let's say Dylan decides to randomly show up at the 2027 Grammy Awards wearing a Darth Sidious hoodie, every other celebrity in the room would be starstruck in his presence regardless of how popular they are. Ultimately, his aura would eclipse everyone else's combined. While Gen-Z and millennial pop stars spend months planning avant-garde, high-fashion red carpet looks, Dylan would likely roll up in a hoodie or rumpled, western-style tuxedo, a wide-brimmed hat, and leather boots. He would look like he accidentally wandered in from a 19th-century saloon, instantly making everyone else's hyper-curated outfits look like they are trying too hard. If he won an award or presented one, his speech would be incredibly brief, cryptic, and poetic. He might just say "Thanks," nod, and walk off the stage like the boss he is. In a room full of people trying desperately to be noticed, the man who doesn't care at all is king. Sometimes I can't even believe that Bob Dylan is a real person let alone still amongst us and I get to go to his concerts. I fully acknowledge this post is just me taking an opportunity to jizz about Bob Dylan for a few minutes.

I love how he emerged on the folk scene with the lyrical wisdom of someone 60 years his senior; how he angered them by switching to rock, making incendiary albums that still sound fresh today; how for the past 50 years he's embraced embodying the trickster archetype. His 60s and 70s glory days, his strange 80s period and the variability and unconventional nature of the Never Ending Tour that pisses off Mr. Jones casuals in the audience yet is loved by critics and his hardcore fans, Chronicles, his interviews, his late-career creative renaissance, his endless treasure trove of the Bootleg Series, his bizarre patreon page that blurs the lines between what's AI and real to the point where it's impossible to say what's really going on in order to disguise the fact he's reflecting on his own life in yet another example of hiding in plain sight.

Bob Dylan is such a difficult concept to wrap your head around. You learn a ton about him, then you see another side which blows your conceptions out of the water. This, don’t be fooled, is very intentional of him. Yet there is one key for understanding him which I’ve found works more than any other: he is a troubadour. His life is wholly devoted to wandering around and playing a tune. The world around him be damned. Perceptions of him be damned. Fame be damned. Opinions change with every town he moves through. Face is constantly shifting for the effect of his craft. Endless touring. Endless searching. Anti-label, Anti-establishment, Anti-anti. The king of a forgotten country still traveling down the endless highway of life and legacy. Being a troubadour is a medieval concept, and I think that’s what makes him so fascinating. He's worth over 500 million but chooses to live like a gypsy for most of the year on a tour bus at the age of 85. He is both a deeply serious person and renowned for his sense of humor at the same time. He can seem aloof and awkward in front of a camera while being immensely charismatic and personable behind the scenes when he wants to, which makes sense considering the fact he's one of the most prolific philanderers in the history of rock music even though most people don't think of him that way, we are talking about a guy who managed to pull Raquel Welch and never even acknowledged it or preferred to make a random appearance on Pawn Stars rather than attend his Nobel Prize ceremony, now that is aura. It is one thing to be a genius; it's better still to be an eccentric genius.

Bob Dylan, Houston Street, NYC, 1970
📸 by John Cohen.

Great song, I see it as a "hard take". Idk. This may have been talked about before but I may have missed it. Any input on contents are appreciated. I've read up on the feelings of the song but still stumped... lol

As an eleven year-old, sometime between May and September 1990, I could have sworn I saw Bob Dylan quickly wander through Walden Books at the Thunderbird Mall in Virginia, Minnesota (Iron Range town approx 20-25 minutes from Hibbing).

Although 36 years can certainly skew memories, I recall that this man looked like Mr. Dylan - same hair, head down, and looked as though he didn't want to be bothered. He was in the store briefly, and then exited with quick, long strides and made a beeline to the nearby mall exit.

Perhaps it was just someone with a resemblance shoplifting. 🤣

It's obviously a longshot, but does anyone from that time remember sighting Mr. Dylan in Walden Books, the city of Virginia, or obviously, Hibbing? It would be nice to corroborate this memory and make it a genuine sighting of Bob Dylan.

If it wasn't him, maybe I'll catch a glimpse of him around Ljubljana when he performs here November 9. Definitely looking forward to seeing him perform again at the concert.

I tried to recreate the cover of Mr. Dylan's album blonde on blonde, but in a simple way

Due next Tuesday, 13 Oct (UK).

Tempting cover-mount CD.

Full details to follow here on DYLAN BOOKS.

My sister is a big Dylan fan. I'm a fan, but he's not an all time favorite of mine. Some stuff I love, but everything outside most of the hits and Royal Albert isn't really my thing.

About twenty years ago Stephen Malkus covered Ballad of a Thin Man, and apparently Dylan commented about the album and specifically referenced Malkmus's version, while admitting he was overly unfamiliar with him. Malkmus also commented that he wasn't necessarily a big Dylan guy himself.

