May 21st, 1940. Aris, Northern France. German 37 millimeter crews fired and watched their rounds ricochet off British steel like pebbles thrown at a castle wall. They fired again. Another bounce again. Nothing. The tanks kept coming. Not an army of heavy tanks, just 16 of them. 16 Matilda Twos. The rest of the British column were older Matilda ones armed only with machine guns.
But the Matilda 2 was the problem. armor so thick the standard German anti-tank gun could only knock. Owen RML, commander of the Seventh Panza Division, returned from a forward reconnaissance to find his division in chaos. His aid, Lieutenant Most, died beside him, and RML himself was splattered with the man’s blood.
Transport vehicles burned across the horizon. His soldiers, the same men who had torn through Poland in weeks, were running from 16 tanks. Germans would soon give their own 37 mm anti-tank gun a new name, the hearing koperate, the army doorner, because against 78 mm of British armor, that is all it could do. Knock. The story that RML wasted his entire ammunition supply that afternoon makes for excellent drama.
Whether it is entirely true remains disputed by historians. What is documented beyond question is that every standard German anti-tank weapon the infantry expected to rely on the 37 mm pack 36 and the 37 mm tank guns was effectively beaten by Matilda 2 armor at typical combat ranges. To understand why May 1940 became a crisis for German armor doctrine, you need to understand what British engineers had built and why nobody else had built anything like it.
British tank philosophy between the wars split armored vehicles into two distinct types. Cruiser tanks prioritize speed. They were meant to exploit breakthroughs, racing through gaps in enemy lines like cavalry of old. Infantry tanks serve the opposite purpose. They advanced at walking pace alongside foot soldiers, absorbing punishment that would destroy faster vehicles. Speed was irrelevant.
Survival was everything. The Matilda 2 emerged from this doctrine taken to its logical extreme. Engineers at the Royal Arsenal in Wulitch began work in 1936 with a single overriding priority, protection. The design drew on lessons from the 7 medium tank developed between 1929 and 1932, but pushed armor thickness far beyond anything previously attempted.
The name Matilda was a Vicar’s company internal code name assigned during development of the earlier A11 infantry tank in October 1935. Popular stories claim the name referenced to cartoon duck because of the tank’s waddling gate, but historian David Fletcher of the Tank Museum documented it simply as a randomly assigned code word chosen before any prototype existed to waddle anywhere.
The resulting vehicle weighed 27 tons, crawled at 15 mph on roads, and dropped to 6 mph across broken ground. It mounted twin AEC diesel bus engines producing a combined 174 horsepower. The powertoweight ratio was abysmal by any standard. Contemporary observers mocked the design. German tank philosophy emphasized speed, flexibility, and combined arms coordination.
The Matilda seemed like a relic from 1918, not a weapon for modern mobile warfare. None of that mattered when you examined the armor. Frontal glacus plate measured 78 mm thick. The cast turret provided 75 mm of protection all around. Even the hull sides reached 65 to 70 mm with additional armored skirts covering the running gear.
In 1940, no tank on Earth carried protection anywhere close to this. German Panza 3es and fours, the backbone of the Blitz Creek, mounted 30 mm of frontal armor. The Matilda carried more than double. The main armament was a two pounder gun, 40 mm in caliber, capable of penetrating 53 mm of armor at 100 yd.
Against German tanks, this proved adequate. The crew of four operated in cramped conditions, but they operated in safety that no other tank crew in the world could match. Production reflected the design’s complexity. When Britain declared war in September 1939, exactly two Matilda existed. The entire British tank industry was unprepared for the vehicle’s demanding specifications.
Each hull required careful casting and machining. Each armor plate needed precise fitting. By May 1940, 7th Royal Tank Regiment in France had only 23 Matilda 2 available. Peak production would not arrive until 1942 when 1,330 tanks rolled off assembly lines. Vulcan Foundry served as primary manufacturer supported by John Fowler and Company, the London Midland and Scottish Railway Workshops, Harland and Wolf, and the North British Locomotive Company.
