Robert Allen Zimmerman

[Papovac]

pi, niko da stavi

[Indy]

Ja još to nisam ni gledao, nešto sav krindžujem™ dok samo čitam o tome... Ne mogu, trenutno.

[roksi]

[roksi]

[Peter Fan]

Gledam "Country Music" (Ken Burns) I Bobova veza sa country muzikom je dosta pokrivena:

 

 

Dva puta editujem: prvi put jer sam nasao bolju verziju koja objasnjava pozadinu cijele stvari, a drugi put da dodam da mi je najvece oktrovenje dokumentarca Marty Stuart. Koji car! Ko je dokon nek preslusa podcast sa Terry Gross (Fresh Air, NPR).

Edited September 28, 2019 by Peter Fan
2

[Indy]

Novo (dosad unreleased)

 

 

[Sludge Factory]

 

 

Quote

 

Published on May 7, 2020

Pre-order Bob Dylan’s new album ‘Rough And Rowdy Ways’ coming June 19th now

 

 

[Minimoog]

Kad slusam Dilana kontam da je trik u recima. To je naravno klise. Ali sta to znaci? 

 

Poezija je zapravo ono u cemu pop muzika prednjaci u odnosu na druge muzicke forme. Cak ni najbolji dzez, ni najsofisticiranija klasicna muzika  nemaju nista sto bi moglo da pridje stihovima koje su pisali Koen, Dilan, Eliot Smit, Nas, Kris Kristoferson, ili Elvis Kostelo, ili Nick Cave, Peti Smit.

 

Trik je u poeziji.

Edited May 10, 2020 by Minimoog

[Indy]

To su samo moderni primeri, pisala se poezija na muziku i ranije (džez pesme, libretto za opere...) "Džez" su nekad (u USA) u stvari upravo bile pop pesme (afroamerikanaca i Jevreja - upravo direktne preteče ovih što nabrajaš). Dylanov "Triplicate" su baš te "džez pesme" od pre 100-tinak godina. (Nisam to ni slušao, iskren da budem.)

[Indy]

 

 

 

 

U NYT ima osvrt na novi album (Critic's Pick), kao i retki intervju od pre neki dan...

[Minimoog]

Odlican album. Ima prizvuk ranih dana, cuju se i Band i Nesvil, cak pomalo Nina Rote i Morikonea, cikaski bluz i kantri valceri. Sjajan album.

Edited June 22, 2020 by Minimoog

[Anonymous]

Meni je tu najjača Murder Most Foul, a to smo već imali prilike da čujemo. Ne delim oduševljenje kritike, mada shvatam da smo tanki sa dobrim albumima.

[Indy]

Manje-više +1

[ultra plasticni]

Album je neslušljiv i uopšte nemam nameru da zbog starih nespornih zasluga ovo nešto veličam. Prosto album nije za 2020. godinu

[Indy]

streetmouse sa rateyourmusic.com (1 zvezdica od 5)

 

Spoiler

This ain't no Blonde On Blonde ...

I realize there are many who would walk on gilded splinters at the thought of a new Bob Dylan album, I know, I used to be one of them; though not so much lately.

There are several reasons not to find this album attractive, not the least being that Dylan sounds reliant on fate these days, as if he’s not in control of his destiny, as if he’s lost touch and is unable to influence all that’s happening around him, where he’s become nothing more than a distant spectator, if not a voyeur, interjecting an idea or two, remembering some lost visions from his past, sounding for all the world like my grandfather, bathing in the fortune of his own misfortune. While some would claim that Rough and Rowdy Ways is immersive, I found it nothing short of strange, filled with pessimistic overviews that come across as a series of dozing hallucinatory fever dreams sung like a lounge lizard in stoned out monotones.  

There are those who are gonna insist that Dylan is taking us on a journey to places we know intimately well, yet lacing them with the notion that all we know, love and aspired to is nothing more than a haunted house of misguidance filled with cliches, moaning, slurring and systemic silly syllables.  The album is nothing short of an out of focus existential comedy as his Bob-ness rummages though his past while never embracing his future or the present … and yes, god is still in the picture for the man, though god seems to have severely let him down, refusing to show him an actual light, though Dylan does manage to hold up and note a number of false prophets, gangsters and thieves.

These are not world saving songs, nor are they emancipations to bolster upturned faces, these are songs of reflection, though not in the obvious sense, where Dylan suggests that whenever he holds his mirror up to the failing thing called America, he has to see himself as well, which sparks an ancient line from an ancient album, where he goes on to say “Fearing not that I’d become my enemy in the instant that I preach,” though don’t expect to ebb out any true confessions.  This is Dylan taking the long view, not forward, but back, coming across as biographical theology from the times in which he lived, though that said, it leaves me with an uncomfortable conspiratorial portrait, as if Dylan’s lived through so much, been part of so much, and is still amazed that his sins have not cost him dearly.

Like many of Dylan’s albums from the last twenty years, they all have their moments, some better than others, though aside from here, they were all, if not forgettable, fun to listen to.  Perhaps as Neil Young once said, which applies to Neil as well, it might be far better to burn out than to turn to rust, which is just what Dylan’s done here as he blows the dust off the jacket cover of his book, tucks it in the bottom drawer, locks his desk and tosses away the key.  Rough and Rowdy Ways is far from Dylan’s Ulysses, it’s just the weight of the modern world bearing down with confusion on his lips and tongue.

*** The Fun Facts: The photo on the cover of Bob Dylan’s Rough and Rowdy Ways was snapped more than 50 years ago by a man who is, admittedly, not all that familiar with the musician, saying, ”Like most photographers, I’m a visual guy,” said photographer Ian Berry (now 86) who lives in Salisbury, England.  Still, when he received an email asking for permission to use the image, he was flattered, saying ”I was delighted, a record cover for Dylan is a great compliment.”

The 1964 photo images a well dressed couple dancing the night away in club while an anonymous man leans over to examine a jukebox behind them. None of their faces are visible, but the image crackles with intrigue and romance.  Seems that Berry took the photo at a long defunct underground club on Cable Street in the East London town of Whitechapel when he was on assignment for the Observer, photographing images for an article about black culture in the UK, saying, ”I was working quickly, and in very poor light, shooting away with a 35 millimeter camera, I knew at some point I’d have to leave because I hadn’t asked permission to be there. I remember that the lady had a good figure, creating great juxtaposition with the jukebox.” After about 15 or 20 minutes of taking photos, the patrons in the club seemed to have had enough of the camera wielding stranger, with Ian elaborating, ”There were crates of beer bottles near the entrance and people started throwing beer bottles at me, so I left.”