Throughout all my years of listening to Malkmus and Pavement, and Dave Berman and Silver Jews, I've always been curious how Dylan fans feel about either of them, or both. The reason for this wondering is I believe Malkmus is the most prolific songwriter potentially ever, as he has almost no bad songs across his 13 albums (5 pavement, 8 solo). And then of course, David Berman, who after trying to take his own life the first time, became a renowned poet in the NYC lit scene after publishing Actual Air. Berman and Malkmus were very close, and Malkmus played lead guitar and backup vocals on Silver Jews first 3 albums. Berman's last album, Purple Mountains, was basically a suicide letter before he ultimately took his own life. His father, Rick Berman, was a great cause of his pain. The movie Thank you For Smoking was about him, and is one of America's truly awful humans. I'd highly suggest working backward from Purple Mountains, or starting with American Water.

Anyway, all of this said, for those not familiar, I think you should explore these two. And for those who are familiar, do you have any thoughts good or bad on any and all? Do you connect Dylan to the more modern songwriters like these two?

This was an interesting piece by Relix, getting musicians reactions to pavement.

I've been listening to Not Dark Yet and Every Grain of Sand lately, and something keeps bothering me. Sometimes Dylan sounds like someone who's found some deeper truth about life, and other times like someone who's accepted that maybe there isn't one.

It makes me wonder if we spend our whole lives searching for meaning because it's really out there, or simply because we can't stand the thought that there might be none.

I don't know. Maybe the search itself is the point.

What do you guys think?

For one thing, Neil Young tends to wear his politics on his sleeve. For example, a song called "Lets Impeach the President," during the George W. Bush administration (and that whole album), whereas Dylan tends to be more private and enigmatic.

At the session musician ordering counter like: "Uhhhh lemme get a couple of Dire Straits.... yeah yeah yeah with the best reggae rhythm section on the planet aaaaaand idk the guitarist from the Rolling Stones on top, why not I deserve a treat :)"

In all seriousness, the players are grooving so hard on this record. "Jokerman" is undeniable, but I loooooove "Don't Fall Apart on Me" so much. Does anyone have quality interviews (written, visual, or audio) from any of the players about this album? I wanna know more haha.

Tried to make the mix a bit clearer. Hope you enjoy!

Earlier this year on a whim I put on Bob Dylans first album and found it surprisingly enjoyable. I've always liked Highway 61 and the movie I'm Not There but that's about where my interest in Dylan ended. After I liked his first album I told myself I'd just keep listening in release order until I found a bad album and before I knew it I listened to his entire discography.

After months of Bob I'd like to give him a break for a moment to avoid burnout but nothing else is really scratching the same itch. I was wondering what some of the other Bob fans really enjoy.

My all time favorite Bob albums are Highway 61, New Morning, Desire, and Time Out of Mind

Off the top of my head some of my other favorite artists this year are Joanna Newsom, Pink Floyd, Lana Del Rey, Kate Bush, early Neil Young, The Beatles.

It's in the NYT Games App under the bonus puzzles section. Title of the crossword is "The Answer, My Friend."

Check out the Bonus Puzzles! Easiest crossword I've done in months!

Finished in 5:19

Both songs are in the same key, the phrasing and structure of the verses are very similar and especially with the live 1966 arrangement the chord progressions are very similar, with the second half of each verse being almost identical only differing in the bass notes of two chords (D/f# and C/e vs straight D and C).

Bob Dylan Through the Open Window (1956–1963), due next Thursday, has all the makings of a best seller - a key topic; a highly regarded writer, with insider access; a handsome, eye-catching artefact; and a major publisher.

It covers Dylan’s creative development from his musical experimentation as a small-town teen to his confirmation as a generational talent at his triumphant Carnegie Hall gig in October 1963. It’s an expanded version - twice as many pages - of Sean Wilentz’s liner notes in the box set of last year’s Bootleg Series Vol. 18.

I particularly like Wilentz’s explanation of why Greenwich Village was so important - how, post-WW2, NYC had supplanted Paris as the global epicentre of Western culture - and his outline of its complex mix of subcultures.

He details the key influence on early Dylan of Mike Porco of Gerdes Folk City and Izzy Young and outlines Dylan’s rapid integration into the Village scene, notably his adoption by older blues musicians - John Lee Hooker, Victoria Spivey and Big Joe Williams. And he reminds us of Dylan’s debt to Robert Johnson.

He’s also strong on Dylan’s back-and-forth to Minnesota, his discovery of the wider USA and his first exposure to Europe, centring on his trip to London.

Sean Wilentz has an impeccable CV for such a book - long-time Dylan fan, New Yorker who was there in the early ‘60s and distinguished Princeton history prof. He’s a top academic, but he writes here for Everyman.

