Bob Dylan’s Restless Farewell (A Bob Dylan Story, Chapter 10)

Trees grow tall, leaves fall, rivers dry up, and flowers die. New people are born every day. Life doesn’t stop. Sometimes things can change in an instant—a gunshot to the head, a man losing control of a motorbike—but sometimes things take years to change. And sometimes, like in the curious case of Bob Dylan, a man can go through a lifetime of change in just ten days.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Blood on the Tracks is the production of I Heart
Radio and Double Elvis. Bob Dylan was a musical genius
and one of the greatest songwriters of all time. He
didn't follow leaders. He chased that thin, wild mercury sound.
He never looked back. Even as the times changed, and
as the times changed, Bob Dylan changed. He tried on

(00:21):
and discarded identities like they were mass. He transformed. He
transfigured in somewhere along the way, the Bob Dylan that
you thought you knew died. This is his story once again.
This is Dr Ed Sailor here at my home in Middletown,

(00:43):
New York, reporting on the patient Robert Zimmerman, a k a.
Bob Dylan. It is August seventh, ninety six, day ten.
As it were, Bob is finally going home today backwood Stock.
I don't foresee any longstanding physical problems resulting from his crash,
but I have requested that he seeks some help for

(01:04):
what seems to be some mental distress. I shall continue
to check in on Bob, but right now I'm happy
he's in good health, and I don't see that changing
anytime soon. Change. That's what we've been talking about all
this time. That's all we've ever talked about. Trees grow tall,

(01:30):
leaves fall, rivers dry up, and flowers die. New people
are born every day. Life doesn't stop. Sometimes things can
change in an instant, a gunshot to the head, a
man losing control of a motorbike. But sometimes things can

(01:50):
take years to change, even when there is no change
that itself can bring about. Change, a lack of change
in the world can change a person. It can make
them bitter and disillusioned, it can ruin them. Transfiguration is change.
As I've grown older, I've realized that as I've moved

(02:10):
through these lives, I've taken a bit of each of them.
They have informed me in some way. But you're never
through with this. Change never stops the times they are changing,
and all the rest of those so called voice of
a generation words from so many generations ago. There's always

(02:32):
another day, another sunrise, more ideas, more conversation, more blood
on the tracks. Chapter ten, Bob Dylan's Restless Farewell. I

(03:18):
have a confession to make. I've been I've been lying
to you. I said some things that just aren't true,
but I had my reasons. Little Richard, Dad, last week,
I'm so aggrieved. He was my shining star, the guiding light,

(03:39):
back when I was only a little boy. His was
the original spirit that moved me to do everything I
would do. So what am I supposed to do? Now?
Trees grow, tall, leaves fall, rivers dry up, and flowers die.
One of the first songs I ever wrote was about
little Richard. Go and look for it and you'll find it.

(04:02):
It was in high school with a buddy of mine.
We recorded it in my old house at my mother's piano.
That was so long ago, so long I wasn't even
born yet. Now Little Richard is no longer here. It's
like a part of my life has gone to transfiguration
has change. Death is everywhere in this world right now.

(04:25):
It lingers around the corner. It waits silently. I can
feel it wherever I go. But you know, like I
keep saying, death isn't always the end. There's always another day.
Sometimes it's the start. Transfiguration can take many different forms.

(04:46):
Sometimes something can happen and later you process it, you
incorporated into a new life. If you don't understand that
by now, then you haven't been listening closely enough. The
way I feel about little Richard reminds me how I
felt the nineteen sixty three when someone else passed. I
remember running up the stairs of our old apartment building

(05:07):
on Avenue B. I was shouting, shouting at the top
of my lungs. Is it true? Is it true? Deep
down I knew it was true, of course, I just
didn't want to believe it never stops. I crashed into
our apartment and saw Susie, my girlfriend at the time,

(05:27):
sitting on our old rickety couch, with her sister Carla.
Carla lived with us, and usually we didn't get along,
but that day it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I yelled
at them to put the TV on. Carla clicked the
old black and white box on nothing some crummy soap opera.

(05:48):
What's wrong, she asked, But before I could answer, the
soap opera fell silent, and old Cronkite's voice appeared. He
didn't even have a camera on him, just his voice
in the blackness of the screen. He said words that
I'll never forget. In Dallas, Texas, three shots were fired
at President Kennedy's motorcade. The first reports say the president

(06:10):
had been seriously wounded. I froze up. We all did.
The world outside seemed to stop too. For the first
time in its history, New York City just ground to
a halt. Moments later, Cronkite was back on the screen,
showing us images, such awful images, the gunshot to the head.

