The sense that the album is really one long song is an essential part of its appeal to me. In this time of quarantine, days blend one into the next.
I could care less what anybody, myself included, thinks are the best 10 Rolling Stones songs, Emily Dickinson poems, or Philip Roth novels.
When “Time Out Of Mind” came out, for the very first time I heard Bob Dylan with my own soul.
After three straight studio records where he’d sounded distracted or disinterested, he emerged from the fog with a renewed sense of focus and purpose.
“These songs — harsh yet brooding; serious yet funny — were miles away from the haunted nostalgia of Dylan’s most-recent collections of folk songs.”
I went back and listened to all 17 studio albums Dylan has released since “Blood on the Tracks.” It was not an unpleasant way to spend a few days.
Dylan’s “Good As I Been to You” was dumb and callow. But “World Gone Wrong,” another album of covers, cut to the bone.
“My interest in Dylan has been big and bright and transformative. But that genuine interest also brought complicity with men.”
The Dylan oeuvre is not a collection of albums; it’s an ongoing expression of our collective unconscious.
The narrator is no longer Robert Zimmerman of Malibu, California, but some kind of timeless, archetypal blues man, headed for another joint.