Bob Dylan felt proud. In a time of unprecedented fear and widespread panic, he had given America – no, the world – exactly what it needed: a 17-minute song about President Kennedy being shot in the head. “This will be mind-blowing,” thought Bob Dylan, completely missing his own bad joke. After grabbing a handful of jellybeans from his fish bowl, Bob Dylan checked his shadow in the mirror frame and turned towards his hat lodge. The phone rang.
“Hi Bob!” said Bob Dylan’s manager. “The song’s out and people really seem to be aware of it!”
“The one by me about JFKaaaaaaaayyyyy?”
“No,” replied his manager, “I don’t know Tina Fey. Anyway, I know it wasn’t your first choice, but I think we made the right call naming it ‘Murder Most Foul.’” It wasn’t Bob Dylan’s first choice. But he was the only one in the hat lodge who voted for “I Hate a Parade.”
“Anyway,” said Bob Dylan’s manager, “I’d love to chat, but I have a rich people panic room a.k.a. spacious yacht to escape to…”
That took Bob Dylan’s mind back. The concept of moving. Trekking. Traveling. Suddenly, Bob Dylan was transported. Way back to 1988…
George Harrison’s wife said, “Honey, you have a phone call.”
“Is it on the regular line, or the number we give just to Ringo?”
“The regular one.”
“You’re sure it’s not Ringo?”
“Positive.”
With that, George took the phone and said, “Paul??”
“What? No,” said the voice on the other end. “It’s Jeff Lynne. From Electric Light Orchestra.”
George thought a minute. “‘Saturday in the Park’?”
“No, that’s Chicago.”
George thought again. “‘The Boys are Back in Town’?”
“No, that’s Thin Lizzie.”
George just shrugged. “Well, what can I do for you, Jed?”
“Jeff. I’m thinking of starting a new super-group and I want you to be in it.”
“A super-group?” said Harrison. “What the devil is that? Do we have to fight crime??”
“No, not superheroes. A super-group. A group of the world’s most famous musicians!”
“Oh good,” George said. “Because I’ve never been in one of those.”
“Sounds like you’re in. I’ll be right over to tell you more!”
“Actually, I’m pretty busy with—”
The doorbell rang. It was Jeff Lynne. “I stole this phone from Kenny Loggins.”
“‘Don’t Bring Me Down’?”
“No, that’s Electric Light Orchestra.”
“Electric huh what-now?” Then, George Harrison noticed someone standing behind Jeff Lynne. “Tell you what,” he said. “If you bring that slender lassie along – I’ll be a part of any band you put together. What’s your name, m’lady?”
The lassie spoke up excitedly: “Tom Petty!”
The trio made their way to George’s living room and the planning began. “You know what we need?” said George Harrison. “A really deep, operatic voice. Too bad we can’t get Elvis.”
“Costello?” asked Jeff Lynne. This left George Harrison puzzled.
“No. Elvis Presley. Why the devil would I ever mean Elvis Costello? That’s like if I said I was watching ‘Pee-wee’s Playhouse’ and you asked ‘Pee Wee Reese’??”
“How do you know about Pee Wee Reese?” asked Tom Petty, thumbing through George’s photos of Eric Clapton ugly sneezing.
“I got his baseball card as a gift from Elvis Costello. Anyway, I adored Elvis Presley.”
“Me too,” said Jeff Lynne.
“I also love Elvis,” said Tom Petty – quickly adding, “And horses!”
George Harrison grew serious, then asked what everyone else was secretly wondering. “Do you think there’s any way whatsoever we could somehow get Elvis Presley?”
Their silence lingered. “Even though we’re superheroes now,” thought George, “we can’t change the past.” Indeed. Ever since he spilled Tab on a transformer and caused the 1977 New York City Blackout, Elvis was in hiding. But there was one man who was still available. And soon, he was standing in George Harrison’s living room.
“Hey mate, what’s that, um…” said George Harrison, gesturing to Roy Orbison’s bag.
“Is it a knapsack?” asked Jeff Lynne.
“A satchel?” asked Tom Petty.
“Wait,” said George Harrison, “Don’t tell me you’re carrying a–”
“Pursy!!” said Roy Orbison, unzipping it to show off 87 pairs of sunglasses.
“Eh, can’t blame you. Look outside – here comes the” Crap! I’ll sound so lame! “…daylight! Anyhow, now that we have our fourth, it’s time to go for a fifth. How about Van Morrison?”
“Nah, he would fit in perfectly,” said Jeff Lynne. “What about that chap Jackson Browne?”
“Nah,” said George. “He sounds like a…super-specific…colorful shade. Like, ‘What color are those boat shoes?’ ‘Jackson Browne.’ ‘Ah. Do they come in Vida Blue?’”
“Wait,” said Tom Petty. “How do you know Vida Blue?”
“I re-gifted him my Pee Wee Reese card,” said George, growing impatient. “How about Bono?”
Then everyone just watched, as Roy Orbison clutched at his sunglasses and purred nervously. “Sounds like someone’s purrvous,” said George Harrison – chuckling casually, then stopping to jot it down for his next Monty Python tryout.
“I’ve got it!” said Jeff Lynne. “Bruce Springsteen.” They nodded in agreement for many hours. After a call to Bruce Springsteen’s wife…
“It’s Jeff Lynne, from Electric Light Orchestra!”
