90. Property of Jesus

I think of Shot of Love as an album oriented outward, to the world, unlike Slow Train Coming (in which, in my interpretation, Dylan wrestles and reckons with the introduction of faith into his life by donning the mantle of a desert prophet and preaching, as it were, to himself, to that “heart of mine”) and unlike Saved, with its hymns of worship and profound gratitude aimed straight at God. This outward orientation of the successor to Slow Train Coming and Saved is illustrated well in Property of Jesus, which is written about the main character from a third-person perspective, even though the narrator clearly identifies himself with that character. You can hear in Dylan's voice how fed up the narrator is with the treatment he’s been on the receiving end of, how it grates to be reminded of “what he used to be.”

It’s a commonly knotty part of moving forward with one’s life, whatever the circumstances, be they a change in religious outlook, the decision to leave a harmful family behind, or something else. When somebody decides to leave a bad place, those who stay behind can become denigrating and resentful, and can exert much effort trying to keep the one who wants to depart from departing. I’ve watched that phenomenon happen at close quarters myself, and it sounds a lot like the situation the singer of Property of Jesus sees himself in.

But pride leaks through the lines, too, a defiant joy at no longer being beholden to what the narrator sees as old and damaging illusions, as falsehoods that held him back from fulfillment. I hear a lot of relief at being unburdened of the “heart of stone” that the singer, too, once bore inside his chest. There may be a kick-back at the public response to the supposed dourness and harshness of the religious songs on the last two albums: “Because he doesn’t tell you jokes or fairy tales / Say he’s failed to make you smile,” sung with a straight sneer. No, the narrator proclaims, you can criticize him, you can try to trip him up, you can try to pull him down, but it’s no use anymore, for he’s “the property of Jesus,” and whatever hardship comes his way, he can feel secure in that relationship with his savior. The narrator in the song Trouble isn’t overly disturbed by the unfriendliness of the universe and the human condition; the narrator of Property of Jesus is similarly undaunted by the vindictiveness of man.

Nonetheless, this is a song that tells of pressure. Let me presume a partial uniting of the narrator’s persona with Dylan: in the album’s title track, he admits with an urgent shout that he needs “a shot of love,” and here, two songs later, he needs to take recourse in the belief that he is “the property of Jesus” and therefore out of harm’s way, that he will be protected, because the situation’s really beginning to wear on him. If it didn’t bother him—as it didn’t yet on Saved, the songs of which predate Dylan’s evangelical concerts—there would have been no call to write the song. It figures that Property of Jesus was already being soundchecked in autumn of 1980.

The words are tense and frustrated, and if you read them straight off the page, not having heard the music, you might think that the song’s primary tone would be one of dissatisfaction. The music, however, is cathartic. The guitar riff that anchors the verses is a cheerful one, the key is major (with no minor-key chord in sight), and the roll of the drums, the fervent group vocals, and the hugely strummed chords in the refrain are all expressions of assurance, strength, and joy. The abrasive and colorful Shot of Love sound multiplies all this by a factor of two or three. It’s interesting to think of the musical backing of the song as itself being part of the narrator’s armor, a decision not to take his own griping all too seriously, but to turn a bad situation into a celebration.

My favorite moment in the song—and it occurs five times!—is the way that everything but the drums, percussion (dig that cowbell), and singing cease for the “you’ve got a heart of stone” line, leaving the listener hovering for a moment before the band comes back in and the catchy guitar riff takes over.