At the age of twenty-three, Bob Dylan was a folk hero.  He had come onto the scene two years prior with a self-titled album that marked him as a folk musician much in the style of one of his heroes, Woodie Guthrie.  In a short time, Dylan began to be held apart from his contemporaries, wording the angst and the troubles of the time astutely.  He “spoke” for several groups, became the “voice” of a generation, although Dylan himself never aligned personally with any particular stance.  Dylan, by his own definitions, was merely a songwriter, a musician, a poet.  He expressed himself through his lyrics and music because that is what he knew.  Bob Dylan was a true artist.

    At the age of 24, Bob Dylan went electric.  He plugged in his guitar and without specifically addressing the idea, challenged the perception the name Bob Dylan brought to mind.  Those people he had previously “spoke” for booed him in great numbers.  Critics and fans alike proclaimed their “voice” a “Judas.”  Dylan had apparently abandoned those who loved him so much.  He had alienated the very people who made him what he was.

    The story of Dylan, or should I say myth, has always intrigued me.  I am a bit biased, of course.  I’m a fan.  Blood on the Tracks is one of my favorite albums of all time.  Personally, I have always favored the “folk hero” Dylan more than his plugged-in persona.  I struggled getting into the electric sets, wondering why this great lyricist felt the need to perform over the art.  Then, I turned 24.  

    Art is a tough thing.  It is by simple definition, an expression or application of human creativity and imagination.  For some, art provides itself as an escape from the realities of everyday.  For others, it can manifest itself as a release from daily pressures.  For artists, it tends to be life.  It’s how the artist relates to the world around them.  The artist struggles daily, as many others, with identity; however, their identity struggle plays itself out in their work.  And therefore the question arises: how is one to be true to themself and survive in the capitalistic world at the same time?  It’s not easy.  Easy is getting upset at the bland drivel that passes for “popular” in the greater masses.  Hard is understanding that “popular” will always be just that and no amount of fighting or griping is going to change it.  Therefore, the artist must remember that their gift, what makes them special, is the perspective they give to their work. Their personal skew on this conundrum called life. Art, as Nietzsche defines it, wants to bestow on life and action the greatest possible profundity and significance…through beautiful lies.  Being true to oneself is the artist’s mission, goal, and constant challenge, even when “popular” may be booing its head off.    

    Dylan mentioned towards the end of his twenty-third year how he had become tired of playing alone.  The beautiful lie of the loner folk musician seated singularly on stage repeating the same words of defiance and upheaval to a chorus of approving ears had been told.  So, Dylan changed it.  He risked it all; fame, glory, legend; to be true to him self.   Dylan found some friends who liked his new way of telling beautiful lies and began to jam with them.  I can see that now.  Plugging in wasn’t defiance or an attempt to change an image that had been created, but instead, an expression of one man who felt the time had come to change.  Dylan, with everything to lose, decided to be an artist.    

I’ve begun to listen to the electric Dylan and have found I do enjoy it after all.  The messages, the understanding that made Dylan such a prize to my young ears, is still there, only now it isn’t all one note.  It rocks and blares and reaches for the rafters.  I guess that’s the point.  If you’re an artist, never be satisfied, always be true and always be willing to throw everything to wind.  In a word, be yourself.