(06:35):
I've seen them a thousand times since, from different angles,
different portrayals, with different opinions imprinted on them. But these days,
when I look back, whenever I think about what happened
that day, I see that little black and white TV screen.
It's the image that resonates most. I can see it now,

(06:55):
the shot going into his head, plume of red on
the other side, flesh and bone on the back of
the car, the way his wife crawled after it. Sometimes
things can change in an instant. God, it was so shocking.
If I had known what I was going to see
that day, I would have walked out of there straight away.

(07:17):
But then again, maybe not. I've never shied away from change,
you know that, And for good or bad, this was change.
I stuck to that TV for days. I didn't leave
the apartment. Carla kept crying, Susie kept crying. I kept crying.

(07:39):
It felt like any sense of hope we'd had, any
sense of freedom, any sense of change was gone, gone
in an instant. Fear seemed to rise out of it. All.
Everything about it was endless speculation, the questions, the morning funeral,
the whole country tree. No, the whole world was cast

(08:02):
into purgatory. Trees grow tall, leaves fall, rivers dry up,
and flowers die. It affected me, of course, how could
it not. I felt the sense that I had to
react to it. So I wrote. I wrote and wrote
and wrote on that old couch. I wrote with the

(08:25):
black and white TV flickering in front of me. It
became my candle light. I tried to get my feelings
down about it, but I couldn't. I just I couldn't
make it right. I couldn't process it. All I could
see was the blood, the flesh, Jackie, the gunshot to
the head. It wasn't like real life. It was like

(08:48):
a movie. It was melodramatic, tasteless, grotesque, A man losing control.
After two days of trying to write and fail, I
threw the pen down and cried as they replayed the
whole bloody scene again on the TV. I didn't know
where to go. It was like the world we knew

(09:10):
had died and we were moving into something completely new.
Life doesn't stop. I couldn't make sense of it. It's
now fifty seven years later. I'm thinking about that day
all over again as I walk up the stairs of
Sound City Studio and Van Nuys. A new year is

(09:31):
upon us, but it's under threat from a virus, or
so they say. But I'm not thinking about that today. No,
I'm concentrating on my music, one song in particular. I
walked into the large performance room and sit in front
of a microphone. Let battle commence, I muttered to myself.

(09:52):
Change never stops. A call from the control booth asks
if I'm ready. The whole band it is in front
of me. There's tension in the air, but that's good
when you're making a record. They asked me again from
the booth if I'm ready for a take. I closed
my eyes in reply, Just give me a minute. With

(10:15):
my eyes closed, I can see it again, the black
and white TV, old Cronkite, the car Jackie, the blood
rivers dry up. That voice from the control booth asks
again if I'm ready or if I need to take five.
I'm okay, I'm ready to go, I tell him. I

(10:37):
opened my eyes and look at the lyric page in
front of me. It starts with A dark day in Dallas, November.
The band starts, and instantly I feel like I'm singing
for that other person, that little boy who had almost forgotten,
sitting on that old sofa under the flicker of the
TV in New York, trying to write down what he

(10:58):
just witnessed right through with this. Seventeen minutes later, as
the final notes of the song ring out, I feel
like it's finally over, like I've processed it all. The
song was Murder Most Foul. It would be my first
number one single as a solo artist, my first number
one ever at seventy nine years of age. I guess

(11:22):
change is always possible, regardless of age or time. That's
what we've been talking about all this time. Looking back now,
it's hard to say what the world would be like
without that murder. That day with JFK changed everything. But
like I said, when there is no change, that's when

(11:42):
things can get ugly, and things were about to get ugly.

(12:17):
I only lied to protect myself to make a change.
Otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you now. Do you
understand I'm pissed? You've seen the news. It's sickened me
to tell you the truth. When I saw it, I

(12:37):
don't know. It was beyond ugly. I pray that justice
is swift. I've been singing about this stuff for so
long now, the stuff in the news years, I've been
singing about it, and it never changes. When there's no change,
ugly things happen. How can I explain this to you?

