And then there was another side, and another side, and another side — until finally there was no Bob Dylan at all . . . just the work.

Dylan’s career as an artist has veered between the swagger of hipster genius and the humility of a prophetic calling. Time has transformed the hipster genius into self-deprecating wit and the prophetic calling into majestic art.

Looking back, it’s inspiring to retrace his journey, knowing that it will lead only to an epic spiritual triumph.

Nothing takes me back to the Fall of 1963 like this album. I was 13 at the time. Most of my friends thought this record was cool. At the very least it was a cultural artifact that you had to deal with in some way, if only to reject it as too weird.  It was certainly weird, whatever else you might have thought about it.

Is there anything in our popular culture now that’s capable of challenging 13 year-olds in the same way?

. . . with LPs, 1979.

Via Bryan Castañeda.

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. . . with Frankie Laine.

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Via Decaying Hollywood Mansions.

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Come on, let me show you where it’s at . . .

“Look out, daddy, don’t want you to tear your pants — you can get wrecked in this dance.”

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