Key West (Philosopher Pirate)

Introduction

Like Murder Most Foul this song concerns the assassination of Kennedy. Here we have the thoughts and memories of the assassin as he looks back on his crime, says how it came about and attempts to come to terms with it. These thoughts range over his birth, his upbringing, his youth and his attempt to achieve notoriety. Some thoughts occur at random, or one memory (for example, about searching for love) will spark off another from a different time (for example, about being in love), so that the later might seem to contradict the earlier. And sometimes his memory is faulty as when he treats Radio Luxembourg as a pirate station. The effect is to show that he’s looking back over many years. There’s no reason to doubt that the narrator is rational – a plausible, albeit flawed, human being with whom the listener can relate and perhaps even sympathise.

While the narrator is never explicit about his having been an assassin, there are numerous indications that this is the case. These range from otherwise inexplicable mentions of other presidents, allusions to Murder Most Foul, and implicit comparisons with another assassin – Lady Macbeth. An interesting feature of the song is the way it makes use of other songs, mostly from the 1950s, to bring out its meaning.

Throughout the song a complex picture is drawn of the narrator’s character. What he describes as a search for love is not what it seems. He’s depressed by the effects on himself of what he’s done but is too ready to lay the blame on others. Nevertheless there are indications that he has a glimmering of what he needs to do to regain his psychological and spiritual health.

The title refers to the narrator’s chosen retreat – an island in the Florida Keys archipelago. The sub-title ‘Philosopher Pirate’ perhaps indicates that the narrator is thinking things out in an attempt to come to terms with his past. It’s his thoughts which make up the entirety of the song. Despite the fact that Key West is associated with legends of pirates, there’s little to associate him with piracy beyond his misremembering being influenced by pirate radio and the fact that the song quotations he uses could be said to have been pirated.


McKinley

The idea of assassinating Kennedy seems to have come to the narrator when he heard the song White House Blues, concerning the death in 1901 of President McKinley.1 His thoughts begin with the opening one and a half lines of that song:

‘McKinley hollered – McKinley squalled
Doctor said [to] McKinley …’

The narrator was at the time:

‘… searchin’ for love and inspiration’

and White House Blues seems to have supplied the ‘inspiration’, his aim being notoriety – or, as he calls it, immortality:

‘Key West is the place to be
If you’re lookin’ for immortality’

Assassination is not the only sense in which he might be trying to acquire immortality. At the end of the song he associates immortality with ‘paradise divine’ suggesting that his search is for spiritual reconciliation having come to regret his crime.


Mystery Street

The assassination of McKinley not only causes the narrator to remember its stimulus, the song White House Blues, but to notice other associations with Kennedy:

‘Mystery Street off Malory Square
Truman had his White House there’

In  remembering features of Key West which impress him, he comes up with Harry Truman’s ‘Little White House’. It’s as if by noticing something to do with a president, his subconscious is refusing to let him dismiss the assassination of Kennedy from his mind.

There is in fact no Mystery Street on Key West. The reference seems in part to be an allusion to the song Mystery Street (sung by Alma Cogan) which deals with the upsides and downsides of love.2 The lines:

‘You may lose your heart
And then your mind’

suggest that when the narrator says about Key West:

‘If you lost your mind you’ll find it there’,

he has become mentally disturbed as a result of losing his heart – or sense of compassion – and committing the murder. He tries to dismiss his moral qualms about this lack of compassion by putting it down to the natural environment – ‘The fishtail ponds and the orchid trees’ – giving him, as he disparagingly puts it:

‘… the bleedin’ heart disease’.

In the context of the assassination the advice that he ‘ought to try a little tenderness’ seems dreadfully ironic.

The ‘Mystery Street’ reference is not just to the Alma Cogan song. ‘Mystery’ is in the title of one of the songs, Mystery Train, requested by the dying Kennedy in Murder Most Foul and thus reinforces the idea that it is Kennedy’s death which keeps coming back to haunt the narrator3:

‘Play Mystery Train for Mr Mystery
The man who fell down dead, like a rootless tree’


Other Murder Most Foul references

Dizzy Miss Lizzy

There is another oblique reference in the song to Murder Most Foul which adds support to the view that the narrator of Key West is suffering from the psychological consequences of being Kennedy’s assassin. It occurs when he’s again blaming the natural environment rather than himself:

‘The tiny blossoms of a toxic plant
They can make you dizzy – I’d like to help ya but I can’t’

The word ‘dizzy’ seems to look forward to a couplet from Murder Most Foul in which Kennedy, having been shot, is fusing the words of another popular song, Dizzy Miss Lizzy, with his own fate4:

‘You got me dizzy Miss Lizzy – you filled me with lead
That magic bullet of yours has gone to my head’.

