September 22, 2021

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Bob Dylan’s ‘Roof and Rowdy Ways’: Album Review – Variety

6 min read

It is not like that If the man who wrote “Subterranean Homesick Blues” ever hurts verbally. But you have to take a look at the recent hip-hop deluxe versions that are flooding the market to find something to get Vercian for free with Bob Dylan’s new “Rough and Rowdy Ways”. May be the track list for his 39th studio album Appearance Only 10 songs are economical, but focusing on the warmup tracks he released before you collected, you know how deceptive the look is. Meanwhile the legend “Murder Most Foul” lasts 17 minutes, and a much shorter number like “False Prophet” crushes 10 verses in 6 minutes. So any fan frustrated that Dylan hasn’t released an original content album from 2012’s “Tempest” can rest assured: Now that the most famous lyricist in rock history is back, he’s creating a lost rhyme.

That said, in Dylan’s case, these thousands of words are no guarantee of self-disclosure or true confession, although these things must be there, clearly hidden. Satisfactory “Roof and Rowdy Way” (named after an old Jimmy Rogers perennialist) For the most part, Dylan is in the same prosperous lyrical mode of 2001’s “Since Love and Stolen” that he probably thought he had decided. That would be the best environment in the twenty-first century by somehow juke-joint-destructive disorder. Now, as that pioneering work, it makes for songs that can be as wonderful as thrilling. This is the key to being 79 and achieving new levels of eloquence Impressive composition Elusive – His mystery revolves around the train station.

Both the album and his 0-year career are effectively short-titled, with the title, “I Multiply”. , Constantly self-contradictory. Is he a lover or a warrior? Man of peace or angel of death? All of the above – in a single verse, sometimes – but in the humble moments is a complex, somewhat scary, often hilarious bra assertion that really competes with our best rap. (Or at least in his prime gunman Bo Diddley.) “I won’t say anything like a ghostly look,” he sang jokingly about the “fake prophet,” “I’m here to avenge someone. Lead.”

It metaphorically became more violent from there. “Don’t hug me, don’t flatter me, don’t seduce me / I’ll throw your arm with the sword in hand,” he warned the man with the “Black Rider” descriptive title, not his changed ego. At “Rubicon Crossing”: “I can feel the bones under my skin and they are shaking with rage / I will widow your wife / You will never see the old age home.” But later in the same song he was delighted enough to see “the light that gives freedom / I believe it is within the reach of every living person” to feel the Holy Spirit. Meet the sand of every sand, “Gangsta Rap.”

The album features three hard blues stumpers in “False Prophet,” “Rubicon Crossing,” and “Farewell Jimmy Reed.” The last of these is the album’s funniest and most annoying song, as Dylan called Bluesman a god, telling the heavenly Reed: “Give me that old-fashioned religion, it’s all I need” and “Goodbye and good night – put a gem in your crown and turn on the lights.” These three numbers may be the ones you will most likely bring back for free enjoyment, if you have any friendships with that brand of playful, elementary blues. (Or about the early rock ‘n’ roll, as it has been mentioned among fans that “The Prophet” spread his feelings and some electric guitars from an obscure Sun Records B-side, but it has a very different effect to the often Bob on this album. Lets tell you first: there is nothing under the sun or later)

Yet it has little to do with the clarity of the album title or is suitable for the jukebox depicted in vintage cover photos. A light and occasional mesmerizing melody predominates over the rest of the track, which doesn’t mean that Dylan usually doesn’t have a problem with mindfulness yet.

“My own version” also has serious problems Is It’s about the grave-snatching (and the metaphors that give it) – but it tunes the blues-swinging musical instrument to create a sense of soft suspense. There’s a lot more conspiracy than the “Key West (philosophical poet)” that could provide the closest analogy to Dylan’s mid-’70 work with the opening of its accordion. Between the tongue-in-cheek fire and brimstone of the previous few songs, this penultimate number has more generic qualities, although it is the only epic inclusion that serves his welcome, as Dylan stretches out to find something before finally throwing a towel at the point nine and a half minutes. Interesting to talk to.

Here’s a complete outlaw, better than “I made up my mind to give myself up”, in “Make You My Love to My Love to My Love” which was last heard as a rare callback to a simple and incredible romantic consciousness. “It’s a bit close to what Dylan has been writing as straight-up for decades, although he can’t help but mess with his relative simplicity by pushing his voice off a bit – a lot of troubdowers that will cover the tune in the years to come.” It would probably be appropriate for him to fit this building // The lyrics of that ball indicate: “I find myself going from Salt Lake City to Birmingham / East LA to San Anton / I don’t think I can live my life alone. In the rest of “Rough and Rowdy Ways” he only works as a temporary couple, is he singing with love interest? Or is the highway-routing triptych of cities really addressing someone who has never been on a never ending tour? Dylan is probably a love letter to fans. It seems like the latest artist to seduce Hokum as shameless as it is, but it’s not perfect though.

Surprisingly sweet is “Mother of the Muse”, which welcomes the spirit of creativity without any fist filters; This is almost his version of Leonard Cohen’s “Tower of Song”, with less criticism about the cost of being an artist. Released since 2012, Dylan realized those three standard albums didn’t just mark the moment when he was waiting for some music to return: they really taught him Sing Again, the sport complements the boxcar with renewable tenderness that never leaves him. For most of the 2000s, there was no reason to fear the reprinting of his work, especially his croaking voice. The rasa of that level appears occasionally but more as its only group for comic or strong effects. As an old man, Dylan’s voice has not given this joy to the ears since the 1980s.

You can write a completely different review of the final issue (the first song released before the album), write “Murder Most Foul”, and Dylan released an epic of American despair that Dylan actually split himself around as part 4 of the LP version of the CD set or disc 2 . As a conspiratorially thought-provoking journey through every misleading account of JFK’s murder, but a lyrical passage referring to half the pop culture and hip culture of the last six decades, the reason for inventing a website like “Murder Most Foul” genius is the clickable clarity and multiple definitions of each phrase. Packed in a mundane line to it is a song that is itself multifaceted in the multiplicity.

In a musical composition, Dylan spreads the feeling of a vast and lifelong exploration, discovered not only by Kennedy and his assassins, but also by King James and Etta James, Beethoven and Warren Jevon, and to his last line. Two favorite sources are Shakespeare and the Gospel. In the end, you can almost imagine Dylan coming to the fore, against all odds: as our biggest point connector.

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