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It seemed as though every album — from every artist — was a major creative leap further. In 1965 Bob Dylan released Bringing It All Back Home. He was on the cover with an unnamed woman in a red dress; he was holding a cat and looking like the head of SPECTRE in a James Bond movie. When I got the record home, I ripped the shrink wrap off and put the needle in the groove. Right away it was obvious that something very bizarre was up: drums, electric guitar, and Dylan singing, the words speeding out of his mouth, cascading: “Johnny’s-in-the-basement-mixing-up-the-medicine / I’m-on-the-pavement-thinking-about-the-government/Man-in-a-trenchcoat-badge-out-laid-off / Say-she’s-got-a-bad-cough-wants-to-get-paid-off / Look-out-kids-it’s-something-you-did / God-knows-when-but-you’re doing-it-again / You’d-better-duck-down-the-alleyway-looking-for-a-new-friend/Man-in-a-coonskin-cap-and-a-pig-pen-wantseleven-dollar-bills/You-only-got-ten.”
The words pile on top of each other, speeding, surreal. Where was all this coming from? Did it matter? (From ETHAN RUSSELL:AN AMERICAN STORY )
Bob Dylan
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