Hello Bob Dylan!

I wasn't expecting this record. This ain't no lightweight! Bob’s sparring with himself on this record and he’s winning. There’s nothing left, but mummy bandages and shards of test tubes all over the killing floor. Dr. Frankenstein is in and he refuses to stand on ceremony for anyone including you. Did I think Bob could again find himself in the pocket? Honestly I never know what to think because as artists go there’s never any dust on his vestibule and his automobile is always rearing to go. How much longer can he last? I hope until I am dead and buried because his counsel over these past 36 years is invaluable like whiskey, women and the invisible wind. This album rocks, purrs and even barks if you listen really carefully as we cross the Rubicon. “I hate to tell you mister, but only dead men are free.”

Charles Cicirella

6/18/20