Here’s to memories, to constancy, and to humour: The Church of Bob This is the story: Ten years ago, I was sitting on the lawn outside the library with a beer and my good friend and fine Dylan interpreter Lars. Somehow, the similarities between Bob and Jesus came up: Carpenter/Zimmerman Jews from the north going […]
These are the words of Thomas Blachman, the guy who has divided more water in Denmark than anyone since Moses (not that Moses was active in Denmark, but you know what I mean), the judge in Danish X Factor who according to some is a sadist who takes delight in sending aspiring stars home to […]
Scott Warmuth, who first discovered Dylan’s extensive borrowing from Henry Timrod for the lyrics to Modern Times and went on to dig deeper into the Ovidian connection, presents more findings in his blog. Well worth a visit! The third season of Dylan’s Theme Time Radio Hour is well underway, and it’s as good as it […]
Two things in particular make Tell Tale Signs a god-send for the Dylan analyst. One is that it shows how tightly interconnected Dylan’s last three albums are, not only musically but also lyrically: text fragments and themes float between them as if they were part of the same triple album. The other is that it […]
I admit it: the chords part of dylanchords may be in a decent state (apart from the use of frames, which is sooo last century), but the articles are a mess. There’s the collected pdf volume, the selected links on the Self-ordained Professors page, the blog posts here, and the introductions to some of the […]
I wish I could write as quickly as I think. I wish I could think as quickly as you read. I wish you would read as slowly as I write.
Just to say: this is a tremendous piece of work! And: I don’t mind Dylan leaving gems off the official albums, as long as he puts them out like this instead. And: in a way, it’s even better like this. Hearing facets of the work of a creative mind over a limited period of time […]
“While I was sitting there, drink in hand, separated from the plebs by a heavy curtain, and with servile maidens swirling around me at my slightest wink, every nerve in my body politic was screaming: ‘It wasn’t my fault! It’s a mistake! I’m not like this!’ But what could I do…?”