No, not The Coral’s classic single. Bob Dylan did not cover Dreamin’ of You, but he did play Dreamin’ of You, the elusive Time Out of Mind cut which did not release until almost a decade later. It was given the proper treatment. Harry Dean Stanton appeared in the music video. That is more a compliment than anything which can be written on Dreamin’ of You. Those deep cuts of Time Out of Mind always ring through with a sincere quality and hunting down a version of it from Dylan proves rather easy when your YouTube recommended is nothing but live shows, dated kitchen recipes and clips from Peep Show. And here we are. The HD Video and the tune itself in all that late 1990s glory. Tell Tale Signs would be the first resting place for this track, a Bootleg Series entry which does extremely well, even now, to pair those out-there, one-off recordings which do not fit in. They are outliers.
What remains consistent through all those songs, whatever the case those bootlegging pieces provide, is the sincerity of its lyrical pieces. What if it was all just a dream is a bit of a cope these days but the hope of waking from a functioning nightmare is all too clear for Dreamin’ of You. It is not just a dream relating to someone, but someplace else. That insanity Dylan writes of here, paired with some slicked-back guitar work and a neat crash of instrumental keys and percussion which highlight a long-spanning instrumental consistency, are wonderful. They complement one another nicely, the candour of the road and the desire to know more while travelling around. Dylan is a man of the road. He always has been. That Never Ending Tour does not do his constant move any justice.
Dreamin’ of You does, though. How can you document a musician when they are so careful about remaining a shadow? An afterthought or a burn mark in the scene where the influence of his sound is already lingering. Dylan is just another man. One of us. But his skill is moulding the image. Life is about creating yourself and for Dylan, it means making this elusive figure real. Any song of his finds a little trickle of fiction to it, that is his security. His kevlar vest we so frequently fail to recognise as the distance between artist and art. It is well-deserved and while it rarely hinders his efforts, Dreamin’ of You is bolstered by it. This bewilderment which strikes throughout is utterly charming, yet sinister too.
Do not get too close to your heroes, then. Dreamin’ of You asks us merely to long for our idols, those creatives and well-travelled stars who are addicted to the open road and the journey. Songs from Dylan are a journey, and no greater traipse through the empty dunes of the United States can be found than on Dreamin’ of You. His songs are so frequently populated by characters, conmen or conniving, downtrodden people that to hear a solo moment, one person longing for another, becomes staggering. Haunting yet candid encounters with the shadows soon obsess the protagonist here. It is what Dylan manages to do with his audience, who try as they might to get that inch closer to understanding him, are left with an outline when they get there, as is the case for Dreamin’ of You.
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