(13:01):
I guess to really understand what I'm trying to get at,
we have to go back, but not to look at
our past. We have to go back to our past
to understand our future generations ago. What's past is prologue.
You can thank Bill Shakespeare for that. If we keep

(13:21):
making the same mistakes, well hell, we're all doomed and
we might be. You know, any minute now. The world
could explode because we never learned. Look. On February eight,
William Zantzinger walks into the seventeen story Emerson Hotel in

(13:43):
downtown Baltimore. Yeah, I got his name right this time.
Zantzinger is the son of a Maryland state politician. He
himself is a pretty successful guy too. He's a tobacco
farmer by trade, but he's also one of those socialite
types He moves with a cold, brutal confidence, a kind

(14:04):
only the young and successful possess. He's dressed smartly for
a ball, and despite being young, he is already rich.
Heren's enough money to do whatever the hell he wants
in life. Trees grow tall, His fingertips are yellowed and
nicotine stained. His finger nails are full of dirt, completely

(14:26):
out of place with his pristine suit. You can tell,
despite his money, he doesn't quite fit in here. He
walks through the large brass doors under the huge hotel
canopy with a smile plastered all over his face. He
checks his coat at the lobby, but he holds onto
his cane. He twirls it around his fingers as he
surveys the hotel's interior. By the time he leaves the

(14:50):
hotel that day, he will have killed someone. Fifty seven
years later in Minneapolis, in my home state of Minnesota,
it's the evening of May. Officer Derek Chauvin's radio crackles
to life. He answers it and heads to the intersection
of Chicago Avenue in East Street. Chauvin is an officer

(15:13):
who has been with the department for over eighteen years.
He carries with him eighteen complaints from the Minnesota Police
Department's internal affairs, there is no change. By the time
he ends his shift, he will have killed someone. Back
in nineteen sixty three, at the Emerson Hotel, Spinster's Ball

(15:35):
is well underway. The famous Howard Lannon orchestra plays as
Zantzinger drinks. Pretty soon he's pretty drunk. He's having the
time of his life, hollering, laughing, throwing jokes around the usual.
When a waitress comes to deliver him yet more whiskey,
he taps her lightly on the back with his cane,

(15:56):
grinning as he does. I guess it's his way of
saying thanks. Que. Later, he moves to the dance floor,
spinning his wife around, and as the music ramps up,
the sweat pours off a zance singer faster faster as
he goes. His wife tries to slow him down. I'm
freda stare, he shouts. New people are born every day now.

(16:21):
I don't know because I wasn't there, but I'm willing
to bed. He wasn't moving like Freda Stare. After spinning around,
he drops to the floor. Hard. Life doesn't stop. A
bell hop runs over to help him up. But zan
singer shoves him then hits him hard with his cane.
After that, he jumps up and strolls to the side

(16:43):
of the dance floor, looks over to the bar and
decides to have another drink. Back in Minneapolis, May PM
officer Derek Chauvin and his partner Too Thou arrive in
their square vodka outside a grocery store called Cup Foods.

(17:04):
They're informed by other police officers at the scene that
a man has just purchased cigarettes, but a store employee
believes he used a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. Chauvin is
now the senior ranking official and he instantly takes control.
He sees a fellow officer struggling to get the suspect
into the police car, while someone behind them films the

(17:24):
whole scene on their cell phone. Sometimes things can change
in an instant. It's footage the entire world will end
up scene. Chauvin joins the struggle. After a few minutes,
the suspect is on the deck surrounded by blue shirts.
He's faced down, struggling. He's clearly in distress, but they

(17:46):
keep him down. He pulls his head up and shouts,
I can't breathe that's what we've been talking about all
the time. He says that another sixteen times in the
next five minutes. In Baltimore, Zantzinger strides up to the
bar and pounds on it, looking to be served. Standing

(18:09):
across from him as a waitress just finishing up another
order a whiskey, he says loudly. The waitress asks him
to wait a moment. Zant Singer's eyes narrow and his
lips curl up. Excuse me, he barks. Words then tumble
from his mouth, ones that I wouldn't care to repeat now.
Words that can scorn and shame a person, words that

(18:32):
can ridicule and damage anyone. Things can change in an instant.
But that's not enough for him. He leans over and
raises his cane above his head. He brings it down hard,
and it lands on the skin and bone of the waitress.
When he connects with force. He draws the cane back
and does it again and again and again. A man

(18:57):
losing control. The waitress collapses once again. Zantzinger is sweating
in Minneapolis outside cup Foods. Officer Chauvin has his knee
over the suspect's neck. Another officer radios for a code
to assistance for a non medical emergency, but when they