Building walking fortresses took time. and Britain did not have. Germany’s standard anti-tank weapon in 1940 was the 37 mm PAC 36. Light, mobile, easy to conceal. It had performed adequately in Poland and the early French campaign against French light tanks and British cruisers.
Crews could expect penetration at combat ranges. German confidence in the weapon was absolute. The PA 36 had never failed them. Crews trained extensively, learned to aim for weak points, and trusted their equipment would do the job. This confidence was about to shatter. Against the Matilda, the mathematics were brutal. Standard armor-piercing ammunition achieved 34 mm of penetration at 100 m.
Even the tungsten cord subcaliber round, available only in limited quantities, managed 64 mm at point blank range. The Matilda’s frontal armor measured 78 mm. This left a shortfall of 14 to 44 mm depending on ammunition type and range. At any distance beyond knife fighting range, penetration was impossible. German tank guns offered no solution.
The Panza 3’s 37 mm matched the PAC 36 exactly. Same caliber, same ballistics, same futility. The Panzer 4’s shortbarreled 75 mm howitzer was designed for infantry support, not anti-tank work. It penetrated 41 mm. Still not enough. The only weapon readily available that could reliably defeat Matilda 2 armor was the 88 mm flak 18 and 36 anti-aircraft gun.
At 100 m, it achieved 97 mm of penetration. Comfortable margin against even frontal protection. But in May 1940, the 88 was not routinely integrated as a frontline anti-tank answer at divisional level. It was an air defense gun capable against tanks but not normally positioned as the infantry’s anti-tank lifeline.
Using it against ground targets at Aris was a forced adaptation, not the plan. The British counterattack at Ars involved Frank force which had 88 tanks on paper, but the two attack columns pushed forward with roughly 74 runners and mechanical breakdowns blurred the count throughout the day. 58 were Matilda ones, an earlier design armed only with a single machine gun.
Just 16 were Matilda 2’s mounting the two pounder gun. Supporting infantry came from the sixth and eighth battalions of the Durham light infantry against the full might of two German divisions. This was everything Britain could scrape together. The attack began around 1430 hours. Right column comprising seventh Royal Tank Regiment with all 16 Matilda 2s advanced through Dwisson’s and Wallace against strengthening opposition.
Left column pushed through Dneville, Ashikort and Agy. At the tip of advance, six Matilda tanks overran an entire German anti-tank gun line at Achicort, destroying the guns and their crews before continuing toward one court on the Kial River. Their deepest penetration reached 10 mi. German 37 mm rounds bounced harmlessly off Matilda armor.
One tank reportedly took 14 direct hits and continued fighting. Brigadier Douglas Pratt later wrote that one Matilda had 14 direct hits from enemy 37 mm guns and it had no harmful effect, just gouged out a bit of armor. Anti-tank crews, watching their carefully aimed shots ricochet into the French countryside, abandoned their guns or feigned death as the seemingly invincible tanks rolled over their positions.
The psychological effect on German soldiers cannot be overstated. These were men who had swept through Poland in weeks, who had broken the supposedly impregnable Majinino line through maneuver. They had never encountered a weapon their guns could not kill. Now they face steel monsters that absorbed everything fired at them and kept advancing.
The word spread through German formations, heavy tanks immune to our weapons, hundreds of them. The crisis centered on RML’s 7th Panza Division. Around 1600 hours, RML returned from forward reconnaissance to find second battalion of seventh rifle regiment under direct tank attack near why his aid lieutenant most was mortally wounded beside him.
The division’s transport vehicles between Merkantel and Fishure burned from British tank fire. Chaos spread through units that had known nothing but victory since crossing the German border. RML personally organized the defensive gun line that saved his division. In his own words, he gave each gun its target.
He positioned 105 mm howitzers and 88 mm flat guns on hill 111 northwest of Wy directing them to fire on approaching tanks at close range. The improvisation worked. 88 mm guns proved devastating against Matilda armor combined with heavy Luftvafa stooker attacks into the evening and the recall of Panza regiment 25 for a flanking counterattack.
