A lover of words, I almost can’t help being a Bob Dylan devotee. I’ve never dissected his works or participated in a group discussion on the merits of Blood on the Tracks. It’s simply that his songs, some of them, have spoken to me. Plus that, it’s got a good beat and you can dance to it (gratuitous American Bandstand reference.)
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there’s nothing, really nothing to turn off
Bob Dylan (Visions of Johanna — 1966 Blonde on Blonde)
I’ve been lucky enough to see him in person twice. One time was great, and once was not so great, but the less-than-stellar didn’t diminish my devotion. On the contrary, it actually fortified Mr. Dylan’s position among my faves.
Maybe it was an off night, or he was sick, or whatever. None of that mattered to me, the customer. He showed me the truth, the snarling, barely legible, jingle-jangle truth. He showed up, plugged in, presented the product line (personal appearance / songs new and old), and presumably did his best. I’d already purchased the product (ticket), so somewhere down the road he’d done his job and got me to buy, and that was the truth. What I did with it was up to me.
Once in a while you get…
