The Worst Record Review in the History of Recorded Music

Since his precipitous creative decline at the end of the 1960s, Bob Dylan has inspired much of the worst rock criticism ever composed. I recall Ralph J. Gleason’s 1970 review of the not-quite-lacklustre (not quite that good, you see) New Morning, about which RJG exulted like some small-town pastor in whose shabby little church Jesus Himself has just sauntered. But now I feel I have heard the apotheosis of horrible rock criticism — (NPR’s) Fresh Air’s Ken Tucker’s review of Dylan’s inexpressibly awful new 477^th album, Rough and Rowdy Ways.

Behold!” When Bob Dylan commences his new album singing [sic] "I Contain Multitudes," the most important thing to realize in this invocation of Walt Whitman is that Dylan is also saying you do, too. He's insisting that we each contain multitudes, that we shouldn't limit ourselves to one identity, one ideology, one set of facts about our lives. Dylan isn't looking within himself here. He's looking outward, and not at an audience. He's looking at you.” 

At me, Ken — at me? I find that so...inspiring! Indeed, this might be the most excited I’ve been since Gary Brooker congratulated me on the Christopher Milk record deal from the stage of the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium!

World-class bullshit, and make no mistake!

Is it my imagination, or was Bob understood in "My Back Pages" to waive his right to make others recognise, for instance, that they "shouldn't limit [them]selves to one identity, one ideology, one set of facts about [their] lives"?

Elsewhere, Ken describes RARW as "an album that breathes, that expands and contracts as you listen to it. The good songs inflate with interest. The mediocre songs start to shrink and slink away.” Unlike every other album you’ve ever owned, you see.

(While we're here, can someone explain to me why "Murder Most Foul" is a work of sublime genius, while Billy Joel’s similar, but globally superior "We Didn’t Start the Fire" is one of the most reviled tracks in the history of popular music?)

Critical insight, thy name is Ken!

[The best thing ever written about Bob Dylan was the glorious Scott Spencer's novel The Rich Man's Table. You read that here first.]