The British advance finally halted. German losses documented in seventh Panza Division’s war diary tell a remarkable story. 89 killed, 116 wounded, 173 missing. This single afternoon produced casualties equal to the division’s entire losses from the previous four days of the campaign combined, including the heavily contested Muse Crossing.
The division lost significant numbers of tanks and anti-tank guns. SS Totenov Division positioned on 7th Panza’s southern flank experienced documented panic. Even General Gudderion noted the division showed signs of panic in its first major combat. Some accounts describe SS troops fleeing the battlefield.
British losses proved equally severe. Around 60 of the tanks committed were destroyed or disabled. Both tank battalion commanders, Lieutenant Colonel Haland of 7th Royal Tank Regiment and Lieutenant Colonel Fitz Morris of Fourth Royal Tank Regiment were killed in action. Now that we have seen how RML solved the crisis and what it cost both sides.
If you are finding this deep dive into British engineering interesting, consider subscribing. It takes a moment, costs nothing, and helps the channel grow. Right onto the strategic consequences. The battle’s strategic impact extended far beyond tactical results. RML reported facing five divisions and hundreds of enemy tanks.
The actual attacking force numbered 74 British tanks plus roughly 60 French vehicles in a supporting role. This exaggeration reached German high command, amplifying existing anxiety about exposed flanks. Hitler ordered mobile units to concentrate around Aris rather than pressing toward Dunkirk. Whether this delay enabled the eventual evacuation of over 300,000 Allied troops remains debated by historians.
What is clear is that 16 Matilda Twos created effects far exceeding their numbers. The Matilda 2 earned its greatest fame not in France but in North Africa. Operation Compass, running from December 1940 through February 1941, demonstrated what happened when properly armored tanks met opponents lacking any effective counter.
The comparison with Italian equipment was stark. Italian M139 tanks mounted just 30 mm of armor, less than half the Matilda’s protection. Italian 47 mm anti-tank guns achieved roughly 43 mm of penetration, nowhere near enough. The best weapon in the Italian arsenal, the 75mm field gun might have threatened Matildas at close range, but the advancing British tanks destroyed gun positions before crews could find the range.
Against this opposition, Matilda’s proved nearly invincible. At city Bani, one tank took 38 hits and remained operational. Another showed evidence of 46 direct hits with only external damage to paint and fittings. An Italian army doctor described the advancing Matildas as the nearest thing to hell I’ve ever seen. Italian soldiers, lacking any weapon that could stop these monsters, surrendered in their thousands.
At Neba, 57 Matildas helped capture over 4,000 Italian prisoners with just two British soldiers killed and five wounded. Bardia and Tobrook produced similar results. Western Desert Force captured 38,300 prisoners while suffering 133 killed across the campaign. The nickname Queen of the Desert followed naturally. RML’s arrival with the Africa Corps in February 1941 changed everything.
The desert fox had learned his lesson at Ars. Germans brought the weapons that had proven effective in France, particularly the 88 mm flat gun, now deliberately employed in the anti-tank role. RML integrated these weapons into his defensive positions, dug in and camouflaged, waiting for British armor to advance into prepared killing grounds.
The tactics that had devastated Italian forces now led British tanks into ambushes at Halire Pass on June 15th, 1941. During Operation Battle Axe, 88 mm guns of 33rd Flack Regiment destroyed 11 to 13 Matildas from Ca Squadron. Fourth Royal Tank Regiment in a single engagement. The British advanced into what they believed was a weekly held position.
German gunners held fire until the Matildas closed to point blank range, then opened up simultaneously. The pass earned its grim name, Hellfire Pass. By battle’s end, 64 Matildas were lost. Only 37 of the hundred committed remained operational. The Queen’s reign was ending. The fundamental problem preventing modernization was mechanical.
The turret ring measured just 54 in in diameter. No gun larger than the two pounder could fit. Engineers attempted a prototype mounting a Cromwell turret with a six pounder, but the project was abandoned. The Valentine tank, faster, cheaper, with similar armor, began replacing Matilda’s through attrition from late 1941.
