by our European harmonic heritage. Musicologists credited the Beatles with the use of "Aeolian cadences," and most pop songs--from the ballads of Bacharach to the aerobically demanding anthems of Bruce Springsteen, Britney Spears, and Madonna--still seek harmonic resolution, despite the growing influence of music from other cultures. And something--maybe it's that old Protestant work ethic, I dunno--makes us want to perfect, to polish, to airbrush out the imperfections wherever we can.
Could our increasing exposure to world music help us appreciate more complex harmonies, like it has made us more aware of and comfortable with complex rhythms? I hope so. And I'm glad that Dylan's producer didn't insist on fixing the "mistake" in "Things Have Changed." Of course, maybe I'm all wet. Maybe Dylan did make a mistake. That's okay--I still enjoyed the path it took me down. Thanks, Bob. And congratulations on winning an Oscar.