CHRONICLES, VOL. 1
by Bob Dylan o-o-o-o-o
I'd like to think you don't have to be a Bob Dylan fan to get a kick out of this book, but it's hard to say for sure given that I am in fact a big Bob Dylan mark. With that being said, I don't hold everything Dylan puts out on a pedestal, and I can in fact get a little critical about the bulk of his output. This is something to be expected in regard to the output of any artist who just so happens to be so goddamn prolific. Much has been said and written about Dylan's life, but not a whole lot has come out of the man's mouth himself, which makes this book incredibly revelatory even if one thinks they know everything there is to be known about Dylan. I'd go as far as mark this book as one of the best written autobiographies in existence.
Understandably, the period of Dylan's life that is typically covered at nauseum is the early-to-mid sixties, when Dylan seemingly skyrocketed to fame overnight and put out what are still considered his greatest hits within the span of a couple years. Dylan has lived a long and interesting life though with a lot of great stories and observations to go with. He is wise not to dwell too much on the sixties given how much it's been covered already, save for a few key moments and interactions here and there. On which note, Dylan's recall is fucking astounding. He remembers being allowed to crash at someone's apartment in those early New York years and is able to remember precise titles of some of the books on the shelf, how some of the readings affected his mind, pulling out specific passages and recalling some of the conversations he had about them. His descriptions of time and place are atmospheric with so few words and he is able to put you right in his shoes and frame of mind. His retellings are for the most part not chronological, and that makes sense because that's not how memory works. He will often remember meeting someone say in the sixties and then tell a story about things they ended up doing together many years later before jumping back again, and you, the reader, will find yourself piecing together a beautiful mosaic that grows more elaborate and astounding with each new addition. Dylan dedicates a good chunk of the book to what you might describe as his development; all the things that might've happened as well as all the material he was exposed to that left a lasting impression on his person. People he met too, and the interactions he had with them. He even recalls when television was barely introduced in his hometown of Duluth, Minnesota, and how multiple homes shared a single telephone line. What a mindfuck it must be to have grown up with that and be alive today with high speed internet and pocket phones with social media and streamable music captured out of nowhere. It's already a mindfuck for the rest of us.
I think anyone with even a nominal interest in music—even if not a Dylan fan—would certainly be interested in this book. Dylan is very viscerally able to recall times when lyrics stormed through his mind like a hurricane, as well as other times when the well of inspiration was painfully dry, sometimes for years. There are parts where he talks about music theory, coming upon what he believes to be a new formula or approach that will open pathways to great new exciting things, but then those visions could sometimes get fuzzy and elusive when it finally came time to make something. One of my favorite chapters was his recollection of the time he recorded NO MERCY in New Orleans, an album I have no love for. The experience of recording the thing makes it clear why. Despite Dylan feeling inspired by New Orleans (some really great passages about the city and walking down its streets), and the producer he was to work with for the first time, in addition to a really great band that was put together for him, things just aren't quite clicking. The entire experience is plagued by trying time and time again to get at something but never quite arriving at it. It's a tale of out of sync wavelengths, collaborators that don't quite jive despite their immense skill, and the terribly illusive nature of inspiration. I imagine anyone who's ever engaged in any creative endeavor would get a kick out of it.
Bob Dylan's CHRONICLES is also a great sourcebook of other works of great artistry. He rattles off numerous albums and musicians—some I'd heard of for the first time—and talks about what aspects of them had an effect on him and what that particular effect was. He talks about books as well, and even about film in a few of instances. He's apparently a big fan of movies, so much so that there are a few times in the book where he'll mention going into a movie theatre all by himself to watch a movie just to get out of a creative funk (or life funk even) and how sometimes one particular scene just might do the trick. Dylan's knack for lyricism has clearly been internalized (I mean, not surprising, right?), so much so that you can almost hear a kind of singsongy ring in almost every sentence. You may just come out of reading it with a dash of musical swagger in how you speak and write yourself. I note that a few reviews, especially on Goodreads, seem to be screaming “plagiarism” without any actual mention of what other writing Dylan may have plagiarized. So I can't speak to whether or not that is true, but even if it were, I have a feeling that said readers may not quite understand the nature of the folk tradition and how said tradition has had an impact on Dylan's thinking or how he writes, and as such I don't doubt that there are numerous turns of phrase in the book that may have been heard or read elsewhere. Turns of phrase and the use of specific terminology aside though, there is no doubt that there's nothing unoriginal about Dylan's life story and his own experiences, all of which are beautifully committed to paper in this here volume. And I for one really hope we get a Volume 2 and 3 to carry forth the tale. I'm sure the man's got a lot more to tell still.