July 1942’s first battle of Elamine marked the last British combat use of the Matilda 2 as a gun tank in North Africa. Production ended in August 1943 after 2,987 tanks, but the Matilda served until wars end in specialized variants. The Matilda Scorpion mine flail used a Ford V8 engine to drive 24 chains at 100 rotations per minute, beating the ground ahead to detonate buried mines.
Scorpions operated at Second Elmagne against the dense mine belts that earned the name Devil’s Gardens. The Soviet Union received 1,084 Matildas under lend lease, representing over a third of total production. Soviet crews initially praised the tank’s survivability, reporting vehicles that survived 17 to 19 hits from German 50 mm guns without penetration.
Russian winter conditions eventually exposed limitations. Narrow tracks and cooling systems poorly suited to extreme cold. Australia received 409 Matildas for Pacific operations. Against Japanese forces lacking effective anti-tank weapons, the tank proved an excellent jungle fighter. Australian engineers developed specialized variants including the Matilda frog flamethrower and the Matilda Hedgehog mortar carrier.
The July 1945 Balik Papan landing represented the largest employment of tanks in combat ever made by Australian forces. Matilda remained with Australian units until 1955. The Battle of Aris demonstrated a truth that would reshape armored warfare. Revolutionary armor protection could render entire weapon systems obsolete in an afternoon.
German 37 mm anti-tank guns and 37 mm tank guns failed against the Matilda 2. The answers came from 88s and heavier guns used in direct fire. This shock directly influenced German weapon development. The 50mm Pack 38 entered rushed production. The 75mm Pac 40 followed. The 88 mm potential as a tank killer, first proven by RML’s desperate improvisation became permanent German doctrine.
Throughout the war, the lessons extended beyond specific weapons. German engineers began designing tanks with thicker armor, culminating in vehicles like the Tiger and Panther that would dominate midwar battlefields. The British experience at Ars proved that armor mattered, that protection could trump firepower when the disparity was great enough.
Unfortunately for British tank crews, their enemies learned this lesson faster than their own designers applied it. The specific claim that RML wasted his entire ammunition supply remains unverified by primary sources. The RML papers describe the situation as an extremely tight spot with chaos and confusion, but contain no mention of exhausting ammunition.
The claim appears to be popular embellishment of a genuinely desperate situation. What is verified needs no embellishment. German 37 mm anti-tank weapons could not penetrate Matilda armor at typical combat ranges. RML had to improvise with anti-aircraft weapons not normally positioned for ground combat. SS troops fled in panic.
German casualties quadrupled in a single afternoon. And for one desperate afternoon in May 1940, 16 slow, outdated looking British tanks came remarkably close to changing the course of the entire French campaign. The Matilda 2 remains the only British tank to serve from the war’s beginning to its end.
Its eventual obsolescence resulted not from design failure, but from the rapid evolution of anti-tank weapons and the inability to upgrade its armament. The tank proved that armor protection alone could not win wars. Speed, firepower, and the ability to adapt all mattered in the end. The Matilda excelled at one thing and paid the price when that one thing was no longer enough.
But on May 21st, 1940, that one thing was enough. 78 mm of steel between crew and enemy fire. German shells bouncing away harmlessly while British tanks kept advancing. The Matilda proved what happens when you build something your enemy cannot kill. German gun crews discovered their nickname, the doorner. Watching their rounds ricochet off British steel, they could knock all they wanted.
QQ4 Bob Dylan and Keith Richards have been close friends for nearly 40 years. The friendship began on a live television program in November of 1986 in the 11 seconds after Bob Dylan called Keith Richards music derivative on camera. Keith Richard’s response to that assessment, one sentence said without anger, without performance, with the specific directness of a man who has nothing to prove and knows it made Bob Dylan laugh.
Then made Bob Dylan go quiet. then made Bob Dylan say two words that people who know Bob Dylan say he almost never said to anyone. This is the story of those 11 seconds and the 40 years that followed them. The program was a live music interview special broadcast on an American network on the evening of November 3rd, 1986. The format was simple.
