My husband had just bought the newly issued CD of Bob Dylan's 1964 concert at Philharmonic Hall in New York, and our 15-year-old daughter was perplexed at yet another addition to our already extensive Dylan archive. She had never understood what made this raspy-voiced guy so important, anyway. "Why is he famous?" she asked.
Delighted at the opportunity to deliver a history lesson, her father — a passionate antiwar activist during the Vietnam years — spent the next couple of hours playing old songs and explaining Dylan's seminal role in the protest music of the 1960s. I listened as I read the morning paper, and thinking about the parallels between Vietnam and the bloodbath in Iraq against a soundtrack of Dylan songs was almost too painful to bear. How many times, indeed?
The next day, I was startled to see Dylan's craggy, hawklike face glaring out at me from the television screen in a Victoria's Secret commercial. He looked angry, dissipated and possibly deranged; his eyes had that paranoid, menacing look one associates with inmates in lock-up wards. He also looked old; Dylan is 62 and, judging by his appearance, has lived hard.
He was singing a bitter song called "Love Sick" as a nubile young model writhed around in her underwear and stiletto heels. Sultry and blank-faced, she looked about as old as my daughter. Was this porno-babe supposed to be Dylan's current obsession? His fantasy? Were we meant to think this was cool and edgy?
The only edge I saw was the distasteful spectacle of a geezer sexually fixated on a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. When the man who wrote "Forever Young" starts leering at jailbait during prime time, the result looks like a recruiting tool for a pedophilia advocacy group.
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http://www.commondreams.org/views04/0416-06.htm