Second Open Listening

On this second listening, the lyrics are burned into the forefront of the composition even more strongly than they were before.  A friend of mine once said to me that Bob Dylan's lyrics aren't anything when you read them, that they gain power when they're sung.  Dylan's voice, though raspy, and nasally, and unappetizing for most of the world, is completely and utterly perfect to channel his compositions.  His is the voice of his soul, and he gives so much power to his words, and has so much ambition in his inflections and delivery that his songs jump and flame and lick the ears of the listener.  Dylan is not a songwriter, he is an actor, he could be anybody and everybody at any time.

I feel even more strongly on the second listening that this is not a song of the 1960s and does not belong in the same realm as woodstock era pop, this was intentionally created as an all-encompassing statement about life and the pursuit of the intangible what-could-be.  The more I listen to it, the more it becomes more than a song, more than the guitars and the voice panned center, it is a man crying out like we have all cried out, and singing like we have wanted to sing.   Dylan is not the voice of a generation, Dylan is specifically and intentionally trying to be the voice of all generations, and like many great writers and poets before him he gets close to this wild insane ambition because believes that he is talented enough to do it.  That's what gives him his power; he is completely positive that he is the greatest songwriter of all time, so much so that he convinces everyone else who listens long enough to be swayed.