First, it’s a great title for an album. Second, it’s a heartbreaking album. Third, those lyrics say what there is to say about loss and broken love so directly and unexpectedly that there is no way to match it. I was listening to it a lot on Saturday as I was walking around the British Library and all I could think was there is no way I can write anything close to this. The thing with Bob Dylan is it’s not just the lyrics, it’s the delivery of them. Nevermind his musical talents or limitations or whatever they are, that dude knows how to get words out with a timing that is beyond musical. If I could do that with prose I would be a satisfied human being. To be so succinct and surprising with language – it’s painfully observant. I was listening again walking along the ridge of the path by the Serpentine on Sunday, and again through Shepherds Bush market on the way to work today. It’s really got to me. I’m trying to write about loss more in my novel. I’m lucky enough only to have come close to it without ever quite going over the edge, so that extra stretch I can only imagine. I know writers make shit up but sometimes finding other writers who have bled the tracks already can really help. For this I thank Bob dude. I hear he didn’t enjoy the pain too much.
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