Wow. I was gonna write something about how much pale, totally bald white guys freak me out, but I just watched the first half of Scorcese's Bob Dylan documentary, "No Direction Home" and I'm just feeling the love. Obviously I didn't grow up in the Sixties (unless you consider "growing up" learning to walk) and as far as my history of music listening goes, I didn't really discover Dylan until the early 90's, but when I did, he hit me hard. Listening to the likes of Allen Ginsburg, Pete Seger, Joan Baez gush about him tonight, and hearing him talk so frankly about himself was a rush. Watching his story being told by one of America's premier storytellers didn't suck either.
We all get to read about great art and great artists. Picasso, Monet, Bach, Mozart, Shakespeare, Whitman all seem so far away. What a treat to be able to listen to the man who turned pop music on it's ear tell his own story. Sure, if he didn't do it, someone else would have come along and made Rock n' Roll a fertile ground for something other than singing about lost love and partying, but it was him, and there he was tonight in a very rare, candid interview in my own living room. Thank you Bob, and Martin. I can't wait for tomorrow night, when he goes electric and really starts fucking with everyone.
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