“Saved” by Bob Dylan — Reviewed by Marjorie Snint, Archivist of the Awkward Hallelujah

                                                  "The Snint Report"

There are albums that kneel. There are albums that preach. And then there is Saved, which does both while wearing a denim vest embroidered with fire and confusion. Dylan’s second gospel record doesn’t just testify—it trembles, it sweats, it occasionally forgets the sermon and starts hollering in tongues shaped like barbed wire.

The opener, “A Satisfied Mind,” feels like a hymn written by someone who’s been locked in a broom closet with a tambourine and a copy of Leviticus. It’s sincere, yes, but also slightly feral. Dylan’s voice, already weathered by the desert winds of Street-Legal, now sounds like it’s been baptized in gravel. He doesn’t sing so much as he exhales prophecy through a harmonica-shaped megaphone.

The title track, “Saved,” is a full-body sprint through the revival tent. The backing band—tight, righteous, and occasionally possessed—plays like they’re trying to outrun doubt itself. Dylan shouts “I’ve been saved!” with the urgency of a man who’s just seen the rapture in a parking lot. It’s not subtle. It’s not smooth. It’s not even entirely melodic. But it is, somehow, holy.

Marjorie’s verdict: Saved is the sound of a man trying to wrestle God into a jukebox. It’s awkward, glorious, and mythically unmarketable. A sacred glyph in the archive of rupture. Recommended for listeners who enjoy spiritual whiplash and harmonicas that double as exorcism tools.