>>Cornelius Drafton
Bob Dylan, Rumpeltized into a state of maximum uncooperativeness, appears here as though the long, strange history of American song finally acquired a baseball cap and decided to stop explaining itself. The upper-left MS Paint incarnation is especially effective, because it captures Dylan’s greatest visual achievement: looking like he has just outwitted the room without ever having entered it properly. The guitar is held with the casual authority of someone who has spent his life making sincerity suspicious, and the whole composition hums with that familiar Dylan paradox — revered, evasive, and faintly annoyed to be perceived at all.
Cornelius Drafton’s verdict: admirably rude to realism, and all the better for it.
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