(19:20):
see blood coming from the suspect's mouth, they upgrade it
to a Code three. By the time the ambulance reaches
the scene, the suspect is unresponsive. In Baltimore, Zantzinger isn't done.
When his wife tries to calm him down, she ends
up on the floor. He screams and shouts as the

(19:42):
orchestra Howard Lennon plays on the waitresses in the back room,
her face flooded with tears. An ambulance is on its way,
but it won't be able to help her. She will die.
Just hours later. In Minneapolis, the susp act with the
supposedly fake twenty dollar bill is pronounced dead in a

(20:03):
hospital soon after he arrives there in an ambulance. His
name was George Floyd. Her name was Hattie Carroll. What
do they both have in common? The color of their skin?
How long have I been singing about this ship? Bitter, disillusioned?

(20:26):
How long has this been going on? For? Will this
ever change? And never through with this? A large part
of my work has revolved around this stuff and for
what for there to be no change? And people wonder
why I gave up my finger pointing songs. This is
what happens when change doesn't occur. We'll be right back

(20:54):
after this word were word, I have to confess. It's
finally time for you to know what happened that day,
how all of this began, Why all this began? This
is the truth. Truth. It's a funny thing these days.

(21:22):
You can take the truth and make it fluid. Mark
Twain once said, a lie can travel around the world
and back again while the truth is lacing up its boots.
And sure, I've lied, I've lied to you before, but
what are you gonna do? That's life. I talk out
both sides of my mouth, and what you here depends

(21:42):
on which side you're standing. Things can change in an instant.
The only truth in the world is that there isn't
any don't blame me for that. But I never changed
the truth completely, never made it void of form, never
distorted it beyond all recognition. I bent it, invented it.

(22:04):
It still had truth at the core. I used truth.
I used truth for change, and I used the truth
to change. Change never stops. So listen up. This is
the truth. Remember when I first started talking to you.
The thing that brought this all on. That's all we've

(22:24):
ever talked about. The crash I had on my bike.
I told you about how I ended up at Dr
Saylor's house, right. I was riding on my motorbike and
I ended up flat on the pavement in Woodstock, Remember
the crash that almost killed me. Transfiguration is changed. I

(22:46):
told you I left my manager's house. I'd gone there
to get my bike and take it home. Sarah, my
wife at the time, she was with me. That's all true.
I left on the bike and she followed me home
in the are. When she found me minutes later, I
was all beaten up on the road, left half dead
by a crash, my neck in a state, my legs crooked,

(23:11):
my head having taken a whack. New people are born
every day. It was the sun that did it. That
and the oil on the road and the breaks of
the bike. They all put me on the pavement that day.
But then again, maybe not. Let me tell you what
really happened. Let me tell you what really happened on

(23:34):
that day in Woodstock, the day that Bob Dylan died.
And hey, don't just take my word for it, take
the word of everyone you've met during our time together.
Let me explain. Actually, let Lucky Wilbury explain. He's seen
it all happen, he knows the score. Tell him, Lucky.

(23:55):
The Willberry people are not liar, so I'll be straight
with you. Like I said, I'd gone to Albert's house
to get my motorbike and a j S five hundred
that previously belonged to Rambling Jack Elliott. That's wrong. There
was a triumph. I don't think it was. Are you
questioning me? I'm a help. We know, ad Bice. Okay, okay, sorry,

(24:19):
it was a triumph to one hundred. Yes, a triumph
T one hundred. Thanks. I got onto the bike that
day with Sarah just behind me in the car. I
gave her a nod, and then I set off as
fast as I could man the road. I remember what
it was like to be free. It was like drinking

(24:41):
and fine glass of whiskey. It was pure joy. It
felt like anything could happen in that moment. I remind
myself of that these days. It helps me remember how
you can feel. I shot down the hill, the wind
billowing around me. I was like an arrow cutting through it.

