I have been on an unstoppable Dylan kick lately. It started when I saw I'm Not There around Christmas, then Don't Look Back on a library loan about a month later. Events in my life lately have lent themselves to repeated listenings of "Blood on the Tracks," a purely phenomenal recording, and from that I was inspired to track my way through the back catalogue, which I know mostly through the lens of classic-rock radio and college parties.
"Freewheelin'" is a revelation. What a cool, timeless album. "Blonde on Blonde," the next one I approached, hasn't aged so well. I was surprised. It's so venerated. But it sounds a lot like a product of its times, and I don't mean that in a good way.
"Stuck Inside of Memphis," though, has a fresh sound — you can just about feel your hair being blown back, riding in the convertible, cantcha? — but my lord, it refuses to die. I felt sorry for the lead guitarist — one runs out of licks, you know? Dylan might have been the poet of his generation, but I think the poet could have used an editor sometimes. I think it hit me during the 37th verse. "Can this really be the end?" indeed...
For another taste of an act overstaying its welcome — and the humor is intentional this time, methinks — check out the Richman track. Three minutes of song, five minutes of curtain-call. For all I know, they are playing it still.
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--> Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again, Bob Dylan
--> Ice-Cream Man (live), Jonathan Richman
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