Bob Dylan.

As you may have noticed, the title of this blog is taken from a Dylan song, "Mr. Tambourine Man." Why? Well, because, it is perhaps one of the only songs that can make me tear up. Not The Byrds version. Let's speak frankly here, The Byrds, when they are singing Dylan, are - just like Donnie - out of their fucking element. Granted, their "You Ain't Going Nowhere" and "Nothing Was Delivered" off of _Sweetheart of the Rodeo_ are adequate, but it's just not the same. While they might have been and are important to the country-rock scene, they aren't Dylan.

How do you understand someone like Dylan? Something like Dylan? And don't give me that, "He/it is not able to be understood," shit. Unless I'm horribly mistaken, I get Dylan, but I don't know as if I understand him. And I'm not even talking about the man, the person. I don't necessarily need to understand the man, but to understand the work! I've no problem with being a New Critic. Let me understand the work without the man.

Would I have booed at Newport when he went electric? Would have you? This seems like a trite question, but it's one that could keep me up at night. Because it's obviously not just about a performer, but about a social movement, about needed change, about visions practical and hopeless, about mob mentality, about being made into something you aren't, about the public eye.

For many of you this is certainly not new ground I'm treading, but old dirt, musty and crumbled.

I've made a resolution to get the Dylan albums I don't have. Granted, it's not like I'm new at this, I think I have around 16. But I think now I need them all. I'm going to buy one a month until this goal is achieved - starting tomorrow. Even the bad ones. Even _Self-Portrait_ and _Empire Burlesque_ and _Saved!_. (But not the compilations and 3 "Greatest Hits" albums. Let's be realistic.) How I restrain myself from throwing away all my other cds is a mystery to me.

If there is one thing I've learned, people, it's that you don't fuck with genius.