Bob Dylan has almost always worked in strange and mysterious ways over the course of his almost 60-year career, so it should come as no surprise that, wholly without fanfare, explanation or any notice whatsoever, he would release three brand new recordings on-line in this surreal and absurd spring of 2020. The triad of songs, “Murder Most Foul,” “False Prophet” and “I Contain Multitudes” all appear on this first album of his self-composed material since the brilliant Tempest of 2012 and their inclusion within the ten-track set illuminates at least to some degree, why the Nobel Laureate chose to make them public in advance of the double (CD and vinyl) set as a whole.
Again, though, Dylan continues the cryptic approach he’s long applied to his recorded efforts. Arranged for acoustic and slide guitars plus cello, “I Contain Multitudes” at least on the surface, would seem to have less to do with current events than its companion pieces; it may in fact be a homage to Bob’s hero Woody Guthrie (“New Multitudes” is a set of lyrics by the late folk music icon and gave birth to a band by that name in 2012 wherein the group put music to the man’s poetry). Then again, the blues has been a source of inspiration for this man from Minnesota even prior to those groundbreaking Sixties records by which he became famous, Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde On Blonde, so what’s to make of a tune titled “Goodbye Jimmy Reed”? Acknowledgment of the passing of generations no doubt, but, in the context of this broadminded album, not just his alone.
Such ruminations hardly matter when such tasteful and economical accompaniment, similar to that which Nashville cats contributed to the latter landmark album, adorns Dylan’s own borderline guttural, yet otherwise unaffected vocals. Pointed guitar underscores the point of “My Own Version of You,” while on the similar personal, emotional expression within “I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You,” the whisper of steel drums echoes the song’s sentiment. Appearances here by Fiona Apple and Blake Mills—both of whom released their own new albums this year–maybe some enticement for those who might not otherwise lend their ears to new Bob Dylan, yet, arguably, that particular demographic may in fact benefit the most from hearing Rough And Rowdy Ways despite the fact its dusky sound is far so removed from au courant mainstream style(s) of the day.
In keeping with other self-produced Dylan releases of recent years, the sonics of Rough And Rowdy Ways is as clear as its word sets are dense. Most likely that’s particularly purposeful too as the well-defined audio offers a ready gateway to discern the plethora of allusions, allegories and asides populating this seventy-minutes. But the sound illuminates the humor here too, though the comedy, such as it materializes, is not the kind to produce guffaws or belly laughs, but instead the sly smile or a knowing grin. Such reactions arise too from listening to Dylan’s accompanists during, for instance, “Mother of Muses;” going back to the tumultuous tour with the Hawks, nee the Band, some two decades before the so-called ‘Never Ending Tour’ began in the late Eighties, the members of Bob’s bands, individually and collectively, have always been wise to defer to him and that remains a steadfast precept throughout Rough And Rowdy Ways. Consequently, the musicianship will not steal or detract attention from Bob himself, but rather encircle him as he performs, their fluid interplay functioning like that ideal frame which vividly illuminates a striking painting or photo.
As with all the best Bob Dylan albums, poetic imagery abounds, though not all of it perfectly clear, as “Black Rider” and “Crossing the Rubicon” illustrate. But then the author of those songs became a past master of ambiguity long ago, so the extent to which such numbers will accommodate broad interpretation is one of the great strengths of his writing. Contemporary cultural, social and/or political relevance has already arisen from the extended conclusion to this set and true to form, “Murder Most Foul” has grown in significance since Dylan first made it public in the midst of the pandemic; certainly, the references to JFK’s assassination are thought-provoking, but as American’s cities are now populated daily with protesters, the almost subliminal cautionary that emerges over the course of this approximately seventeen minutes is not one to be dismissed lightly.
Anyone who argues Bob Dylan hasn’t been truly engaged in movements per se since the days he appeared with Martin Luther King in Washington for the ‘I Have A Dream’ speech may be correct. But if Rough And Rowdy Ways proves anything, it is that this seventy-nine year older remains proudly and assertively at the forefront of an individualist initiative within which there is, unfortunately for the music world and the global citizenry at large, a very limited populace.