The phrase ‘I’d like to help ya but I can’t’ can be interpreted in two ways. If seen as addressed to Kennedy, it’s an indication the narrator now wishes he could undo the harm he’s done. If seen as addressed to himself, the narrator could be seen as giving in to despair as a result of what he’s done. Like Lady Macbeth he feels that, having committed the crime, there’s nothing that can save him from its consequences.


Left/Right

A further reason for seeing the murderer as an assassin is the presence of left/right  imagery of the sort also to be found in Murder Most Foul. There left is associated with the victim, Kennedy, at the point of his assassination:

‘I’m leaning to the left, got my head in her lap’

and right is associatedwith his assassins:

‘We’re right down the street from the street where you live’

A similar left/right distinction is evident In Key West when the narrator puts himself in the position of a Roman emperor deciding that a defeated contestant in the Coliseum should die:

‘Got my right hand high with the thumb down’

Not only does having his ‘thumb down’ make the narrator a killer, but that it’s the thumb on his right hand associates him with the assassins in Murder Most Foul.

The left/right distinction occurs again in verse ten:

‘You stay to the left and then you lean to the right

He’s being presented as the opposite of Kennedy who was ‘leaning to the left’. He seems to be admitting that while he does what is acceptable, he has no qualms about doing what is unacceptable – in other words, killing. Because he’ll be only leaning to the right, what he’s doing won’t be obvious. It’s a subterfuge.

A related tactic is in evidence when he declares:

 ‘I play both sides against the middle’

In other words he associates himself with the left side when it suits him and with the right side when it suits him.

In verse 11 the distinction occurs again:

‘I do what I think is right – what I think is best’

Since what he thinks is right is assassination, doing what he thinks is right is not as morally acceptable as it implies.


Last Request

A final indication that the narrator is being haunted by his assassination of Kennedy is the line:

‘… I heard your last request’

Murder Most Foul contains numerous requests by the dying Kennedy for songs. The ‘last request’ referred to is for Murder Most Foul itself. By recalling the title of Kennedy’s last request, the narrator is subconsciously recognising the assassination, which he seems to have thought right at the time, as foul.


Conscience

It is apparent, then, that the assassination of Kennedy is plaguing the narrator’s conscience. His reaction is to try to convince himself that it was necessary. Twice he’s explicit about this:

‘I do what I think is right – what I think is best’

and

‘I’ve never …
… wasted my time with an unworthy cause’

That he feels guilty, though, is apparent at various points in the song. Right at the start he misremembers the third line of White House Blues by quoting it as:

‘Say it to me if you got something to confess’

This is significant because there’s no mention of confession in the original. It’s almost certainly the narrator rather than McKinley who has something to confess. The narrator is simply – perhaps unconsciously – transferring his own need to confess onto McKinley. We can assume that, Like Lady Macbeth, he is now regretting his action – while thinking that ‘what’s done cannot be undone’5. And, like Lady Macbeth, he is losing his mind.

In Macbeth the doctor says about Lady Macbeth, just prior to her suicide:

‘More needs she the divine than the physician’6

– meaning that her suffering is psychological or spiritual rather than physical. The narrator also needs the divine. In fact he holds out hopes that Key West will be:

‘… paradise divine

He presents it as an ideal, a state associated with redemption and spiritual ‘purity’ and ‘immortality’, and so a cure for his current state of spiritual ill health. Once he has reached this ideal state, he will have been restored to sanity. But, despite yearning for it, he – like Lady Macbeth – sees it as unattainable. It’s:

‘… on the horizon line’

However much you approach the horizon, it keeps its distance from you. Because of this he decides, it seems, to stay on the road to perdition.


Hard Done By

At the time he was searching for ‘inspiration’, the narrator was also searching ‘for love’. In his subsequent account of a relationship the narrator is either fooling himself or being intentionally devious:

‘Twelve years old and they put me in a suit
Forced me to marry a prostitute’

It seems likely that this is an exaggeration and, to the extent that it’s true, not the whole story. It seems far more likely that he got a girl pregnant – which would be the reason for his being required to marry her – and that he’s calling her a prostitute is to divert blame due to himself onto her. At the same time the carping tone of ‘they put me’ – when he doesn’t even say who ‘they’ is – suggests he’s content to see the world as against him.

That he wants to be seen as a victim is again apparent when he says:

 ‘I was born on the wrong side of the railroad track’

This may be true. The reference to a ‘convent home’ in verse eleven suggests that he’s an orphan. That he feels disadvantaged by his upbringing is supported by his mentioning about the ‘prostitute’ he was supposedly forced to marry that there were:

‘… gold fringes on her wedding dress’?

