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I remember the early, heady days when Dylan was a guilty pleasure, known only to the, yes, cognoscenti. Then he went and did a bad thing: he produced a series of brilliant albums that guaranteed him immortality. No matter what he did before or has done since, there remains the uncomfortable fact of these masterworks. Now every Tom, Dick, and Bozo thinks he has a right to stick his oar in and say foolish things about Bob Dylan. The fact remains, not even the man himself can deny his genius. It's as palpable as the album cover for Blonde on Blonde or Highway 61 Revisited (obviously a source of inspiration for Haynes' film). It's as plain as the air we breathe.
