k-punk
Spectres of Mark
I just watched the second half of Scorsese's Dylan documentary. Predictably, I found myself admiring Dylan only for the way he dealt with imbecilic journalists and the organo-folk nazis; I remain mystified about the appeal of his words and music. Admittedly I am the most prejudiced possible observer --- but I found it surprisingly easy to maintain a position of total hostility towards Dylan's oeuvre. Prejudice has been stoked up by Baby Boomer fucks like Bryan Appleyard (in the Sunday Times) drooling that Dylan is just about the greatest poet ever to walk the earth (with Oxford academic Christopher Ricks quoted as saying 'aren't we privileged to be living at the same time as Bob Dylan' for Chrissake). It's not only that I personally don't share the judgement (there are many esteemed artists I dislike but at least have some comprehension of their appeal to others); it's that I don't on any level understand it. What is supposed to be groundbreaking or interesting about Dylan's tuneless voice, frankly hideous harmonica dirges and pisspoor lyrics, which alternate between stoner doggerel and the stupefyingly inane (Bad Things are like gonna happen; hey, old folks, society's moving on y'know)? Dylan summarises everything that I so despise about the Sixties (bliss was it in that dawn NOT to be alive), it all just seems so ramshackle, so earthy, so earnest, so hairy, so unglamorous, so monochrome, so OLD...