He seems to be showing resentment at the disparity between her lot and his – someone ‘from down in the boondocks’. In fact it doesn’t seem that he was hard done at all because his poverty has turned out to be no obstacle to his marrying well.7

However, to drive home the point he comes up with a ludicrous comparison. He’s:

‘Like Ginsberg, Corso and Kerouac
Like Louis and Jimmy and Buddy and all of the rest’

If he’s disadvantaged to the extent of every other writer or singer, then he hasn’t been disadvantaged. At worst he’s average. And even to the extent that those in his example were disadvantaged, they were still able to achieve. They didn’t need to use their upbringing as an excuse.

Since the narrator gives himself good advice prior to becoming an assassin:

 ‘Stay on the road – follow the highway sign’

his impoverished upbringing would seem irrelevant to his becoming a murderer. That he’s capable of directing the course of his life is also shown by his decision not to put aside his old self:

 ‘… I’m stickin’ with you …’8

He should have realised that the narrator of the song I’m Stickin’ With You from which he quotes is utterly naïve.

There is another hint of disingenuousness. And there seems to be an appalling acceptance of a need to kill when after saying ‘Got my right hand high with the thumb down’ he comments:

‘Such is life – such is happiness’

‘Such is life’ is usually said when one resigns oneself to things that have gone wrong, not when you deliberately bring about death.


Sexual exploitation

There are also indications that the narrator is not being honest when giving the account of his marriage. One occurs when he says about the account he’s given:

‘That’s my story …’

Since ‘story’ can be used as a synonym for ‘lie’, the use of the word suggests he’s covering something up.

It’s doubtful that the ‘happy ending’ is to be taken at face value either:

‘She’s still cute and we’re still friends’

The word ‘still’ is significant. It suggests not only that he thought the girl ‘cute’ when he first met her but that it’s only because she’s still cute that he continues to have anything to do with her. We can take ‘still friends’ with a pinch of salt too. Since he was exploiting her before, the implication is that he’s continuing to exploit her now. He is making no attempt to reform and so achieve the psychological and spiritual solace he craves.

That the narrator is being disingenuous is backed up by a line in the next verse which quotes the title of a traditional song Fly Around My Pretty Little Miss. In the Patty Loveless version of the song (called just Pretty Little Miss) the girl is twelve:

‘Mama says he’s not my type
He really loves another
But he’s gonna marry me
When I turn twelve this summer’9

This might appear to suggest that narrator in Key West is transferring the girl’s age to himself so that it’s not the narrator who was twelve, but the girl. This would be consistent. He did something similar when he transferred his own need to confess onto McKinley. Presumably his aim is to gain sympathy which is really due to the girl. If so, it casts doubt on his claim that she’s a prostitute.

A further indication of the narrator’s true attitude to love is given in the line which follows the reference to Pretty Little Miss:

‘I don’t love nobody – gimme a kiss’

This is a heartless approach to relationships consistent with his dismissal of compassion as:

‘… that bleedin’ heart disease’

A similar heartlessness is also indicated in his report of advice he’s been given. The word ‘try’ in:

‘… I oughta try a little tenderness’,

suggests that any tenderness will just be an expedient, a means of achieving some end. If tenderness doesn’t work, he’s implying, he could try something more forceful.

It’s possible too that he’s being devious when he says about hibiscus flowers:

‘If you wear one put it behind your ear’

There’s a tradition for the hibiscus to be worn so by young women as a sign that they are marriageable. One suspects that in encouraging this, the narrator is hoping to provide himself with an excuse for dissolute behaviour. It’s what one might expect of someone who admits to:

‘Walkin’ in the shadows after dark’


Key West as heaven

The narrator remembers Key West from his past and wants to be once again immersed in the positive qualities he remembers. He sees it as representing his salvation. This is the case in two different ways. He thinks it will cure him spiritually (or morally). He also thinks it will cure his psychological problems resulting from his act of murder. It’s to be seen as a spiritual heaven as well as a heaven on earth. It’s not always clear to what extent he distinguishes the two.

That he sees Key West as a cure for his psychological state is stated explicitly:

‘If you lost your mind you’ll find it there’

He’ll become sane again once he has come to terms with his crime.

And while on a surface level it’s presumably psychological healing he has in mind when he refers to:

‘… the healing virtues of the wind’,

the application of the concept of ‘virtue’ suggests that – perhaps at a subconscious level – it’s a more spiritual form of wellbeing he’s convinced he can aspire to.

This would seem to be so when he sees the island as an imparter of spiritual solace:

‘…  the gateway key
To innocence and purity’.

Key West is also:

‘…  the place to be
If you’re looking for immortality’

which, again, suggests that it is spiritually reforming – provided ‘immortality’ is taken in a spiritual sense.

