Where Dylan and hisgirlfriendstrode F

RANK had done some research, I was listing places that were affiliated with Bob Dylan when he looked up from his phone and smiled, ‘How about Great Jones Street, the location for the cover of Freewheeling?’

We were on 72nd Street and Broadway where we had shot the first of three photographs that were requested by Michael Quilligan from Limerick. The photos were to be taken in Manhattan, one at the Verdi Monument uptown where his favourite band, Blue Oyster Cult, had been photographed; one on 9th Street and Avenue C, a line from my song ‘Manana in Manhattan’; and one at any location where Dylan would’ve frequented in the 60s.

In return for the photos he would contribute to the campaign to crowd-fund my current album ‘Vinegar Hill’.

Since the advent of the smart phone we have all become photographers, some of us are surprisingly good, and some of us are getting on our nerves with the bloody things. But Manhattan is a pretty photogenic place, so as an incentive to would-be pledgers, I offered to indulge myself and photograph my surroundings.

Michael Quilligan was the first taker, and his was a fascinating request. But how would I do it? I couldn’t photograph myself in these places, and I presumed that he wanted me in the picture. Who would take the photo? I put the idea to one side while I subwayed back and forth to Brooklyn where I was already recording the album - I’m a great believer in letting things sit for a while, to see if they can find their own solutions without me.

We took a break from recording to play a gig at the 11th Street Bar. At the end of the night, Frank Rocco, a professional photographer, voiced his regret that he couldn’t afford to contribute more to the campaign. ‘However, I could take some photographs of you, and maybe someone would buy them?’ Eureka!

The short block on Great Jones Street was instantly familiar, even without the winter snow. We were walking up the middle of the road trying to figure out what angle Dylan and his girlfriend had been photographed from. Cars beeped at us, we weren’t perturbed; we could sense the history.

‘It’s over there!’

A low size woman in her sixties, pointed westerly with a knowing smile.

‘If you stand across from that light pole and shoot this way, you will capture it. Look in the window of that small record shop, you will see the actual cover.’

This was unbelievable; she knew where the photographer had stood when he took the photo. I took the steps down to the tiny record shop and looked at the cover, his suede jacked was unbuttoned and he hunched his shoulders up to fend against the cold, you could feel the wind off the river, they walked on slush.

It wasn’t cold now, but I hunched for my photo anyhow.

New York is filled with this kind of history, I rarely care, but putting my feet on that spot ran through me like a time shaft. The young Dylan must’ve been walking on air. He had been crashing on sofas all over the Village for the previous two years, playing for a passed hat, now he was signed to the biggest label in the world, and he was only twenty-one.

We had that album back in our record shop in Wexford; it was like an icon that dropped from the sky. And for that moment I stood on the cloud from where it came.