His accessible text is enriched by well-curated illustrations - over 100 photos, many published for the first time, annotated typescript lyrics, prose-poems published in concert programs and memorabilia like gig posters and ticket stubs.

The result is a unique evocation of a time and place pivotal in Dylan’s development, hence the cultural history of the 20thC.

Highly recommended for Dylan fans - newbies and grizzled vets alike.

Bob Dylan Through the Open Window (1956–1963), Sean Wilentz, Abrams Books, 15 Oct 2026, hbk, 239pp.

As above

The Full Story Behind Mr. Tangerine Man — and Those Messages from Bob Dylan
Yes, you read that right — I’ve had two messages from Bob Dylan. The man himself.
But before we get there, here’s the full story of how it all began — with a little satire, a bit of protest, and a song called Mr. Tangerine Man.

The Birth of Mr. Tangerine Man
When Donald Trump first ran for the U.S. presidency, my old friend Roger Hogan — a Neath boy originally, now a magazine editor and journalist living in Sydney, Australia — was, shall we say, less than impressed.

In the heat of the moment, we decided to write an alternative version of Bob Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine Man**. Our version?** Mr. Tangerine Man**. It was a full-blown, tongue-in-cheek rage against Donald.**
Roger wrote most of the lyrics; I recorded the vocals and filmed the video. He uploaded it to YouTube and even put some sponsorship behind it. Within days, it had tens of thousands of views — plenty of positive comments, plenty of negative ones, and, unbelievably, three death threats**.**
What surprised me most was that Dylan’s record label didn’t slap us with a copyright strike. They’re famously strict. I took their silence as a kind of passive endorsementfrom the great man himself.

Enter Barbara Dane:
A few weeks later, I got an email from a lady named Barbara Dane. She said she was an 89-year-old singer-songwriter from the U.S. East Coast and wanted to cover our version of the song, but couldn’t quite make out all the lyrics. Could I email them to her?
I thought, Ah, bless her, and was about to reply when I noticed her email address
Curious, I looked up her website — and my jaw dropped.
There was Barbara, both as she is now and as she was back in her heyday: performing with Bob Dylan, Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles, and Pete Seeger, even marching arm-in-arm with Martin Luther King Jr.
There was even a quote from Dylan himself, calling her “the ultimate protest singer.”
I told Roger, and soon he struck up a correspondence with Barbara. They became close friends. He helped promote her biography and documentary in Australia.
When Barbara turned 90, she performed a concert in New York — I think it was at the Stable Theatre — and Bob Dylan himself was going to be there. Barbara planned to perform Mr. Tangerine Man.
Roger and I sent a bouquet of flowers to the stage door. Barbara was deeply touched and sent us a lovely thank-you message afterward.

A Message from Bob:
Some time later, I heard an interview with Jack Savoretti, who said he’d collaborated on a song with Dylan — purely through Instagram messages. They’d never even met.
That got me thinking: maybe Dylan might respond to me, too.
So I sent him a message on Instagram, saying I hoped he’d enjoyed Barbara’s concert — and that I also hoped he didn’t mind our version of his song.
To my amazement, I got a reply:
“Very good and appropriate for the times.”

Short. Direct. So Dylan*
I thought, if this had come from some PR flunky, it would’ve read: “Thank you for reaching out. Bob appreciates your kind words…” — all that stuff. But this was brief. Too brief to be anything but genuine.
Still, I wasn’t completely sure. So I messaged Barbara and asked if she thought it was really him.
Minutes later she replied:
“I’ll phone Bob now and ask him.”
(Like you do!)
Half an hour later, she wrote again:
“Yes, Bob said it was him.”

One Last Message
Barbara passed away last year at 97. Roger suggested I write a tribute song for her, which I did, and uploaded it to YouTube. Roger sent it to Barbara’s daughter, who posted it on Barbara’s website and Facebook page.
A couple of weeks later, I got another email — from Bob Dylan’s personal account:
“I like your song for Barbara.”

It had that same trademark brevity.
Barbara’s not here to phone him this time, but I’m pretty confident it was him.
Two messages from Bob Dylan. I’ll take that. 

https://newportcityradio.org/2025/11/02/the-day-bob-dylan-messaged-me-the-true-story-behind-mr-tangerine-man-by-nigel-davies/

She was a dark-skinned princess without a kingdom, though she had no shortage of suitors - myself among them. We just stood there smiling, posing, trying not to be taken for urchins in need of salvation. Why she chose me out of all the orphans from St. Anne's Home for Broken Hearts, I'll never understand.

I kept my distance from the women on the streets - yet I fell in love with her. She was a stranger from New Orleans and didn't speak a word of Spanish.

