Article updated July 2, 2020 by Dave Read
Whithin two years of arriving in New York, Bob Dylan was making works of aural impressionism, for which there was no market. By the time money caught up with aural impressionism, it was long gone, like a turkey through the corn, ready to rock out loud, fucking loud.
These songs are so complete, so whole, they leave nothing out nor bear any dross, I remain stunned that the general public and their chief taste-makers kept dunning Dylan for moving along, for growing. Why would he loiter after completion of a project?