(25:02):
It felt like the spirit of the Lord was with me,
looking back now. It was the very same feeling I
had in that hotel room in Tucson when Jesus had
appeared in front of me. Faster and faster I went.
It felt like the first time I met Woody got Frey.
It was a thrill. I've been toring and working for
so long at that time, I had almost forgotten what

(25:23):
it was like to be free. The thrill of actually
having a feeling you've been searching for so long, having
that watch over you was exhilarating. I suddenly thought to myself,
this is what I've been missing. This freedom. Freedom, Yes, freedom,

(25:44):
There's no freedom like the freedom of riding the beast.
I felt so lost, though I knew that after this ride,
this single little ride, I'd be back to it, back
to the tours, back to the sessions, back to the
less goddamn questions, back to the grind bless of the
goddamn please. I felt like this was the only slice

(26:08):
of freedom might get for a long time. Then it
suddenly hit me, out of nowhere, I realized I could change.
It suddenly occurred to me what transfiguration could offer me.
This is your way out, I thought, this is your escape.
There was no oils. Slip oil slicks can't tumble a

(26:29):
triumph anyway. I wasn't drunk, and it wasn't the black springs.
There was no sun in my eyes either. It was
just me, me making a decision to get out, to
end it all. Two transfigure. The universe gave me an

(26:50):
opportunity on that road, and I took it. Anyone who
has died has been freed from sin. Christ was raised
from the dead. He cannot die again. Death no longer
has mastery over him dead. I saw the road stretching

(27:13):
out ahead, and I pushed down hard on the accelerator,
and then I steered hard to the right. I knew
if I made it feel like it was real, then
it would be real. There's always another day. The bike's getted.
Dropping to the side, I heard metal crunch against the asphalt.

(27:34):
Spark flashed past my eyes, and smoke rose up from
the tires. There was this awful screeching sound. Then it happened,
another sunrise. I was thrown off up into the air.
I went, the bike spinning out in front of me
down the road. I felt like I hung there for

(27:57):
a second, and then I dropped. I could feel my
stomach churn. It danced like a cart wheel. As I
hit the ground with a thud, leaves fall, rivers dry up.
I landed on my side and I felt pain course
through me, but on my face there was a smile.

(28:17):
To be honest, the fall wasn't bad. Sure it was painful,
but not too bad. I lay there on the road
looking up at the sky. It looked so vast, I
felt so small. I felt part of something bigger, bigger
than myself, bigger than just one man. Change never stops.

(28:41):
Then there was silence. I felt at peace for the
first time in years. Look, I was burnt out. If
I had continued like that, If I had continued as
that Bob Dylan, so called Voice of a Generation, mh
the one everyone knew, I would have died. And I

(29:04):
don't mean I would have died and then been reborn,
I mean dead in the cold, hard ground routing. Instead,
I became something new and kept applying that every step
of the way, life isn't about finding yourself, It's about
inventing yourself. That woodstock asphalt witnessed the end of a life,

(29:25):
but the beginning of a new one. And that is
the truth. Well that's my story. And I'm sticking to
it for now anyway. Officer Christie Bubble stands on Second

(30:09):
Avenue in Long Branch, New Jersey. The rain pommels against
the road as she walks. The water drips off her hat,
causing a mini waterfall right before her eyes. The sky
above her is gray. Even though it's daytime, it feels
like the dead of night. Officer Bubble is alone and
can already feel the familiar mixed feeling of fear and

(30:29):
adrenaline rising in her body. It always feels like this
when she's working alone in this job. You never know
what it's about to happen or who you're about to
come across. She moves slowly, walking around the deserted residential neighborhood,
scanning the streets as she does. Her eyes fall on
an alley between two houses. The Atlantic Ocean looms in

(30:51):
the background. She sees a hooded figure. She knows it's him.
It's the man operator had received a call about only
twenty minutes ago, the man that had been walking around
this neighborhood acting suspiciously. He fits the description. Older male,
possibly homeless, stressed in a hooded coat. He stands with

(31:11):
his back to her unconcerned by the rain, she advances slowly.
In one hand she carries her flashlight while the other
lingers just off her hip. Through the rain and gray light.
She calls out, sir, and there's no reply in her
hand moves closer to her hip as she calls again, sir.

(31:31):
The hooded man's back is turned to her and he's
not moving. Her flashlight darts to both of his hands,
and she asked the man to turn around. Slowly, she
grits her teeth. And this is the bit she hates
the most, the bit where you don't know what it
is it's going to happen. Despite being twenty two years
old and a relatively new officer, she's seen this moment

(31:52):
what seems to be a thousand times before. She begins
to once again ask the man to turn around, when
suddenly starts to slowly turn. Her hand now touches the
butt of her gun, and the rain is soaking her through,
but she still remains stoic in her approach. The figure
turns around and she finally relaxes under arrest. Yes, the

(32:14):
rain nearly drowning out his words. No, She tells him
it's fine. She just has a few questions and the
man is silent. She tells them they received a report
of a man looking into some houses, moving suspiciously. She
asked the man his name, shining her torch on his face.

