The final song on Time Out Of Mind, Bob
Dylan’s 30th studio album, is the 16-minute “Highlands.” It begins with what sounds like a
world-weary sigh exhaled in unison with an opening guitar figure. The result is
that the music presented feels as natural as breathing, as opposed to a
contrived or constructed work. This central metaphor pretty well defines the
mystery and magic of Bob Dylan. His best work feels like the musings of a
naturally inquisitive and discerning mind, thus they are rewarding to the
discerning and inquisitive listener. He asks and speaks for all of us. “Highands”
is one of a very few songs in Dylan’s catalogue that breaks the 10-minute mark
(“Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands” and “Brownsville Girl” being the other two),
and as such it is given the room to breathe unlike much of Dylan’s contemporaneous
work. Teetering between thoughts of mortality and alienation from modern
society Dylan openly yearns for the peace and beauty of either youth or death -
we’re never quite sure. Musically the song and the entire album creak with a
wooden authenticity, while still betraying all the modern production flourishes
of Daniel Lanois. The album is soaked in waves of reverb and Lanois takes great
care in mike placement and the specific instruments used on each song. The
result is the contrary sensation of someone whispering in your ear while
standing on the moon. It sounds far away, yet incredibly intimate
simultaneously. Lanois has taken shit for his techniques, but I am a huge fan.
I feel like the albums he produced in the 80’s, 90’s and beyond are some of the
very few which pay tribute to the past while pointing the way to the future.
His productions are immediately recognizable and entirely magical. Time Out
Of Mind might be his most consequential achievement because it threw open
the door to a modern era of Bobness, an era where his albums sound great again
and he seems to have comfortably shrugged off the expectations of modern record
making and found a comfortable place in the timeless firmament of musical
tradition.
Leading up to Time Out Of Mind Dylan had struggled with his craft, leaning on albums of traditional covers, an unsatisfying stint with The Grateful Dead and generally weak new material (1990’s Under The Red Sky is in contention to be his worst album), yet suddenly he seemed reconnected to his lyrical and musical muse. The songs were heavy with folksy wisdom and ruminations on the natural order. Perhaps that is the greatest strength of this album; it restores Dylan’s rightful place in the tradition of great American singer/songwriter’s and lessened the incessant imperative to constantly be “the voice of a generation.” Now he was sounding like a voice for ALL generations. Take opener “Love Sick.” Dylan takes a common phrase and turns it around, exploring it from all angles “I’m sick of love…but I’m in the thick of it/This kind of love…I’m so sick of it/I’m sick of Love …I hear the clock tick…I’m sick of love…I’m love sick.” Two simple words, normally spoken together to indicate an early state of romance are tumbled around to show the complexities and pitfalls of the most fraught state of human existence. In so few words Dylan perfectly illustrates his poetic mastery. Love isn’t only beautiful… it can make you sick. Each song on Time Out Of Mind follows this template: simple, declarative language employed in the most strategic and extraordinary ways to illuminate the complexities of the human condition.
Back to “Highlands” - Dylan ends the album with a fatalistic, but somehow hopeful sentiment: “Well, my heart’s in the Highlands at the break of day / Over the hills and far away / There’s a way to get there and I’ll figure it out somehow / But I’m already there in my mind / And that’s good enough for now.” These lyrics can be read as poetry, yet with Lanois at the dials Dylan’s musings become musical monuments as well. Time Out Of Mind is such an important album in Dylan’s discography because it succeeds so wildly on both of these fronts. After at least a decade of seemingly not caring what his music sounded like, he produced an album of compelling, relevant, modern roots-rock, and after casually tossing off lyrics for a number of years he had re-fastened his poet’s loupe and started offering his audience polished thought diamonds once again. Time Out Of Mind declared boldly that Dylan’s best days as an artist were definitively not in the past thus proving composer Edgard Varese’s bold proclamation of 1921, “The present day composers refuse to die.”
- Paul Epstein
Leading up to Time Out Of Mind Dylan had struggled with his craft, leaning on albums of traditional covers, an unsatisfying stint with The Grateful Dead and generally weak new material (1990’s Under The Red Sky is in contention to be his worst album), yet suddenly he seemed reconnected to his lyrical and musical muse. The songs were heavy with folksy wisdom and ruminations on the natural order. Perhaps that is the greatest strength of this album; it restores Dylan’s rightful place in the tradition of great American singer/songwriter’s and lessened the incessant imperative to constantly be “the voice of a generation.” Now he was sounding like a voice for ALL generations. Take opener “Love Sick.” Dylan takes a common phrase and turns it around, exploring it from all angles “I’m sick of love…but I’m in the thick of it/This kind of love…I’m so sick of it/I’m sick of Love …I hear the clock tick…I’m sick of love…I’m love sick.” Two simple words, normally spoken together to indicate an early state of romance are tumbled around to show the complexities and pitfalls of the most fraught state of human existence. In so few words Dylan perfectly illustrates his poetic mastery. Love isn’t only beautiful… it can make you sick. Each song on Time Out Of Mind follows this template: simple, declarative language employed in the most strategic and extraordinary ways to illuminate the complexities of the human condition.
Back to “Highlands” - Dylan ends the album with a fatalistic, but somehow hopeful sentiment: “Well, my heart’s in the Highlands at the break of day / Over the hills and far away / There’s a way to get there and I’ll figure it out somehow / But I’m already there in my mind / And that’s good enough for now.” These lyrics can be read as poetry, yet with Lanois at the dials Dylan’s musings become musical monuments as well. Time Out Of Mind is such an important album in Dylan’s discography because it succeeds so wildly on both of these fronts. After at least a decade of seemingly not caring what his music sounded like, he produced an album of compelling, relevant, modern roots-rock, and after casually tossing off lyrics for a number of years he had re-fastened his poet’s loupe and started offering his audience polished thought diamonds once again. Time Out Of Mind declared boldly that Dylan’s best days as an artist were definitively not in the past thus proving composer Edgard Varese’s bold proclamation of 1921, “The present day composers refuse to die.”
- Paul Epstein
