Of course, there’s only one subject to which your correspondent can possibly address himself this week. The subject that’s on everybody’s lips. And on every radio phone-in show. And across every breakfast table. To be frank, it was something people thought would never happen. A day they thought they’d never see. But, amazingly, it has come to pass. And now we have to deal with the new reality. Some are shocked, some angry, some delighted, but no-one has been left unmoved.

Scantily Dressed

Yes, even seen-it-all Sam is still pinching himself at the news that Bob Dylan has done an ad for women’s lingerie.
The story so far: the Zim did a deal with the Victoria’s Secrets chain to appear in a television ad which uses his song ‘Love Sick’ as its soundtrack. The ad was shot in Venice and shows our Bob leering at some scantily dressed young ladies parading through the streets. Many ’60s vets who were caught unawares by the thing suddenly materialising on their tv sets thought they were suffering a particularly gruesome acid flashback. Others have expressed shock at what they perceive as the ultimate sell-out. Somebody, somewhere has surely shouted “Judas” at the screen.
But not Sam Snort, oh no. After all, I’ve been trying to get my old mate to do this sort of thing for years. My first great idea was to get Dylan to soundtrack an ad campaign for the redesign of the Irish Times with – what else – ‘The Times They Are A Changing’ as the aural hook. Bob didn’t buy that one – he’s more of an Ireland On Sunday man, really – but the notion intrigued him and, before long, he’d flogged his legendary protest epic to the Bank Of Montreal.
The old Greenwich Village mob were outraged, of course. And Bob himself was a little shaky, at first. But I counselled him to focus on the cheque, and he managed to get through it. “Anyway, it’s only Canada,” I reminded him, “it doesn’t really count.”
But, clearly, he got the bug. Only a couple of months back, it was announced that the Zim was lending his name to the launch of his own range of wine. Imagine how I chuckled, as I thought back to ‘All Along The Watchtower’; now, businessmen could literally drink his wine. As a follow-up he shoulda linked his name to a commercial fertiliser, so the ploughmen could really dig his earth.
Instead, the crafty old bugger went for the women’s undergarments market, which guaranteed him a much more pleasurable shoot than if he’d gone with the compost dudes, I suppose.

Influential Figure

Only problem I see is that they chose the infinitely depressing ‘Love Sick’ to backdrop some very pleasing images of near bare-naked babes cavorting in the watery city. For fuck’s sake, surely the decision-makers could have done better than that, and maybe even had a bit of fun in the process.
Zimmy being such a sucker for restless re-invention, he could even have reworked a classic, specially for the occasion. ‘Tangled Up In Boobs’, say, or ‘Blowing On The Line’. Or what about something subtle and tasteful like ‘Ballad Of A Thong Man’? Or ‘Woman Not In A Long Black Coat’? Or ‘Bras Of Spanish Leather’? Hell, for a lingerie ad, even ‘The Babes They Are A Changing’ would have done the trick.
Anyway, ol’ Bob being the single most influential figure in the history of rock, don’t be surprised if a host of big names follow suit. Already, Sam is hearing of the following Irish rock/advertising collaborations coming down the pipeline: U2’s ‘Where The Streets Have No Name’ (estate agents), Horslips’ ‘Furniture’ (Ikea), Van Morrison’s ‘Domino’ (pizza delivery), David Kitt’s ‘You Know What I Want To Know’ (Yellow Pages) and, last but not least, Thin Lizzy’s ‘Cowboy Song’ (Fianna Fail local election campaign).
Okay, I know that another old mate of mine, Bill Hicks, wouldn’t approve. Bill used to say that when some superstar lent his or her creative work to the whores of advertising, that person was “off the artistic honour role”.
Well, alright. But, then, look at it this way: Bill gave up the jar and the dope not long before he passed away and half the world still hasn’t a clue about his comic genius. Meanwhile, Bob’s about 104 and he’s still standing on a bridge in Venice getting paid vicious amounts of money to ogle beautiful women.
In short, Bill’s dead and Bob’s alive.
Shit.