11th
Bob Dylan - Ballad of a Thin Man
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I was in my early teens when my Dad recommended me some Bob Dylan.
I mean, I had heard Dylan before. Like A Rolling Stone is ubiquitous, and one of my camp counselors was absolutely obsessed with the latter half of Blood on the Tracks.
On my father’s recommendation, I picked Blood on the Tracks and Blonde On Blonde out of his CD collection. Upon listening, I became curious about why my counselor would skip the first half of the former; I also grew to understand why Nada Surf wrote an ode to the latter.
But I stopped there. For some reason, I never really explored much more Dylan. I mean, there was Masters Of War, recommended to me by an anthology of music writing I picked up in my first year of University, but I just ignored the rest of his albums.
That is, until last Fall.
I got my hands on Highway 61 Revisited, and I gave it the best first listen one could ever give a Bob Dylan album.
I’ll remember this image forever: I was walking 2.7 kilometres down Bloor Street, from Bathurst all the way to Jarvis. I was carrying a toaster oven in a giant, oversized box that required my arms to wrap all the way around it. I had a few other trinkets from Honest Ed’s in my hands. My custom-fitted earphones (I’m serious about music, y’know) were in place.
Now, before I say this next bit, let me tell you: I walk everywhere.
That walk was, without a doubt, the most meaningful-feeling walk I’ve ever taken.
