I gave a bit of a nod here to Dylan's Rough and Rowdy Ways a week or so ago, partly as a way of psyching myself to try and communicate at some point what an overwhelming experience the album has proved to be for me. When Murder Most Foul, I Contain Multitudes and False Prophet appeared out of nowhere during lockdown I was, like the rest of Dylandom, stunned by the quality and variety of what the great man was putting out. I held back from listening to the other songs from the album that became available on-line once the whole set had been released, deciding I'd wait for the physical CDs for almost superstitious reasons. I had the oddest feeling that I was going to listen to a stone cold, bone fide, top level Dylan album - in every way equal to Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde on Blonde, Blood on the Tracks, Desire - the pinnacle stuff. (Just as a matter of interest, I'm very close to including 'Love and Theft' and Tempest in that list, and am now convinced that Dylan's 'final period' equals the 60s.)
That feeling about Rowdy Ways turned out to be eerily prophetic. I know I'm a hopeless fanboy, but the extraordinary consistency of the 2 CD set has convinced me. Talk about no filler!
Which leaves me with the problem of having so much to say that I can't say enough, and feeling guilty at not being able to do justice to the gift of these songs. I can't solve this problem, so I'll sidestep it by saying just a little now, and hoping more will emerge later. And the little I'll say is this: the time he spent recording all those Sinatra classics, the great American songbook albums, apart from providing some wonderful listening, has done something to Dylan's voice. It's got warmer, more tuneful, more ready to seek out and enjoy melody. He's never sounded so utterly relaxed, so mellow; so when he hits you with the Apocalypse it's a double-whammy.
Enough for now.
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