All the Tired Horses in the Sun

Today is the first day in seven weeks that our house is entirely without guests. For as much as I'd like to blame them for my recent inefficiency and fatigue, I couldn't do it with a clear conscience. The most that any of them asked of us was to see Ivan and Veronika and help take care of them, and that kind of visitor isn't too difficult to tolerate. Nonetheless I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do, having spent much of the last month celebrating and relaxing. I doubt that I'll get to most of it, but I'll be darned if I'm going to let the inspiration pass me by. Some Dylan, then:

John Wesley Harding — I was prepared for this album to be quite bleak—given the motorcycle accident, seclusion and all—but despite all the contemplation of society's outcasts and Old Testament references, the sparse sound and lyrics felt urgent and strong to me. The first side has most of my favorites ("I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine" and "The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest" especially), but then instead of ending the album on the somber note it had carried throughout, he lets the sun break through the clouds for the last two tracks. It must have been difficult to wait two years for Nashville Skyline to be released after having a taste of what was to come with "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight". When I heard that steel guitar come in, I knew that there was something right about the combination of Bob Dylan and country. Speaking of which...

Nashville Skyline — I have only two problems with this album: 1) the length (27:13? Really?), and 2) the replacement of the substantial Dylan lyrics that I had grown accustomed to with more disposable "country" lyrics. Add ten minutes to this album and give me a little more to chew on and you would have a hard time prying this out of my rotation. I love the Dylan country sound. It just makes me happy and I can't say exactly why (I suspect it has something to do with all the infectious blues he sneaks in there). I was ready to buy some boots and drive to Nashville (ask Dinka, it's true, sadly) but then Ivan was born and I became permanently distracted from that goal.

Self Portrait — I normally avoid reading anything about these albums before I listen to them to avoid interfering with my experience of them, but with this one I broke down. I had heard so many bad (and weird) things about it that I wanted to find out a little more before putting any money down. I allowed myself the Wikipedia entry, which mentions two popular theories about this album: 1) it was a genuine attempt at exploring Dylan's musical influences; 2) it was an intentionally poor effort designed to destroy people's expectations of him. After listening to the album, I have no doubt that it was purposely unconventional in form but there's too much good stuff on there for me to believe that it wasn't genuine. However I cannot deny the extensive problems: unfortunate choices for cover songs ("Blue Moon"), poor recording quality ("Belle Isle"), uncomfortably off-key vocals, etc. Listening to this album was like having Bob Dylan's brain on shuffle—everything he's ever listened to is in there, all jumbled up, sometimes poorly remembered and replayed through his voice, for better or worse. I'm ready to move on.