Two musicians, a host, an hour of conversation about music and the state of it. The producers had assembled the pairing of Bob Dylan and Keith Richards with the specific calculation of television producers who understand that two people with equally strong and potentially incompatible views about what music is and what it should do will produce better television than two people who agree about everything.
The calculation was correct, though not in the way the producers had anticipated. Bob Dylan was 45 years old in November of 1986. Bob Dylan had released Empire Burlesque the previous year and had been on the road for most of the intervening period as part of the True Confessions tour with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.
Bob Dylan was in November of 1986 in one of the most prolific and restless phases of a career that had consisted almost entirely of prolific and restless phases. A career that had moved through folk, rock, country, gospel, and back again, that had been declared finished at least six times by the music press, and at each time continued with the serene indifference of a river to the opinions of people standing on its banks.
Bob Dylan had been redefining what music could be. Since 1962, Bob Dylan had invented and reinvented himself so many times that reinvention had become his defining characteristic, not in the superficial sense of a performer changing costumes, but in the deeper sense of a musician who had never allowed his work to settle into a form that could be anticipated or categorized from the outside.
Bob Dylan understood influence and originality and the relationship between them better than almost anyone alive in 1986. Bob Dylan had spent 24 years thinking carefully and specifically about where music came from and where music was going and what it meant that those two things were always in constant conversation with each other.
Keith Richards was 42 years old in November of 1986. Keith Richards had been playing guitar professionally since 1962. Keith Richards had built a career on a foundation of American blues and rhythm and blues. A foundation that Keith Richards had studied with the systematic devotion of someone who understood that the tradition he was building on was not incidental to the music he was making, but essential to it.
that you could not understand what Keith Richards did without understanding where Keith Richards had come from and what Keith Richards had been listening to since he was a teenager in Dartford with American Import Records and a secondhand guitar and no teacher except the recordings themselves. Keith Richards had never pretended otherwise. Keith Richards had in fact spent considerable energy across his career making the lineage explicit, naming the artists, citing the recordings, insisting on the acknowledgement of influence that the mainstream music
industry had a long history of suppressing or ignoring or crediting to the wrong people. If anything, Keith Richards was more transparent about his sources than most musicians of his generation. Keith Richards had always said openly that the Rolling Stones came directly from the blues, that Muddy Waters and Robert Johnson and the specific tradition of the Mississippi Delta were not background influences, but foundational ones.
The music Keith Richards made was in direct and sustained conversation with that tradition, something Keith Richards considered not a limitation, but a responsibility and a form of respect. The interview had been running for 8 minutes when the host asked Bob Dylan about the current state of rock and roll.
Bob Dylan answered with the density and the indirection that characterized Bob Dylan’s responses to direct questions, turning the question over, approaching it from an unexpected angle, finding his way to what he actually thought through a series of observations that moved like a river rather than a road. Bob Dylan was not a straightforward interview subject.
Bob Dylan had been asked about rock and roll in hundreds of interviews across 24 years and had developed the habit of treating the question as an invitation to think out loud rather than a request for a prepared position. The producer Gerald Sherman said afterward that in the first 8 minutes of the interview, he had been slightly anxious, not because anything was going wrong, but because nothing was going anywhere in particular yet.
The interview had the feeling of two conversations happening simultaneously. Bob Dylan’s internal one and the external one visible to the cameras. And Gerald Sherman was not certain in those first eight minutes that the two conversations would converge into something. Bob Dylan talked about influence. Bob Dylan talked about originality.
Bob Dylan talked about the difference between music that absorbed a tradition and transformed it and music that absorbed a tradition and reproduced it. And then Bob Dylan made his assessment. And then Bob Dylan said with the precision of a man making a musical assessment rather than a personal judgment that the Rolling Stones work, and Bob Dylan was specific, naming Keith Richards as the guitarist whose approach he was discussing was derivative in a way that Bob Dylan found limiting.
