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Mr. Jones is a a sequel to another song by a different artist: Bob Dylan's Ballad of a Thin Man, from Dylan's 1965 album Highway 61 Revisited. Mr. Jones does not make a great deal of sense unless viewed through the lens of Dylan's earlier song.
In Dylan's song the thin Mr. Jones walks into a room "with your pencil in your hand," and proceeds to unleash such a torrent of phallic images that it is quite strange that in the song's individual Wiki entry the possibility that Jones is, like, GAY is mentioned last after a bunch of silly name-dropping theories. I mean, really...
Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
Here's your throat back, thanks for the loan
Give me some milk or else go home
Yes, that's totally about a journalist. No, Mr. Jones is obviously a closeted gay guy who is coming to terms with his gayness in one of those sleazy dives where gay guys get it on.
About 20 years later, David Byrne updates Mr. Jones' story:
Mr. Jones
Put a wiggle in your stride
Loosen up
I believe he'll be alright
Changing clothes
Now he's got ventilated slacks
You really need those ventilated slacks to hold your pencil in your hand. But the gayness is only getting rolling...
Aces high
Now his pants are falling down
Sales men
Conventioneers
Some rock stars
With tambourines
Short skirts
And skinny legs
Selling bibles
And real estate
The stereotypes just keep rolling in.
It's a big day for Mr. Jones
He is not so square
Mr. Jones will stick around
He's everybody's friend
Remember how in Thin Man there was something going on that Jones don't quite understand? WELL HE GOT IT, AMIRITE?
The Jones Gang
Down at the bar
Watch out, this time
They've gone too far
They call for Mr. Jones
They put him in charge
Mr. Jones will help us out
He's a lucky guy
After twenty years Jones has decloseted himself, participates enthusiastically in the gay rights movement, and has attained some position of leadership either in political office or one of the prominent gay rights organizations.
So Mr. Jones is a positive and life-affirming testament that even if you start out slinking around sleazy gay dive bars, you can proceed to become a popular well-connected gay guy who gets laid all the time, drives sports cars, and (this isn't the song, but it's between the lines) probably drinks Jack Daniels with Red Bull while snorting amyl.
That's my interpretation at least, and I'm sticking to it.
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