Bob Dylan- Modern Times
Genre: Music- specifically rock and roll, folk, blues, and a little bit of jazz on top
Artist: Bob Dylan
Album: Modern Times
Whoa Nelly, looks like Bobbie D. got off the road long enough to record some of those tunes that have been rollin' and tumbling through his head. And what a weird album he's come out with. It's been called the third of a trilogy of albums, starting with the morose and brooding Time out of Mind, and Love and Theft, which was a rolliking album with a heart of a old man cackling in the face of armageddon.
This one is different that those two, different than what I expected, and I think M.r Dylan likes it that way, that cackler. It's esy going, with (musically, at least) barely a hard edge to it, at least till the last song. It sort of tumbles along, a good sumemr album to while away the night, till September comes.
Until you listen to the lyrics, which are winking and twisted. He claims he's used up, with a wink, while lusting after Alicia Keys. "I've got the pro chops, she's got the pie." Yes. yes! Almost as good lyrically as mop!
The last song, Ain't talking, is worth the price of a suitcase full of aligator snakeskins. Oh, me oh my, what a gutterly tune, full of haunted verses and intonations of doom.
Well, that's modern times for you. Don't beleive any of that claptrap about this being equilvalent of Yeats or Shakespeare, this ain't that, it's something all together different: smirking at the apocalypse never sounded so fun.
Artist: Bob Dylan
Album: Modern Times
Whoa Nelly, looks like Bobbie D. got off the road long enough to record some of those tunes that have been rollin' and tumbling through his head. And what a weird album he's come out with. It's been called the third of a trilogy of albums, starting with the morose and brooding Time out of Mind, and Love and Theft, which was a rolliking album with a heart of a old man cackling in the face of armageddon.
This one is different that those two, different than what I expected, and I think M.r Dylan likes it that way, that cackler. It's esy going, with (musically, at least) barely a hard edge to it, at least till the last song. It sort of tumbles along, a good sumemr album to while away the night, till September comes.
Until you listen to the lyrics, which are winking and twisted. He claims he's used up, with a wink, while lusting after Alicia Keys. "I've got the pro chops, she's got the pie." Yes. yes! Almost as good lyrically as mop!
The last song, Ain't talking, is worth the price of a suitcase full of aligator snakeskins. Oh, me oh my, what a gutterly tune, full of haunted verses and intonations of doom.
Well, that's modern times for you. Don't beleive any of that claptrap about this being equilvalent of Yeats or Shakespeare, this ain't that, it's something all together different: smirking at the apocalypse never sounded so fun.