At the end of the song the narrator judges Key West, in language apposite to the Christian heaven, as:

‘… paradise divine’.


Key West as hell

The above shows that the narrator is open to salvation, both mentally and spiritually, in a way that Lady Macbeth was not. But it’s made equally clear that the possibility of redemption goes hand in hand with the possibility of damnation. He recognises that Key West has adverse qualities, two of which are characteristics of hell. It’s:

hot …’

and

‘… down …’

The latter idea is present at the beginning of the song where we’re told that McKinley, yet to confess, was ‘going down slow’. The word ‘down’ occurs twenty-three times in the song, enough to render ‘paradise divine’ a ludicrous hyperbole.

There are other adverse qualities. While there are beautiful flowers, he’s aware that there are also:

‘The tiny blossoms of a toxic plant
That can make you dizzy’

He characterises the island as:

‘… under the sun
Under the radar – under the gun’

While it’s relatively safe for those on the run like himself, in that it’s ‘under the radar’, it’s being ‘under the gun’ suggests it’s still a place of violence and coercion rather than a respite from such things. It’s a balance of good and bad.

There are also hellish qualities which do not seem apparent to the narrator. He sees Key West as being:

‘… fine and fair’

but the expression with its ‘f’ alliteration will make the listener think of the witches’ announcement in Macbeth that ‘fair is foul and foul is fair’.10 (And the implied need to substitute ‘foul’ for ‘fair’ once again reminds us of the ‘Foul’ in Murder Most Foul, thereby intensifying the need to see the present song as about Kennedy’s assassin.) Key West is less fair, and more foul, than is apparent. Ironically, his own role as a sexual predator is evidence for that. So is what seems to be an attempt to cover up his real nature by playing bogus (‘Gumbo Limbo’) spirituals so as to appear holy (‘blessed’).

***

The narrator is over optimistic in judging Key West to represent his salvation. His focus is on the place and what it can do whereas what he needs to do, it would seem, is transform himself. To put his faith in the place is absurd. Its being ‘under the sun’ suggests that there’s nothing new there – and hence that it isn’t significantly different from anywhere else. In verses six and seven, however, he seems to realise this. He first calls it ‘the enchanted land’ and then seems to contradict this when he says he’s never been ‘to the land of Oz’. The result, as far as we can tell, is that he gives up the quest for moral salvation and continues his life of dissolute behaviour.


Conclusion

A reason for suspecting the narrator of being Kennedy’s assassin is the otherwise apparent arbitrariness of his references to two other presidents, one of whom was himself assassinated. That he is in fact the assassin is reinforced by numerous references to Murder Most Foul, the final song on the album which concerns the assassination of Kennedy, as well as by allusions to various popular songs and to Macbeth.

An achievement of the song is in showing thought processes – in this case those of someone who is mentally disturbed. That this person is an assassin is important in that it enables the song to show how someone likely to be universally hated can in essence be no different to anyone else. Although the narrator is an assassin, the way he thinks is likely to be the way any one of us thinks, with – for example – a thought about searching for love sparking off another about being in love. Additionally we, like him, viewing our past life from the perspective of the present, will often fail to remember events in anything like their correct chronological order, and sometimes too the memories themselves will be faulty. More importantly, like him, we will not always distinguish between our possible motives for acting. Sometimes, too, we will behave inconsistently, just like the narrator in seeking redemption for one immoral act while continuing to commit others.

Because the song is written almost entirely in the present tense, it’s often not possible to tell which remembered events preceded or succeeded others. The uncertainty can result in a memory’s giving rise to more than one interpretation. Thus the meaning of the remembered advice to himself:

  ‘Stay on the road – follow the highway sign’,

will depend on when it was given. If it was given before the assassination, it might mean ‘Don’t go ahead with it’. If it was given afterwards, it might mean ‘Stay on the same immoral path’. Copious possibilities for similar multiple interpretations exist throughout the song. The narrator cannot be easily pinned down.

Key West, the island, is relevant in that the narrator associates it with various perfections which, perhaps unconsciously, he sees as reflecting the moral innocence he’d like to return to. Despite that, he realises Key West has negative qualities as well. It’s as much representative of hell as of heaven. As such, rather than representing an ideal to be aspired to, it’s where the narrator already is. He needs a more morally appropriate target.

