Bob. Bobby Dylan. What am I gonna do with you.
I bought the myths from day one. Newport changed the world, etc. It's the kinda thing you're supposed to outgrow at some point. Right? I always thought so.
I'll never forget seeing you live. In the flesh, in person, the real deal, and so forth. Only you were terrible. Really, really terrible. Strings of mumbled lines, until I finally was able to make out the word "it ain't me babe" and finally realized what I was listening to. My hopes were low to begin with, but man. I wasn't ready for that.
It's funny to think about, really. Out of all the 60s rock stars, out of all the gods among men that could've ended up touring into their 70s, it's still hard to believe that Dylan was the one to take on that sad role. He still churns out okay albums that are hailed as masterpieces. He's even on a Never Ending Tour. You couldn't have made this stuff up.
That's all a sad reality I don't like to think about. I don't like to think that I've seen Bob Dylan live. It's more like I saw a walking talking museum exhibit on Bob Dylan. The albums and the concerts I have from forty years ago sound more real and true than what I saw that day with my very own eyes.
It's easy to dismiss in theory. But listening to him for the millionth time, it's still impossible not to get caught up.
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