Bet You Didn't See This Coming?

 

Trump has managed to normalize being awful to the point where the firing of the Acting Attorney General for being morally, ethically, professionally and legally correct seems exactly what we expect him to do. I'm not going to write about that. We all will for a long time. Instead, I'm going to write about a recurring theme here, a continuing disagreement between Crispin who has yet to send us all courtesy or review copies of his new book that sells for $90, and me about Bob Dylan. Crispin hates him; I think he changed my life forever that evening. Granted,those views are not mutually exclusive.

OK, I'll stipulate that I'm a Dylan Cultist and have been since someone dropped the needle on Like a Rolling Stone on WOLF in Syracuse and said, "This is great, it's long and I need to go the bathroom." (Same DJ, a guy named Dale Dorman once must have been getting laid in the studio because he said he was going and  played The Rolling Stones "Going Home" from Aftermath three times in a row...) I've wavered at times -- Planet Waves? Portrait? The Christmas Album? Who wouldn't start to have doubts? But he always has come back with a killer album or a twist to the Never Ending Tour or a great cut someplace unexpected. 

So why the late fascination with doing Sinatra covers?This Classic American Songbook schtick he's into is confusing, pointless and really not that good. After some of the great stuff on Tempest like Duqusene Whistle and Early Roman Kings it was reasonable to assume there would be more new stuff other than a three disc album of Sinatra-almost hits and B'Sides. For the record, Sinatra could have sung in Russian and had the voice and the skills to make that seem marvelous. Dylan has to have grade A material to keep people's attention. These were not the best Sinatra stuff...better than his cover of Mrs. Robinson, but still...yeesh. Who's doing Jokerman's A&R? 

 At least he isn't doing my way while dancing with a granddaughter or running for President. I guess the Talking Blues stuff done on his acoustic pre-Highway 61 album covered Hip-Hop. Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands covers techo, emo and atonal. What the hell...why not Soupy Sales? The Elvis Songbook? 

The dude is 75, will be 76 in May -- I know because I'm 9 years and 17 days younger, so cultist, right? -- has a damned Nobel and can pretty much do anything he wants to do. But what the hell, man? Do you have nothing new to say? Why don't you just go to Malibu and read the Torah and Lovecraft naked on the beach surrounded by naked sorority girls and drinking carrot juice and vodka tonics if this is what you've got? 

Musically, he sounds like a A-level lounge act in the Holiday Inn Circuit, and the sound is kind like what would have happened had Frank Sinatra Junior had gotten kidnapped by RCA, hypnotized and locked in a studio with lots of Jack Daniels, Don Helms on steel, Chet Atkins driving the the Nashville strings and his house band. I'm confused...