 

Notes:

  1. White House Blues was sung in 1926 by Charlie Poole but it’s doubtful whether he wrote it. The actual opening is:

McKinley hollered, McKinley squalled
Doc said to McKinley, “I can’t find that ball”’

  1. Mystery Street by J. Howard, J. Plante, P. Gerard and J. Gleason 1953. The lyrics contain much that applies to Dylan’s narrator.
  2. Mystery Train by J. Parker 1953
  3. Dizzy Miss Lizzy by L. Williams 1958
  4. Macbeth 5.1.63-4.
  5. Macbeth 5.1.74
  6. The narrator’s position is markedly different from that of the narrator of the song ‘Down In The Boondocks’ (by Joe South, 1965) which is being referenced here. There the narrator has a genuine cause for grievance in that on account of his poverty he can’t marry the girl he loves
  7. I’m Stickin’ With You Bowen and Knox 1956
  8. Fly Around My Pretty Little Miss (trad.) Pretty Little Miss Patty Loveless 2001. The printed version of Key West on BobDylan.com gives the title as just Pretty Little Miss. The words ‘Fly around’ precede the title, but are not made to be part of it.
  9. Macbeth 1.1.12

12 thoughts on “Key West (Philosopher Pirate)

  1. Relates to WH Auden poem about people going on with their daily lives while great tragedies are happening around them ….
    not that they’re assassins or rapists

    Like

  2. Not sure how else to post you this – my thoughts from a while back:
    Key West, Island of Bones

    ‘The song is like a painting, you can’t see it all at once if you’re standing too close,’ Dylan recently told The New York Times, ‘the individual pieces are just part of a whole.’

    In a number of his most striking songs since 2001 Dylan has adopted the dramatic monologue form as a way of entering and articulating alternative personae, intimations of the ‘multitudes’ he celebrates on his latest album, Rough and Rowdy Ways, quoting Walt Whitman in its opening song, a kind of overture whose leitmotifs echo through the collection: ‘I Contain Multitudes.’

    As Robert Langbaum argued in The Poetry of Experience: ‘The standard account of the dramatic monologue is that Browning and Tennyson conceived it as a reaction against the romantic confessional style. This is probably true. Both poets had been stung by unfriendly criticism of certain early poems in which they had too much revealed themselves; and both poets published, in 1842, volumes which were a new departure in their careers and which contained dramatic monologues. The personal sting was probably responsible for Tennyson’s decade of silence before 1842; it was almost certainly respon- sible for the disclaimer attached by Browning to his 1842 Dramatic Lyrics: “so many utterances of so many imaginary persons, not mine.”’

    Dylan’s ‘utterances of so many imaginary persons’ range from the wry, worldly wisdom of ‘Floater’ to the embittered ‘Working Man’s Blues’, from the aching, guilt-driven ‘Nettie Moore’ to the sometimes snarling husband in ‘Long and Wasted Years.’

    ‘Key West’ is, I think, not just the latest but also one of Dylan’s most extraordinarily potent enactments of an ‘imaginary’ and yet deeply authentic voice.

    In some ways the song calls to mind Matthew Arnold’s ‘The Scholar Gypsy’ (scholar/philosopher; gypsy/Pirate), a poem that itself echoes Keats’ ‘Nightingale’ (coincidentally a poem Christopher Ricks compares with ‘It’s Not Dark Yet’) in juxtaposing a bleak actuality and an imagined, or imaginary, immortality: ‘this strange disease of modern life…the infection of our mental strife’, alongside the inevitability of fading youth, highlight by contrast the gypsy’s ‘unconquerable hope’ in blissful solitude – forever.

    In Arnold’s narrative poem the scholar gypsy doesn’t speak, of course, whereas Dylan’s dramatic monologue enables his ‘philosopher Pirate’ to reflect, reminisce, assert and eulogise in his comparably – if not consistently – blissful state.

    *

    The Pirate’s monologue seems to be, in part, a confession, prompted by an old man’s memory of McKinley’s assassination and his doctor/priest’s command:
    …McKinley – death is on the wall
    Say it to me if you got something to confess
    The prompt sets off a series of memories and reflections, calling to mind but far less bitter than T S Eliot’s ‘Gerontion’, a monologist wandering through a labyrinth of ‘windy spaces’ while he’s ‘read to by a boy’, where the Pirate has his radio for company and, perhaps, solace, as, he too wanders in, as Robert Glover has it – referring to the whole album – ‘a work of seemingly bottomless depth, a haunting liminal space where past, present and future overlap’.

    The Pirate’s peace of mind isn’t an easily won, or easily sustained thing, something we’re alerted to by his apparent contradictions within a few lines:
    I’m searchin’ for love…
    I’m so deep in love
    The contradictions here and elsewhere (he contains multitudes) render him ‘real’. Where Arnold’s gypsy is, as the poet confesses two-thirds into the poem, a fantasy, his immortality mythical, Dylan’s Pirate is, for all his celebrations of the sublime, toughly real, an old man of the sea who now has, he’s keen to remind us, ‘both my feet planted square on the ground.’ (Or is it for ‘Most of the Time’?)

