Masterpieces #1 — Bob Dylan — One Too Many Mornings

The chances are, if you have heard people mention Bob Dylan’s 1963 album ‘The Times They Are A-Changin’’, then you will be aware of its standing as one of the great ‘protest’ albums of all time. Released in one of the more eventful years of post-WW2 history, Dylan’s wit and remarkable turn of phrase delivered wicked deconstructions of all that was wrong with the western world with songs like ‘With God On Our Side’ and the incredible title track. Much has been written about the album, and for good reason. However, the album has some quite remarkable tricks up it’s sleeve too — namely two of Dylan’s finest songs about love, ‘Boots of Spanish Leather’ and ‘One Too Many Mornings.’

‘One Too Many Mornings’ is an absolute gem of a song. Over the course of 158 seconds, Dylan masterfully invokes the feelings of nostalgia of a post-break-up world of loneliness. A break up where it’s not exactly clear what has gone wrong, but where two people have simply fallen out of love. In three verses, with the repeating ‘just one too many mornings, and a thousand miles behind’, Dylan paints a picture of the lonely, newly-single man wandering around trying to figure out how to put the broken pieces together. The relationship in question has clearly gone out with a whimper rather than a bang.

Down the street the dogs are barkin’

And the day is a-gettin’ dark

As the night comes in a-fallin’

The dogs’ll lose their bark

An’ the silent night will shatter

From the sounds inside my mind

Yes, I’m one too many mornings

And a thousand miles behind

Our narrator is struggling to make sense of his situation. He notices the small things — at its most simple, life consists of day followed by night. In this case, night brings with it the amplification of those thoughts racing around the head, without the distractions that daytime can bring.

From the crossroads of my doorstep

My eyes they start to fade

And I turn my head back to the room

Where my love and I have laid

An’ I gaze back to the street

The sidewalk and the sign

And I’m one too many mornings

An’ a thousand miles behind

Our narrator is clearly a sentimental soul (aren’t we all?) pausing as he leaves his house to remember a time where he wouldn’t be stepping out on his own. You can imagine a young Dylan turning back to his plans for the day, whatever they may be, with a heavy sigh, maybe even the hint of a sympathetic smile.

It’s a restless hungry feeling

That don’t mean no one no good

When ev’rything I’m a-sayin’

You can say it just as good

You’re right from your side

I’m right from mine

We’re both just one too many mornings

An’ a thousand miles behind

That the first two verses are beautiful in their own right is almost irrelevant — even if they existed solely as a vessel for this third verse to exist then they would be deserving of the highest praise. Because in the third verse, Dylan is at his best. In analysing those 8 lines, we could probably write several thousand words and not even get close to doing them justice/ At this stage, it should be noted that Dylan was around 22 years old when he wrote this song. At 22, I don’t think I could make a good pasta sauce from scratch, let alone find a perfectly distilled lyrical description for two souls that have drifted apart. It reminds us of those times when we have all been guilty of those pointless, point-scoring arguments as a relationship turns sour. When we know we’re right, and yet our significant other we are very much wrong. When we have both committed romantic crimes and perhaps aren’t strong enough to hold our hands up and admit to it.

From an arrangement perspective, we have delicately fingerpicked acoustic guitar providing the canvas for Dylan’s watercolour of resignation, and also perhaps his gentlest, most subtle use of the harmonica in his early work. Dylan is embracing nostalgia musically as well as lyrically. To combine the two and still avoid falling into cliche is quite remarkable. It has the feel (like so many of Dylan’s early compositions) of a song that was written relatively quickly, in a flow of reminiscent creativity.

When I first became obsessed with this song, I headed to YouTube to see alternate versions as I always do when a song strikes me in such a way. (For the record, I consider the album version to be definitive — the finger-picked guitar is the most tasteful accompaniment to the air of resignation). I discovered that I am not alone in being struck by the song — the great Johnny Cash clearly saw something in the song as he took to recording versions of it on at least three different occasions, several years apart. This is something that struck me as quite the fitting tribute — I love the idea of Johnny Cash being unable to get the song out of his head for decades, and feeling the need to record this song — out of all of Dylan’s masterpieces — over and over again. If it was good enough for Cash, it’s good enough for me.