In Defense of Bob Dylan

Music is, by very definition as an art, subjective. Yet, most people can identify at least some of the reasons they like a particular song or musician. Further, it seems possible to identify some of the general characteristics that make songs great, but there again, there will be differences of opinions. I think, though, these differences can be generalized into several different camps based on opinions about what the definition of “good music” is.

The Varieties of Musical Experiences
1. There are those who define musical goodness purely in terms of technical perfection. To these people, music is only music when it is executed with polish, clarity, and pitch-perfect sound, otherwise it is simply noise.
2. To others, music is only good in relation to its context. These are the people who need the “perfect” song for the moment, for the mood, for the zeitgeist. The people whose favorite song is only their favorite because hearing it reminds them of a certain time, and that song encapsulates their experience. For these people, only a song’s context can determine its goodness.
3. To some, music must be a human enterprise, and appeal to human emotions and instincts. These people feel that sometimes music is “fake” because it relies too much on instruments and machines and computers, and not enough of real, living-breathing human beings. They tend to want music raw, uninterpreted, and unproduced.

These are broad categories, and most people fall somewhere in the borderlands between these. As for me, I am mainly a #3 man. Yes, I appreciate to a degree category #1. There is no musical experience like hearing the Chaconne of Bach’s Solo violin partita No. 2 flawlessly executed by a virtuoso performer. Unfortunately, there are extremely few musicians who can actually manage perfection sometimes, and no body can manage it all the time. Why then, you ask, is there so much “flawless” music out there? It is because it is the product of computers, sound boards, and an army of talented producers who take the musicians less-than-perfect output and polishes it until it loses its soul. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. The vast majority of big name pop stars would be flipping burgers today if it were not for slick producers and their incredible technology. I’ve seen the recording process. A talented producer can take three, disjointed bars played on an out-of-tune guitar, an off-key singer, and a drum machine and make into a billboard top-40 love ballad. Many people either do not know or care about where the song came from so this does not bother them.
But I’m a #3 man. I want to connect to a song. I want the song to wrench me; I want it to make me nostalgic for things I’ve never even experienced. And that’s the crux of the matter. The songs that tend to grab my emotional and spiritual attention are those that are guttural, fierce, raw, and brutal. I want music so deeply felt, so primal that you see a musician grow older and wither as he plays it on the stage. Yet, somehow, and this is paradox that I think may be at the core of all beauty, the music must also manage to be lyrical, idyllic.
Thematically speaking, I want to hear music about wandering, about uncertainty and hope (there’s that fundamental paradox, again). I want outlaw music. I want to hear music about trains, and traveling, about heartache, about times gone by. This is because, whether it is a figment of my imagination or not, these things seem more real to me. That is why I love Bob Dylan, though his voice be ragged. Though he never sings a song the same way twice, though his diction is difficult and he unpredictable so as to be a duetist’s nightmare: he is nothing if not real. He is Leadbelly, Robert Johnson, the Blind Reverend Gary Davis, Mississippi John Hurt. He is the drunkard, the saint, the troubled artist, the quintessential vagabond; riding boxcars, drinking sterno, saying things only prophets say, and caring not for the world; always shifting, changing, reinventing, yet transcendent; possibly the most paradoxical public figure to ever live. That is Bob Dylan.

And so, I propose a musical education a la youtube. Open your mind to the genius that is Bob.

Here's a one of his most famous songs, as he performed it for Pope John Paul II in 1997. By the way, what other musician, besides Bono, do you know who got invited to play for the Pope?



I just hope good old JP 2 didn't think Bob was accusing him of knocking on heaven's door.

Many complain about Bob's voice. They wander if he just smoked too many Camels. Here's a clip of Bob doing something a little different with his voice, and singing a duet with Johnny Cash. Pure vocal poetry; but he does have demon eyes.



Here is Bob performing with Paul Simon (another one of the world's greatest musicians). Watch it at least until the harmonica solo, for it may be the greatest harmonica that has ever been laid down.



As just illustrated in the last video, not only can Bob sing, write songs, and play the harmonica, but he can also dance. Here's another Johnny Cash song where Bob lays down some moves. What a great train song!!



Believe it or not, the most controversial thing about Bob's career was when he reinvented himself in the later part of the 60s, he went from singing acoustic folk songs to mainly electric guitar songs. However, the transendent quality, the guenuine, raw emotion of his music carried over. Let me illustrate with two versions of the same song. The first from the 60s (pre-electric, but the video is a corny photo-montage), the second from a recent (200) concert.



Ok, that was really good. But give this a chance.



Finally, two versions of what could be my favorite song (though its so hard to pick). One is with Eric Clapton (the Titans of Rock together on one stage!), the other is during the early 90s during Bob's "fat" stage. He is clearly drunk, he tells a ridiculous story in the beginning, his guitar playing is off, and yet, yet, he is real. So real. What can I say?





And, if you're still not convinced, well, don't think twice. It's alright.