You can’t touch this Dylan guy. He’s not there, he’s gone, as Dylan once sang of himself. Then again, he’s easy to find: This summer, for instance, he toured state fairs across much of the U.S., at last the ramblin’, gamblin’ man he pretended to be as a clean-cut kid hanging in Greenwich Village 40 years ago. Dylan knew all along, if often only instinctively, that nothing fresh, new, or startling comes from being “authentic.” It comes from change, growth, evolution, electricity, and “selling out” to the wide world that exists beyond any blinkered, limited conception of proper culture.
Skip to content