    The monologue’s fragmentedness and knotty interconnectedness, its pauses and sudden shifts of emphasis, from detached reflection to sudden intimacies, call to mind an old man in an afternoon Florida bar, gnarled by experience, worldy-wise, happy to reminisce while, in his repetitiveness, apt to (age? The drink?) over-emphasise, over insist.

    *

    Dylan’s ways of saying things contribute hugely to the song’s effect, how we hear the voice and are convinced by it. It’s a brilliant performance. Frank Kermode talks about Shakespeare’s soliloquies ‘dramatising thought’, and that’s exactly what we have here. A wonderful example, I think, is when the old man’s tone shifts into sudden intimacy, as though he leans closer into us with a sly nod and a wink – you can almost hear him breathe – to offer a kind of secret boast, one that no-one else in the (probably nearly empty) bar is meant to hear – after all, they might know him too well, and they’ve probably heard it all before:
    I play the gumbo limbo spirituals
    I know all the Hindu rituals
    People tell me that I’m truly blessed
    It’s an intimacy that’s characteristic of a dramatic monologue, as it is of a Shakespearian soliloquy where the speaker wins us over by sharing his or her private thoughts with us: even a character as appalling as Iago, a psychotic monster, wins us over ( we ‘suspend moral judgment’ as Lang baum has it) by letting us in on his secrets.

    Just as convincing in ‘Key West’ are the moments of imparted knowledge, the random gobbets of insider information that the ‘Pirate’ offers, like a drunk I met in the park just recently who insisted on telling me things he knew were ‘facts’, things that the world at large of course knew nothing about, or denied (from the ‘true’ cause of coronavirus to the ‘bomb’ that set off the disaster in Beirut):
    The tiny blossoms of a toxic plant
    They can make you dizzy…

    The fishtail ponds and the orchid trees
    They can give you the bleedin’ heart disease…

    *
    I’ve suggested that ‘Key West’ is a confession (something I’ll return to) but it has, too, the manner of an incantation, a quietly meditative mood where reflections, assertions and reminiscences are linked by reminders of the location’s meaning – for the speaker – that chime like a leitmotif through the song’s nine minutes plus.

    That gentle, wistful chiming contributes much to the song’s impact, underscored by the easeful accordion and a background ‘choir’ we can just about hear. As Timothy Hampton (author of Bob Dylan’s Poetics: How the Songs Work) says: ‘I love the way the song begins on a major chord, but comes to rest on a minor chord every time we get to “Key West.” There’s something melancholy about that minor chord (like the minor chord at the end of the first line of “Don’t think Twice”): it’s a nice ending point, but it always suggests that the song could be opened up again. It never quite concludes with a grand sense of stability the way a major chord would.’

    Even McKinley’s violent death is recalled peaceably – ‘he was goin’ down slow’ – heard about from a distance, the security of Key West, and safely on the ‘wireless radio’, the same radio the speaker tunes into in his search for ‘love’ and ‘inspiration’ (anticipating the strength and reassurance called for from Mr Wolfman’ in ‘Murder Most Foul’). Perhaps that sense of love, in fact, is indeed provided by the music that the radio station offers:
    ‘I’m so deep in love…’
    Music as the ‘food of love’? Shakespeare’s Orsino goes on:
    That strain again! It had a dying fall:
    O, it came o’er my ears like the sweet sound
    That breathes upon a bank of violets
    The Pirate, in turn, delights in ‘the healing virtues of the wind’, virtues akin, perhaps, to the music on the airwaves that the Pirate searches for as he toys with the dial, ‘playing both sides against the middle Pickin’ up that Pirate radio signal’.

    Key West offers a kind of refuge, or relief, a haven at the end of a journey. While Eliot’s Gerontion is ‘an old man in a dry month…waiting for rain’, hoping vainly for some kind of spiritual release or salvation, Dylan’s Pirate rather than ‘waiting’ has reached somewhere ‘fine and fair‘ – ‘the place to be If you’re lookin’ for immortality’. Life and happiness, he tells us, are what he’s found, peace of mind – ‘If you lost your mind, you’ll find it (in Key West)’ – in what he calls ‘an enchanted land’.

