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.
In these songs, be alert to the strength and eloquence of unusually long lines of lyric, delivered with combinations of rhythm and rhyme, underscored by colorful guitar notes, sparse sonic treats that keep the lyric loping along to their conclusions: