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- Last Thoughts on Bob Dylan... -

To each his own, it’s all unknown…

by Bob Fletcher

 

Here are some things I didn’t know. Spike Lee’s father played bass on the Bringing It All Back Home sessions; I needn’t have felt humiliated when, during 1990, I suggested that Subterranean Homesick Blues should be seen as a legitimate precursor of current musical trends (writing in a recent edition of Mojo, Ben Edmonds suggests that it wasn’t “simply inspired by Chuck Berry’s ‘Too Much Monkey Business’ but a true inheritor of its tradition, another link in the linguistic chain that would lead to rap”); the list of singer/songwriters hailed as the ‘new Dylan’ has surpassed 673 (the publicity for Willy Mason’s ‘Where Humans Eat’, who in case you weren’t aware has replaced Conor Oberst this month, who in turn replaced Rufus Wainwright last month) states that Mason “straddles the divide between young and old, urban and country, acoustic and electric in a way that hasn’t been done since a young Bob Dylan arrived in New York”. Marcus Leroux, writing in the Observer, evens manages to include ‘the voice of a generation’ in his review); a Union Jack is only a Union Jack when flying from a ship. When not, it is a Union Flag. 

Here are some things I did know. The strain of work related projects (placement reports, audits, end of year summaries) would inevitably compete with my monthly Freewheelin contribution, as would life itself; Bob Dylan would remain resolutely unconcerned; I would eventually run out of things to say. 

Which I have. 

And, as Dylan once said, ‘You say it best when you say nothing at all’. Or maybe it was Ronan Keating. 

As ever, go in peace

 
 
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