Clouds of Blood and Hazelnut Chariots: Bob Dylan Dismantles His Own Tomb

Second In A Series. What if the wisdom of the crowds could be captured and harnessed for use by anyone? Yes there would be unintended consequences, but the intended ones aren’t bad. Trade offs are hard. For now, enjoy these words on the amazing BS17 box, which were absolutely not written by Lester Bangs in the form that they appear. He contributed, but so did a lot of other great Dylan writers. Don’t think twice, it’s all right.

I first heard Time Out of Mind in a parked car that smelled like wet upholstery and french fries gone to seed. Scratched advance cassette, lousy speakers, snowy winter static off the AM band bleeding through. Didn’t matter. When “Love Sick” oozed out of that dashboard like some moldy sermon from the far end of the bar, the whole car tilted. Here was Dylan, officially washed-up, “written off” and reduced to unplugged nostalgia gigs, suddenly moaning about walking through streets that were dead like he’d personally salted every one of them. It sounded like a ghos…