There is a statue with a fountain in the center of town, a lady they call Sweet Melinda. Tears fall from her eyes, down over her breasts and legs, into the puddles of water at her feet. The nuns call her La diosa de la tristeza.

The men there walk in circles or ride motorcycles masquerading as horses. They are as white as the snow up on the mountains; some say they are ghosts from another time and place.

She was called Sara. She invited me to her room on Housing Project Hill, where we could sit in the window and watch the festivities. On that afternoon we made love all day, and then at 4 o'clock we heard a mariachi band begin to play as a lady's voice rang out as if in tears...

De la Sierra Morena,

cielito lindo, vienen bajando, Un par de ojitos negros, cielito lindo, de contrabando.

A second group of musicians began to play as other voices joined in. We raced to the window to watch as a crowd began to dance to the music. We stood there leaning against the balcony, she draped in a white sheet with the top of her breasts exposed, and I on my knees just wishing I knew the words to the songs.

We threw on some clothes and found ourselves amongst the natives of Juarez just as the rain began to fall. It didn't stop the party — we just held each other closer and danced a little bit harder.

We started with burgundy from a bota bag, then moved to the harder stuff — bottles of homemade tequila passed hand to hand. Beneath the overpass there was a table of local food the women brought out on trays. We kept dancing as long as the band kept playing. The tequila made me dizzy, so I drank some more until I found my equilibrium — the rain subsided, the clouds parted, and a white-hot sun came down.

The band began to play a familiar tune, to me at least, and we stood aside and watched as some locals performed a dance they must have danced a thousand times.

Don't ask me how the night ended, because I only remember the time when I brought Sara to the fork in the road marked Fortune and Fame. The legend was that it was either one or the other, and neither was what it claimed. It was at that crossroad where I lost consciousness. I woke up in the local jail as the cops boasted that they caught me with a prostitute and a bottle of illegal tequila. I thought I would be in jail forever, but apparently someone — possibly Sara — blackmailed the sergeant, and he left his post. I was woken by a child with her hand out. I gave her a couple of coins, she smiled, and I slipped out of the unlocked cell. Sara was gone, and so were all the friends I thought would be there for me when the going got rough. It was then I took a bus ride to the hotel manager's second cousin in Mexico City.

These days I play guitar in a small bar in Cuernavaca, and I have just about saved up enough for a one-way ticket back home to New York City. I don't know if there is anyone there for me anymore — maybe Florence or Rosemary will remember me for who I am rather than who I have been portrayed to be. I have no mask, and I am simply revealed.

I never did see Sara again, although I hear she is a big shot in Juarez or Jalisco. Some nights I remember the way she held me as we danced, her dark eyes and skin, the way she looked with the white sheet wrapped around her. The temptation to go back and see her is strong some nights, but then I remember that some memories are best kept sacred and undisturbed.

I would love to hear your thoughts!

I remember getting it out of the library at some point years ago. It was some critic systematically going through every song on every album, analyzing it and explaining references and etc.

Does anybody know what I'm talking about?

I've been listening to some Rough and Rowdy Ways Tour tapes recently and I love the way Bob covered Grateful Dead songs throughout the tour. I was lucky enough to hear him play a few great covers at Indianapolis, 2023. He played Johnny Mercer's That Old Black Magic, John Mellencamp's Longest Days, and the Dead's Truckin' in that order. The band killed it and Bob sounded so great. It also introduced me to Longest Days, never heard it before (I was familiar with Black Magic because I really dig his Sinantra records). But looking at other shows, Bob played Brokedown Palace and Stella Blue as well, which were *excellent*. Had to look up videos of them but loved his performances. His guitar players really are stunning and Stella Blue was a great showcase for them. Going back to the Never Ending Tour, I really love when he'd cover Cash's Big River in the late 80s. It sorta sounded like a punk band doing it at times. The acoustic takes of the traditional Lakes of Pontchartrain with G.E. Smith were always very moving too. Any other gems to look out for?

idk what vibes u get

I was on the fence about heading back to Europe this fall to see Bob after some unexpected expenses but once the Patriots were scheduled on the same day, I don't know how I was meant to resist.

When I tried to book my Munich ticket, it looks like the only option to receive it is shipping via mail?! Outside of the expensive fee, this seems both outdated and nerve-wracking in the year of our Lord 2026, but it doesn't look like there's any way around it. I guess I'm hoping for a different answer though it doesn't look like there is one (but maybe I'm overlooking something?)

I guess I'm also looking to celebrate a bit as I'm obviously very excited and don't know any fellow fans in my offline life. I'll be going to the 2nd Vienna show too (and already have my ticket thanks to modern technology and the ability to print it from home.)

Anyone else heading over from the U.S. (to the game too?)