Bob Dylan is more myth than man. This is an impression that Dylan himself has cultivated for decades through constant changes of costume and persona: Woody-Guthrie-hobo-chic in the early 60s; flip-flop-wearing clean-cut dadcore in Woodstock, N.Y., in the late 60s; the Big-Top-carnival-barker-white-face minstrel of the Rolling Thunder Revue in the mid ’70s; the blazer-with-sleeves-rolled-up-and-left-ear-pierced “How do you do, fellow kids?” New Wave hipster of the mid 80s; the rhinestone cowboy of the 2000s. And through all these changes, he has written the best, most important, and most enduring music of the last century.
All this theatricality would seem to have little to do with Dylan’s life off-stage, and yet the temptation to connect the two is almost too strong for most mere mortals to resist. Thus most writing on Bob Dylan tends toward the biographical.






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