    At the same time, just as he reminds us that he has, again, ‘both feet square on the ground,’ he’s insistent that he’s never lived in a fantasy world (’the land of Oz’) and tells us of tougher times, born on the wrong side of the tracks. Even as he tells us that, though, there’s a hint, I think, of the sly boasting I talked about earlier:
    Like Ginsberg, Corso and Kerouac
    Like Louie and Jimmy and Buddy and all of the rest
    The list of names suggests, as it drifts into vagueness – ‘all of the rest’ – not so much a loss of memory as a kind of hopeful but unconvincing assertiveness, reminding me of, for example, Harold Pinter’s Stanley in The Birthday Party trying to impress with his probably invented memory of a successful recital: ‘They were all there…’ Our Pirate wants glory by association but it’s not, in the end, fully won. I can almost hear a fellow drinker at the bar, muttering in response, ‘Yeah, and all the rest…’

    *
    There’s a confessional undercurrent, too, of guilt and regret, implied when, for example, the Pirate’s told he should ‘try a little tenderness’: who has he upset, or hurt? And why can’t he ‘help’ someone he’d apparently like to? Why does he walk ‘in the shadows after dark’? Unable to sleep, kept awake by memories, or guilt?

    Wandering those streets he does what he thinks is ‘right’ or ‘best’: that ‘thinks’ is telling, suggesting perhaps a struggle, where ‘knows’ would be more certain, more confident. At the same time he’s ‘not that far from the convent home’: revealingly, not ‘my’ but ‘the’, and I can’t help but remember that in Shakespeare’s English ‘convent’ or ‘nunnery’ could mean a brothel – as in Hamlet, for example, quoted from more than once on Rough and Rowdy Ways. And ‘not that far’: is he forever haunted by a memory, something he can’t escape from, even in a ‘paradise divine’? Wandering midnight streets like Blake’s Londoner (in another ‘Song of Experience’), trying to do what’s right, manacled by memory.

    Then, towards the end, an unexpected, shocking revelation – perhaps a key to that haunting memory:

    Twelve years old and they put me in a suit
    Forced me to marry a prostitute

    Who are ‘they’? Was he brought up in the ‘convent home’ where ‘they’ forced him? The suddenness of the recollection again has a convincing authenticity about it, like something he’s been suppressing, trying not to talk about, but in the end, a buried memory, it slips out – or breaks out. Twelve years old: the Pirate’s remembering something like what today we’d call abuse. Dressed up like a sacrificial victim, put in a suit, forced to marry. He remembers it with a new particularity (unlike the vagueness of, say, ‘all the rest’ that I talked about earlier), including the bride’s gold-fringed dress, suggesting something of huge import, something he’s never entirely recovered from or come to terms with. There’s a whole new story here contained in just two lines – and they lead on to the next surprise:

    That’s my story but not where it ends
    She’s still cute and we’re still friends

    It’s almost as though he’s consoling or reassuring himself here, perhaps even as a kind riposte to whoever forced him (and her?) to marry: despite them, ‘we’re still friends’ – and I love that ‘cute’. Forced marriage to a prostitute may be ‘my story’ but, he adds with a degree of quiet defiance, it’s ‘not where it ends.’ It’s the defiance of a survivor: whoever ‘they’ are or were, they didn’t win.

    Whatever, leaving that story hanging, the Pirate returns – perhaps for more consolation – to the radio: ‘Fly around My Pretty Little Miss’, an old mountain song sung more recently by Gillian Welch (on an album that includes ‘Señor’ and ‘Abandoned Love’), or simply ‘My Pretty Little Miss’ sung Appalachian style by Patty Loveless, with this intriguing parallel:

    Mama says he’s not my type
    He really loves another
    But he’s gonna marry me
    When I turn twelve this summer

    Twelve years old…If it’s Loveless, the name itself could set off a sudden twinge of bitterness, that in turns prompts a pathetic demand (as the drink takes hold?):
    I don’t love nobody – gimme a kiss

    A bitter memory, an attempt at consolation, an escape into music, a song that reminds him that he loves nobody and, of course, nobody loves him. He’s at his lowest, ‘Down at the bottom – way down’. ‘Way Down,’ though, as Elvis sang, is also ‘where the music plays’. With that, the Pirate pulls himself together, takes a breath and reminds us – and himself – that

    Key West is the place to be
    If you’re lookin’ for immortality
    Key West is paradise divine
    Key West is fine and fair
    If you lost your mind you’ll find it there
    Key West is on the horizon line

    The horizon line, the vanishing point, coincidentally something strikingly visualised in a number of Dylan’s paintings, and beautifully enacted in the song’s own slow vanishing, a fading accordion and still that distant choir. As it vanishes, its mysteries remain, and we’re left with what Timothy Hampton calls a ‘fundamental ambiguity’:

    ‘Key West is the place to be, but it’s also “on the horizon line.” It’s both there and not there, easy to describe but inaccessible, both utopia and a place of death.’