(32:35):
She always asked her names straight away, helps get people
on her side as quickly as possible to build a relationship.
For the first time, the man's eyes meet her eyes
and she can see them clearly through the rain. Blue,
tired but full of wisdom, he wipes the rain off
his face. I'm Bob Dylan. Five minutes later, the man

(32:59):
calling him off. Bob Dylan sits in the back of
Officer bubbles squad car. Her training is kicked in and
she is questioning him from the front seat. She asked
if Bob Dylan is his real name or if he
has another. In her mind races maybe he's playing a character.
Maybe he thinks he's actually Bob Dylan. Her train of
thought is interrupted by the man in the back seat.

(33:19):
There's a lot of other names, lots of things have
been called, too many to mention and many to remember,
and all honesty. Officer Bubble sticks with Bob. She asked
him why he was wandering around rain. He tells Bubble
that today is a day off from his tour and
that he wanted to use that day to walk through
a different neighborhood. It's become a hobby of his, escaping

(33:41):
the grind of the road and experiencing normal life. Bubble
now convinced he's not a threat to anyone, and again
remembering her training, No, she has to get the man
back to the house or facility that he came from.
Are you staying anywhere, Bob? She askes? House, hospital, hotel,
and the man stares out the window. A hotel, a

(34:03):
hotel by the ocean. Bubble drives while the man in
the back seat directs her. He talks and talks and talks.
He mentioned songs, people and houses. He talks of homes
he has in London, California, in New York. Bubble asks
if he has a house in this neighborhood. Shakes his head.
I saw a house of the for sale sign, he says,

(34:25):
I don't know, I just wanted to check it out.
Bubble feels a sudden sadness for the man in the
back of the car. He soaked, he's exhausted, he looks
like he's lived a thousand lies. But it's still searching
for something. He reminds her of her grandfather. It's just here,
he says, pointing to a large hotel. As Bubble drives

(34:46):
into the Spring Lake Hotel parking lot, fully expecting this
to not be the place the man is staying, she
radios for assistance. She requests a six eighteen a check
on all the local hospitals and facilities to see if
any patient is missing. She pulls her car around to
the front of the building, and as she does catches
sight of four huge tour buses parked to the left
of the entrance. She stops the car in silence. The

(35:10):
man in the back seat ruffles his stringy, curly mop
of hair, and she realizes what has happened. She takes
a beat before picking up her radio again. Cancel last requests,
she says. Bob Dylan steps out of the cop car.
His manager, looking sick with worry, is already arguing with
the police officer. Bob Dylan, however, is uninterested. He strolls

(35:33):
to the edge of the sidewalk, noticing that the rain
is stopped and the sun peeks out from behind the clouds,
and for the first time that day, he feels it
on his face. It's a feeling he's felt somewhere else,
a feeling he's felt as someone else. A sense of freedom,
a sense of getting out of a place that confined him,
that strangled him. He closes his eyes and then remembers

(35:57):
it's the same feeling he had all those years ago
after that crash, the same feeling he had when he
left the house of Dr. Ed Taylor in Middletown, New York.
The same sense of freedom. That feeling he had as
he walked down the path leaving the doctor's house after
spending what felt like years recovering there. That same feeling
was back here as he stood outside this hotel. Bob

(36:20):
Dylan pushes his head up towards the sun and once
again feels reborn. Bids farewell and does not give a
damn behind him. He's left multiple lives, many souls, and
so much blood on the Tracks. Blood on the Tracks

(36:51):
produced by Double Elvis in partnership with I Heart Radio.
It's hosted an executive produced by me Jake Brennan. Also
executive used by Brady sath Zeth Lundie is lead editor
and producer. This episode was written by Ben Burrow, story
and copy editing by Pat Healey, Mixing and sound designed
by Colin Fleming. Additional music and score elements by Ryan Spraaker.

(37:15):
This episode featured Chris Anzeloni is Bob Dylan. Sources for
this episode are available at double Elvis dot com on
the Blood in the Tracks series page, follow Double Elvis
on Instagram at double Elvis and on Twitch at s
Graceland Talks, and you can talk to me per Usual
on Instagram and Twitter at disgrace Land Pod, rock and Roll,

(37:50):
or Dead