After the concert review I wrote of Mr. I’ll be a gecko himself, Bob Dylan, it might surprise you that I actually went ahead and put off time today to get his latest album, the Together Through Life installment of his troublesome biographical trilogy.
But you shouldn’t be surprised. I wasn’t.
The album is a swinging blues canapé, and if there’s anything I like more than dinos fried in baby oil, it’s the long pointy finger of a know-it-all blues singer spilling his guts on the wet pavement of black rock music. We have mister Waits, some Young, a little Cohen to mention a few, and when I heard some cuts from Dylan’s new album on the radio this morning it felt like a natural addition to me record collection. It’s not as hard as could be, but it is definitely a few favourites in there, some good beer party tunes, and hearing through it now I’ve got no doubt that I’ll listen to it again pretty soon.
There are absolutely no geckos on this record, however, so if you really like the geckos and absolutely can’t live without them, go to one of his concerts.