Bob Dylan said it without hostility. Bob Dylan said it as a technical observation about the relationship between source material and the work that came from it. Bob Dylan said that Keith Richards played the blues the way the blues had already been played, rather than using the blues as a starting point for something that had not yet been played.
Keith Richards had been listening to this with the specific attention Keith Richards gave to things being said about music by people who knew music. Keith Richards did not interrupt. Keith Richards did not shift in his chair or display any of the visible signals of a person preparing a defensive response. Keith Richards listened to Bob Dylan’s complete observation all the way to its conclusion without interrupting and without displaying any visible signal of preparing a response.
Then Keith Richards said one sentence. The sentence was not a rebuttal. The sentence did not defend Keith Richards music or argue for its originality or challenge Bob Dylan’s characterization of what the blues meant in the context of rock and roll. The sentence was something else entirely, something that required a specific kind of confidence to say.
The confidence of a person who has spent long enough thinking about the same things as the person they are talking to that they can locate the exact point where their thinking diverges and say something useful about that point rather than simply defending their own position. The sentence acknowledged everything Bob Dylan had said, the assessment, the distinction Bob Dylan was drawing, the specific musical concern underlying the observation, and then turned it 90°.
Keith Richards took Bob Dylan’s own framework, the one Bob Dylan had used to analyze Keith Richards relationship to the blues tradition, and applied it back to Bob Dylan’s work with the same precision Bob Dylan had used to apply it to Keith Richards. Spare aimed. The sentence asked Bob Dylan something about Bob Dylan’s own music, about the relationship between Bob Dylan’s sources and Bob Dylan’s output that Bob Dylan had not been asked on television before.
The sentence did not attack. The sentence illuminated. Bob Dylan laughed. The laugh was not the polite laugh of someone responding to a joke. The laugh was the involuntary laugh of someone who has been genuinely surprised. The specific kind of surprise that a person of exceptional intelligence experiences when someone else’s intelligence exceeds their expectations.
Bob Dylan laughed for 4 seconds. Then Bob Dylan stopped laughing. Then Bob Dylan was quiet for 3 seconds in the way that Bob Dylan was quiet when Bob Dylan was thinking rather than performing thought. Then Bob Dylan said, “You’re right.” The producer in the booth, a man named Gerald Sherman, who had been working in television for 14 years, said afterward that in 14 years of live television production, he had never heard Bob Dylan say those two words in a public forum.
Gerald Sherman said he had worked with Bob Dylan on two previous occasions and had observed Bob Dylan in numerous other contexts and that you’re right was not a phrase that Bob Dylan deployed easily or often because Bob Dylan had spent 24 years being right about music in ways that other people eventually caught up with. And the experience of being right ahead of everyone else does not generally produce a man who says you’re right readily when someone else makes a point.
The host of the program, a journalist named Patricia Wells, who had been interviewing musicians for 12 years, said afterward that the 11 seconds between Bob Dylan’s assessment and Bob Dylan saying, “You’re right,” were the most extraordinary 11 seconds of television she had been present for. Patricia Wells said that what she witnessed in those 11 seconds was not a debate or a confrontation or a celebrity exchange of competing opinions.
Patricia Wells said what she witnessed was one musician recognizing another musician as an equal, which was in the specific context of Bob Dylan in 1986, not something that happened in public very often. The interview continued for another 42 minutes after those 11 seconds. The conversation between Bob Dylan and Keith Richards in the remaining 42 minutes was described by everyone who watched it as fundamentally different from the first 8 minutes.
The host, Patricia Wells, who had been conducting music interviews for 12 years and understood the difference between the performance of conversation and actual conversation, said that at approximately the 9-minute mark, something shifted in the studio. That the formal interview, architecture dissolved, and what replaced it was something less structured and more genuine.
Bob Dylan and Keith Richards talked about influence and originality and the blues and what it meant to build on a tradition without being consumed by it. They talked about specific recordings and specific musicians with the specificity of two people who had spent their entire adult lives thinking about these things and rarely found another person who had thought about them with equivalent care.
