Where can I get a coat (shawl? boa?) like Donovan's?A while ago, I alluded to my affection for Donovan. I think in the context of the post, I called him a "foppish pansy" - a characterization I still stand by. Of course, clothing and toughness never enter the equation when it comes to choosing music. For this reason, I am perfectly content - nay, proud - to have several of the man's albums. Donovan's psychedelic folk pop is both pleasant and unique - much of it belongs in your record collection.
But there's something that upsets me about Donovan: the comparisons he's been receiving to Bob Dylan since he was 18. It's insulting to both artists. Superficial similarities aside (they were both young big-haired balladeers who listened to Woody Guthrie), there really isn't much in common between the two. When one decides to listen to Sunshine Superman (1966), he does not do so because he expects his mind to be blown by Donovan's stellar lyrics. Likewise, very few people throw on Highway 61 Revisited (1965) expecting pastoral prettiness. While Dylan was penning poignant social commentary and delivering it with trademark rasp, Donovan was quite content to write songs about being fed LSD by Mama Cass in San Francisco ("Fat Angel"). In retrospect, it is clear that the two were up to drastically different things. Yet, the music media of the era saw the need to compare the two of them - and even to pit them against one another. Hardly fair, really. One wonders who had the great idea in the first place: "Hey, this teen-aged Scot writes some really nice songs. Let's give him a complex by constantly comparing him to the voice of a fucking generation."
As if this weren't bad enough, Donovan himself seems to have added fuel to the fire since day one. Certainly, he idolized Dylan, and I suspect he also fancied the notion of friendly competition between the two of them. Perhaps Donovan saw Dylan as a peer. Dylan, on the other hand, saw Donovan as a minor annoyance - a man who wrote naive little ditties while he was out fighting the more important battles. His dismissive attitude is clearly on display in the video clip below, an excerpt from Don't Look Back.
"Eh."
Later in the documentary, the two finally meet and engage in something of a "song-off." Note that as a raw musician, Donovan is the more accomplished of the two - his voice and guitar playing are both technically better than his idol's. However, raw musical ability alone sometimes doesn't quite cut it - note Donovan's reaction during and after Dylan's rendition of "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue."
"Go back to Glasgow, sissy."
You'd think that Donovan would have learned his lesson over the years, but he apparently has not. In his autobiography, Hurdy Gurdy Man, he states that while Dylan's lyrics are certainly better than his, "musically, I am more creative and influential." Creative, maybe - I might be able to give him that one. But more influential than Dylan? Mr. Leitch, perhaps all that acid you did with Cass is finally catching up to you.
But perhaps I am being too harsh here. Despite his penchant for talking out of his ass, I personally enjoy Donovan quite a bit. I prefer to see him for what he is (purveyor of damned fine psychedelic folk) as opposed to what he is not (the second coming of Bob Dylan). Today's post is "Celeste," the final track on Sunshine Superman. It's a fine example of what Donovan does best - and frankly, of something that Dylan never could (nor would) have done himself. Note the tasteful use of the sitar, as well as the mellotron. Also note the celeste solo in the middle - clever touch. This is a high point of psychedelic folk.
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