Bob Dylan
Rough and Rowdy Ways

The music of Bob Dylan was a fundamental discovery for me, a discovery made possible mainly by my father's passion for the American singer-songwriter. When we had to face long car journeys, the first thing to grab was necessarily the CD of Highway 61 Revisited, despite my mother's complaints as she wanted to listen to Italian music at all costs. Starting from those moments, Bob Dylan's songs became an integral part of my life thanks to that mythical aura that surrounds them. I obviously went on to discover the other fundamental pieces of Mr. Zimmermann's boundless discography, but I had not yet managed to enjoy the anticipation of a new album of unreleased tracks from old Bob. So when the release of “Rough and Rowdy Ways” was announced, I was literally overwhelmed with euphoria and listened repeatedly to the three singles (“Murder Most Foul,” “I Contain Multitudes,” and “False Prophet”) that preceded the album. In this review, I will try to be as objective as possible, even though I am aware that it will be really tough.
Already from the first listens, I was, in fact, incredibly struck by the intensity of the eleven songs that make up the album. Throughout its duration, you can perceive the necessity of the now seventy-nine-year-old Dylan to confront death. The beginning of “I Contain Multitudes,” the song that opens the album, is already so paradigmatic: Today, tomorrow, and yesterday, too / The flowers are dyin' like all things do. Other references to this theme are still present in the opening track (I sleep with life and death in the same bed), but also in “Crossing The Rubicon,” where Dylan states he is three miles north of purgatory and one step from the beyond, or in “Key West,” a place where the hope of achieving immortality is preserved. Another fundamental aspect of “Rough and Rowdy Ways” is the confrontation with history and with some characters who have left an indelible mark on its course: it ranges from generals Sherman, Montgomery, Scott Zhukov, and Patton in “Mother of Muses,” a Homeric invocation to the muses, to thinkers like Freud and Marx who in “My Own Version Of You,” a Dylanian reinterpretation of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, are condemned to hellish torments, up to President Kennedy in the majestic “Murder Most Foul.” Released during the full quarantine period, in the longest song of his career, Dylan, accompanied by elegant piano notes and background strings, narrates in the first part the “vile assassination” of JFK, while in the second he begins a long list of songs dear to him, transforming the track into a veritable ode to the salvific power of music in difficult times. I cannot deny that it was of great help to me as well during the tough months we were forced to spend locked at home. There are also many literary references: quotes and tributes to Edgar Allan Poe, Walt Whitman, William Blake, William Shakespeare, and the writers of the Beat Generation (Ginsberg, Corso, and Kerouac) alternate among Dylan's highly inspired verses.
From a musical perspective, the songs are characterized by often essential arrangements that manage to create a highly emotional atmosphere on which the hoarse and incredibly communicative voice of our protagonist is grafted. We thus transition from the gloomy “Black Rider,” accompanied by the mandolin, to the waltz-timed ballad of “I've Made My Mind To Give Myself To You” up to the wonderful “Key West,” set on a delicate accordion. There are, however, raunchier moments like in the three blues tracks that characterize the album: starting with “False Prophet,” which recycles the riff If Lovin' Is Believing by Billy 'The Kid' Emerson, then continuing with “Crossing The Rubicon” and “Goodbye Jimmy Reed,” a heartfelt homage to the American bluesman.
I would like to conclude this review with Nick Cave's words, referring to “Murder Most Foul” and, in my opinion, perfect to describe the entire album:

“I hope this won't be the last song by Bob Dylan we hear. Perhaps, however, it is wise to treat all songs and all experiences with the attention and reverence we reserve for the last things. Have a drink with a friend as if it were the last time, eat with your family as if it were the last time, read something to a child as if it were the last time, or even sit in the kitchen listening to a new Bob Dylan song as if it were the last. Doing so fills what we do with even more meaning, placing us in the present, while our uncertain future is temporarily suspended.”