“‘Ride Like the Wind?’”
“No, that’s Christopher Cross…”
“‘Sailing’?”
“Also Christopher Cross…”
…they were told Bruce had just left to go do a concert, but they were welcome to come over when it ended next month. It was a grueling wait – but they made use of it.
“Guys?” asked Tom Petty, “What if something happens to us? What if we spill a Tab on a New York City transformer?”
He had a point. “Perhaps,” said George, “it would be wise for us to come up with a fake last name. Something absolutely nobody would expect…” After a burp Roy Orbison tried to disguise as a purr, George said, “Wilbury.” Orbison burped again. “It’s decided, then,” said George. “No more Tab for Roy, and we’re changing our last name to Wilbury!” And after nodding their heads in agreement for many more hours, they finally saw Bruce Springsteen hop off of Clarence Clemons’ handlebars and run into his house – yelling “I WAS BORN TO DO THIS!”
“Honey,” said Bruce Springsteen’s wife from “Sisters,” not Patti Scialfa, “phone call.”
“IS IT THE REGULAR ONE, OR THE NUMBER I JUST GIVE MAX WEINBERG??”
“The non-Max one.”
“ALL RIGHT!! ALL RIGHT!!” He took the phone. “SPILL YOUR SAUCE TO THE BOSS!!”
“Hi Bruce, this is Jeff Lynne from Electric Light Orchestra.”
“‘CHEESEBURGER IN PARADISE’??”
“My lads and I are forming a super-group, and we’d like you to join.”
“I’M IN!” said Bruce Springsteen. “IF I STOP PERFORMING FOR MORE THAN THIRTY MINUTES, I TURN BACK INTO A TOAD!!”
And with that, the Wilburys did what Wilburys do best: they traveled.
“Did I leave my bedroom window open?” thought Harrison. Then, “Eh, I’m sure it’s fine.”
Down the cul-de-sac they marched. They nodded at the Everly Brothers. They winked at the Pointer Sisters. They waved at Stevie Wonder – who hoped they hadn’t noticed him wave back. And, in an odd twist of fate, Chuck Berry watched them in secret while he went to the bathroom. But it was at the corner where Tom Petty lost his cool and blurted out, “What’s up Elvis??”
Everyone stopped. Petty looked at the ground in shame. The others, at Petty in disbelief. And Elvis Presley slowly turned around from casually watering his plants – sheer fright in his panicked eyes.
“I’m sorry,” said Tom Petty. “I mean…hi…Oprah.” Elvis/Oprah nodded, and they continued on.
Bruce Springsteen waited eagerly at the window until he could see them approaching. “THERE THEY ARE!!” he shouted to his “Sisters” wife. “ALL OF ‘EM! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!!!” But sadly, they would never make it to Bruce Springsteen’s house…
Bob Dylan had just finished scooping up yet another dead bass from his popcorn machine. “It’s like they don’t even WANT to try a jellybeeeeeeean!” he said to his jellybeans. Solemnly, he made his way to dispose of the bass, only he was too late; the mailman had already come.“Oh well,” he said. “All there is to do now is strap it to some wood and make it sing some Al Greeeeeeeeeeen!” Then, something caught his eye. Four things. “People,” he said. “A sidewalk’s worst enemy…”
As they grew closer, Tom Petty spoke up. “Hey, what’s that scarecrow doing by the mailbox?”
Jeff Lynne squinted. “You mean that tattered mannequin holding a fish?”
George Harrison narrowed his eyes. “You’re both right; it’s Bob Dylan.” And then, walking in this order – as that’s now how George insisted on crossing streets in fours – George Harrison, Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, and Roy Orbison said:
“Damn it!”
“Bloody hell!”
“Crap!”
“Cursie!”
They were now face to face with Bob Dylan. “Wowwwwwieeeeeeee!” he said. “George Harrison! Roy Orbison! Tom Pettyyyyyy, and…help me out, man…”
“Jeff Lynne, from Electric Light Orchestra.”
“I love you guys!,” said Bob Dylan, pausing to speak Human. “‘Evil Woman’! ‘Livin’ Thing’! ‘Mr. Blue Sky!’”
Lynne paused. “I think we sing those?”
“So,” asked Bob Dylan,“what are you four doin’ on this fine dayyyyyyyy??”
“We’re starting a super group!” said Tom Petty, immediately hating himself again. “Of all days to wear a ‘Smart Blonde’ t-shirt,” he mused.
“Yyyyyeah,” said George. We’re actually just on our way over to—”
“Jumpin’ jellybeans, I’ll do it!” said Bob Dylan. And that’s how the Traveling Wilburys formed.
They went on to record a string of hits, best described as a mix of rock, country, and four guys singing karaoke with Roy Orbison. But it was after his final recording session when Orbison packed his bags. “Heyyyyyy, Mr. Sunglassyyyyy? Where you going?” asked Bob Dylan.
Orbison paused, then dramatically bellowed, 🎵“I’m ‘DYYYyyyYYYyyyING’…to a-VOID you!”🎵 Removing his sunglasses once and for all, Orbison said, “Make all royalties out to my new name – John Stamos.” Then, John Elvis Stamos, née Roy Costello Orbison, put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, winked and said: “From now on? It’s have mercy.” Then added, “Off to stalk Dennis Wilson! – I mean, ‘Alf’!”