    ‘There and not there‘…‘I’m not there, I’m gone…’

    Timothy Hampton again, puzzling over what he calls ‘the question of the “Pirate”’:

    ‘The pirate here is “pirate radio,” so, a form of musical broadcast (we could imagine it coming in from Cuba, as well as Budapest). But the title says “philosopher/pirate.” So the narrator sees himself as a kind of pirate, some type of romanticized self. But what does that self-description have to do with pirate radio? I can’t get my head around it…I can’t get it clear in my mind (maybe that’s the point).’
    *

    A coda: purely coincidental but enjoyable, I thought. Jonathan Raban’s voyage around the States, Hunting Mister Heartbreak, winds up in Key West – ‘ a blameful city of guises and disguises’ – reminding us that the name is an Anglicisation of the Spanish cay hueso, ‘Island of Bones’ ( Spanish settlers originally called Key West Cayo Hueso, referring to the bones of the Calusa Indians who had once lived there) and finally trying to book himself, rather unseriously, a tomb, not a room, in the local cemetery.
    Given the price over the phone, he asks, ‘Is it for eternity?’
    ‘Yeah,’ he’s told.
    I wanted to add, ‘Eternity? You might call it Paradise.’
    Key West, then: a place or a space for ‘eternity’ – or immortality…. *
    Raban enjoys Key West’s bourgainvillea and hibiscus, too, going on to say, ‘I could think of no better site for an American ending. After the continuous motion of life in the United States, the striving and becoming, you’d land up here in sunny indolence…within the sound of the sea.’
    *Grayley Herren: ‘…the masterful “Key West (Philosopher Pirate)” takes its place among other great Dylan songs that create their own enchanting mythical realms like “Desolation Row,” “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands,” “Highlands,” and “Scarlet Town.”’

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  3. Thanks for posting this, Bob. It’s good to read something so thoughtful and I’m pleased that we agree on a number of points. Where we don’t, it often just shows that the song is open to a range of plausible interpretations. I think, for example, your suggestion that the ‘convent home’ is a brothel can sit alongside mine that it’s an orphanage. It occurs to me that your interpretation would seem to be supported by Dylan’s use of ‘home’ for what seems to be a brothel in The Ballad of Frankie lee and Judas Priest – ‘It’s not a house, it’s a home’.

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  4. I have never read such psychobabble in all my life…it’s sophistry at its finest and
    elevates Dylan’s talents far beyond what they are. He often writes lyrics in an associative way, hence-‘ he was a patsy, like Patsy Cline’- completely meaningless, but I’m sure you could write another 20
    paragraphs about it.

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    • Thanks for commenting Tom. I find it curious that you quote from a different song in order to make a point about this one. ‘Murder Most Foul’ is most unusual in its use of allusions to artists and their work, and so even if that song were devoid of meaning, it wouldn’t follow that this one is likely to be. To be at all convincing, you need to take some arguments I’ve given concerning the meaning of the song and show how they’re flawed. You might be able to do that in some cases, but I doubt if you’ll be able to do it for a majority. And in that case what I’ve said, for all its faults, shouldn’t be dismissed outright.

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  5. Some websites have ‘History Street’. In fact the house is off Front Street. I prefer ‘Mystery’ – but the official website often gets things wrong.
    I assume, ‘Mr Mystery’ refers to Elvis, by the way, ‘Mystery Train’ one of my favourite Sun recordings – elsewhere his ‘Long Black Limousine’ is alluded to, and, of course, he recorded ‘One Night of Sin’ (before re-recording it as ‘One Night’.

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  6. This is one of my all-time favorite “late Dylan” songs. Even having listened to it a million times, your interpretation—that the narrator is the Kennedy assassin—never crossed my mind- although the connection seems obvious now! Really awesome, fascinating analysis. The line “I heard your last request” in relation to MMF fits so perfectly.

    I’m still left wondering about the “forced me to marry a prostitute” part of the song. I think there’s pretty compelling evidence that this refers to the (presumably Jewish) speaker’s Bat Mitzvah, which typically occurs at age 12. He is essentially getting “‘married” to the Jewish church, which he seemed to have been resentful of at the time (“Forced” into it; equating religion with prostitution (although he does have a point there, IMO.)) The “gold fringes” relate to traditional Jewish dress, and while the narrator clearly isn’t thrilled about the “marriage” at the time it happened, he’s able to look back and essentially say that he has come to feel at least fondly- though still not zealous in any way- about Judaism.

    Not saying this reading would negate or be mutually exclusive to your own analysis. It might coincide with the narrator’s ambivalent relationship toward redeeming himself. He has a mutually amicable relationship with this particular religion (which you can contrast with his fleeting references to “Gumbo spirituals” and “Hindu rituals”), so it might be helpful if he does choose redemption.

    Also, it makes the point that being “officially” religious doesn’t prevent people from doing horrendous acts. It’s what you do that matters, Dylan seems to say, not your affiliation with any “holy” entity (i.e. “Prostitute.”)

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