Dylan’s Self Portrait
Chances are, if you’re any sort of Dylan fan at all, you rushed out to buy this book the day it hit the shelves. I certainly did. But if anyone out there is still curious to know what they can expect from this, the most eagerly awaited of all rock autobiographies, let me put your mind to rest right now: Chronicles is a revelation.
The first of three planned volumes, Dylan’s Chronicles jump around in time from his early days in Greenwich Village to self-imposed exile in Woodstock and back again. Those looking for answers to the big questions in his career—the 1966 motorcycle accident, his conversion to Christianity—will have to rely on the army of unofficial biographers, or wait for subsequent volumes of Dylan’s own memoirs.
In some ways, Dylan poses more questions here than he answers. The casual mention that he once wrote an album based on Chekhov short stories, which the critics assumed was personal in nature, has had the Internet buzzing with activity (the general consensus favors Blood On The Tracks).
What is fascinating about Chronicles is the way Dylan’s voice comes through loud and strong in every line of text—something even the best biographers—Robert Shelton, say—have consistently failed to achieve down the years. He tells his tales with a novelist’s touch, filling out distant memories with sharp details such as a rabbit running across a road or the arrangement of flowers on an acquaintance’s windowsill. A clever sleight of hand, given that most of the action takes place over thirty years ago.
New Orleanians will be particularly interested to read the chapter on the recording of Oh Mercy, which took place in a converted mansion on Soniat Street. He talks fondly of the city (“There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better”), recalling long nights listening to WWOZ in the kitchen of a rented house on Audubon Place.
Chronicles isn’t perfect by any means—it could use some serious editing at times—but it is surprisingly readable. If you’ve been burned before—by his 1966 “novel” Tarantula, perhaps—you may be understandably reluctant to dive into Dylan’s mind again. Those willing to take the risk will find themselves in the company of one of the most brilliant, yet flawed, artists of modern times. Bob is human after all.