They talked about where music came from and where music was going and whether those two questions were actually one question or two. Patricia Wells said afterward that she had asked approximately four questions in the remaining 42 minutes because Bob Dylan and Keith Richards did not require questions. They required only a room and a camera and the shared understanding that what they were saying together was worth recording carefully.
She said it was the best interview she had ever conducted and that she had conducted the smallest part of it. After the program, Bob Dylan and Keith Richards were in the corridor outside the studio when the host Patricia Wells passed them. Patricia Wells said she did not stop because she did not want to interrupt.
She observed them for approximately 30 seconds from a distance. She said they were talking with the ease of people who had known each other for years rather than people who had met for the first time 2 hours earlier. She said that something had shifted between them during the broadcast that the broadcast had made permanent rather than temporary.
She continued down the corridor and did not look back. She said in her account of that evening that she had decided in that moment not to interrupt the conversation because some conversations are more valuable than any question a journalist might ask and that the conversation she had observed for 30 seconds in the corridor outside the studio was one of them.
She had been a music journalist for 12 years. She recognized the difference. Bob Dylan and Keith Richards have maintained their friendship across four decades. They have appeared together at various events, most significantly at the concert for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1995, where people who were present described them as inseparable for most of the evening, occupying the same corner of the backstage area and talking with the concentrated attention of people who only have a limited amount of time together and intend to use it
well. Bob Dylan has spoken about Keith Richards in interviews with the specific thoughtful care that Bob Dylan reserves for musicians whose work Bob Dylan considers genuinely important rather than merely culturally prominent. Keith Richards has spoken about Bob Dylan in similar terms with the specific respect of someone who recognizes in another person a commitment to music that goes deeper than career.
Neither Bob Dylan nor Keith Richards has made a public statement specifically about how the friendship began or about the November 1986 interview. Bob Dylan has not mentioned the 11 seconds. Keith Richards has not mentioned the sentence. The interview exists in the archive. The 11 seconds are there. The laugh is there. The two words are there.
What is also there for anyone who watches the interview from its beginning and pays attention to the shift that happens at the 9-minute mark is the specific moment when two people who thought they were appearing on a television program discovered they were actually talking to each other. What Keith Richards said in that one sentence has never been officially reported.
The people who were in the studio that evening, Gerald Sherman, Patricia Wells, the floor crew, the two camera operators, the makeup artist who was watching from the side of the set, have described the sentence in consistent terms. They have described its effect. They have described Bob Dylan’s laugh and Bob Dylan’s silence and Bob Dylan’s two words.
They have not repeated the sentence itself in the specific understanding that the sentence was said between two musicians on a television program and that its power resided in the specific context of that exchange and would not survive removal from it intact. What can be said is this. Keith Richards said something to Bob Dylan about Bob Dylan’s music that used Bob Dylan’s own observation about Keith Richards as its starting point and arrived somewhere that Bob Dylan had not anticipated.
Keith Richards turned Bob Dylan’s assessment 90° and showed Bob Dylan something about the music they had both spent their lives making that Bob Dylan recognized immediately as true. And Bob Dylan said, “You’re right.” Two words said by Bob Dylan in public on live television in 1986 to Keith Richards in response to a single sentence Keith Richards had said about music.
Two words that Gerald Sherman, who had worked with Bob Dylan on two previous occasions, said he had never heard Bob Dylan say in a public forum. Two words that Patricia Wells, who had been interviewing musicians for 12 years, said were the most significant two words she had heard in those 12 years. Not because of their content, but because of who said them and what it cost to say them and what it meant that Keith Richards had produced them in 11 seconds from a conversation that began with Bob Dylan calling Keith Richards’s music derivative. And Keith Richards and
Bob Dylan have been close friends for nearly 40 years. The sentence did its work in 11 seconds on the evening of November 3rd, 1986. The work has been ongoing ever since. If this story moved you, subscribe and leave a comment below. Have you ever said something to someone that turned a potential disagreement into an unexpected and lasting connection? Tell us about it in the comments below.
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