On the salt-ridden road, Jakob Dylan plays the guitar. A slate-colored curtain decorated with frayed yellow stars covers an arch.
Dylan stands in front of the curtain, wearing a hat, smoke fanning along the side.
The band performs in front of the arches. Lights flash on and off behind them. The camera zooms in a frayed yellow star. In close-ups, Dylan sings at the microphone.
A leaf falls on the wet pavement, water running through the cracks. Dylan walks, hands in his pockets, his shadow reflecting on the building in the alley. A car, in shadow, follows him.
Dylan plays guitar and sings behind the slate curtain. He continues to walk down the alley, in the light. The frayed yellow star lies ruined from the rain on pavement. Dylan steps on sepia soaked puddles. A car drives in the alley.
Dylan, with his hands behind his back, stands by the curtain, his eyes closed.
In shadow, he runs back to the street.
Out of focus, he stands with his arms folded across his chest by the curtain. Then, he disappears, his hat floating in the air.
The band continues to perform in front of the arches. Dylan taps his foot. He looks down as the band finishes playing.
Jakob Dylan, brooding and sensitive, walks down an alley, late at night, thinking. He believes he’s not worth the attention or praise he’s received. He’s simply another person in the world who wants to be heard.
Questions are asked but not answered. The car following him down the alley seems to symbolize a loss of some kind. But Dylan closes himself off and stares at the pavement instead, not wanting to talk about it.
The album cover art, though, becomes concrete as its worked into the design. It’s a fabric that has aged through the years, forgotten and lost in the bottom of the closet. The detail of the fraying supersedes the album art, giving it a homemade and sentimental touch. Dylan’s emotional reactions as it stands behind it makes it an even more powerful of an image.
Director: Ken Fox Year: 1996