6th Avenue Heartache

Listen while you read:  The Wallflowers

Sirens ring, the shots ring out
A stranger cries, screams out loud
I had my world strapped against my back
I held my hands, never knew how to act

And the same black line that was drawn on you
Was drawn on me
And now it's drawn me in
6th Avenue heartache

(The following verse is not included in the video:)
Below me was a homeless man
Singing' songs I knew complete
On the steps alone, his guitar in his hands
It's fifty years, stood where he stands

And the same black line . . . 

Now walkin' home on those streets
The river winds move my feet
Subway steam, like silhouettes in dreams
They stood by me, just like moonbeams

And the same black line . . . 

Look out the window, down upon that street
And gone like a midnight was that man
But I see his six strings laid against the wall
And all his things, they all look so small
I got my fingers crossed on a shooting star
And just like me, he just moved on

And that same black line that was drawn on you
Was drawn on me
And now it's drawn me in
6th Avenue heartache

Now it's drawn me in

~  Jakob Dylan

I feel like I should retitle the song "4th Street Heartache" in tribute to the tragedy in Charlottesville yesterday. The opening lines of this Wallflowers' song, which I chose today for the number six, are somewhat haunting. Jakob Dylan wrote this when he was eighteen. It appears on the Wallflowers' first album, Bringing Down the Horse from 1996. (Adam Durtz of Counting Crows provides back-up vocals on this track, and Tom Petty's guitarist, Mike Campbell, also adds his talent to the cut.) And yes, Jakob is Bob's son, but also an excellent musician in his own right.

In its simplest interpretation, Jakob tells of living in New York City and looking down from his window upon a homeless man playing his guitar on the street. That same black line implies that they both consider music their world, also symbolized by their guitars. I had my world strapped against my back. And then one day, the homeless man is gone, leaving his guitar behind, while Jakob hopes that he's just moved on, as many of us eventually do.

Jakob admits to often using metaphor in his songwriting, and one cannot help but wonder if the homeless man represents his famous father. The young Bob Dylan spent a lot of time in New York City. If this metaphor bears true, the lines about the same black line would make sense.

In light of recent events, I cannot help but find new interpretations for those lines. The same black line that was drawn on you was drawn on me. A more known phrase might be "We all bleed red." The practice of judging people based on skin color has long escaped me. Growing up in a predominantly white community in the 1950s, I had no experience on which to base any prejudices. But I remember one remarkable moment that has never left me.

I was seven years old, in second grade. We were outside for recess, instructed to form a circle for some playground game. I ended up next to the new girl in school. Janet Brown was "colored," as we politely labeled her race back then. When we were instructed by our teacher to hold hands, I had a moment of panic. Rumor was that if you held hands with a colored person, your skin would turn brown. I had very little time to decide what I should do.

I reached out and held Janet Brown's hand. My skin did not turn brown. In that moment, I learned not to believe everything I heard. But I think I learned much more than that.

On another note, in six days, I will be in Georgia for the total eclipse. I look forward to the reminder that we are all just specks in a vast universe and that our time here is perhaps as brief as the totality of an eclipse. And, having grown up in a world of science fiction, I will ponder whether the end of the world is near. We'll see.