Dear Loopers,
I’m entering my Bob Dylan era.
The era first showed signs of appearing about two years ago, but now it is here and staying indefinitely.
This is not a drill. If you don’t like it, run the other way. (But first, check out my 2023 Spotify playlist.)
My Bob Dylan era officially began last week, when I and a handful of other suckers were browsing records on a Friday at noon. The store clerks were playing what I later learned was Time Out of Mind — I’m assuming because the Bootleg Series volume for the album had just come out.
At first I was repulsed. Dylan’s out-of-pitch rasp sounded like Moe from The Simpsons doing sad karaoke at a piano bar. But the album lingered in my mind, especially the ballad “Make You Feel My Love.” I had no idea he had written it.
This was his middle-aged-crisis album, written after Jerry Garcia’s death and finished just before he was infected with a life-threatening fungus. It won three Grammys and brought Bob Dylan back into the spotlight. (I read the Bootleg Series volume was re-mixed to remove some of the studio effects Dylan himself criticized. Good for him.)
The more I learned about Dark Dylan, the more I was drawn in. His verses from Time Out of Mind on lost love, lonely roads and eventual darkness showed a man writing through it, searching for comfort in the end. In 2020’s Rough and Rowdy Ways, he played historian, bringing figures back to life and making sure they weren’t forgotten. He made a convincing argument that the assassination of JFK was the most pivotal moment in American history. It read like his final body of work.
More vividly, the sound of both albums brought to mind a group of musicians in purgatory, their music emitting a faint glow as they awaited what happened next. Time Out of Mind was mixed with that in mind, but I prefer Rough and Rowdy Ways’ more mournful, intimate sound. The band is playing to an audience of no one, and Dylan is their fateful leader:
The first time I heard Rough and Rowdy Ways, I was driving between New Mexico and Arizona in total darkness. It was the last leg of a trip I had begun two days earlier, a terrified cat and a dead house plant in tow. I had been driving for 12 hours straight. All I wanted to do was get home.
I reached Deming, NM and turned west on Interstate 10, a narrow strip of asphalt surrounded by nothing. Giant semis blasted in the opposite direction, their headlights blinding mine and making me fear for my life. With my truck and body both at the brink of exhaustion, I thought Dylan could help light the way.
And he did. His voice was patient and comforting, his words powerful enough to bring the dead back to life. He was also surrounded by darkness, but he was not afraid. He reminded me that, whether good or bad, every road has to have an ending.
Until next time,
Miguel
P.S. My Bob Dylan era may or may not interfere with my friendships and my relationship. I’ll do my best to read the room.
P.P.S. I recently quit my job and will be pursuing a career in music + arts writing. I am excited, I am nervous and I am curious about what lies ahead. Stay tuned!