There’s a DJ at KBCS who doesn’t much care for Bob Dylan. In order to keep his secret safe and save him the barrage of inevitable phone calls on a weekday not Monday through Thursday I’ll refer to him only as S. Donovan, er well, that seems too obvious so maybe Sean D.
Bob, like Jerry Garcia once said of the Grateful Dead, is like licorice. You either like him or you don’t. I used to like him passionately until my eyes starting bleeding a couple of weeks ago from reading too many Bob-is-turning-70 blogs. Now simply seeing something with Bob in the title (or worse, Zimmerman) makes my head hurt. They have made me question not only his stature as an artist, but even the artistic merit of blogging. It’s true. Which brings me back to Sean D.
Now suppose Dylan wasn’t Dylan and instead worked a cover band on neon lit Thursday nights at the Dew Drop Inn where women wearing too much rouge and men who drank a little too much booze held each other tight. A short twenty minute set might sound something like this:
Perhaps if he had the guts to turn away from his sheer talent he could have done something like this and maybe have even liked it.