I really like Bob Dylan's music, don't get me wrong. He is a true legend, the best songwriter ever, and has worn some pretty out-of-it clothes throughout his career. But, like all other greats, he has his pitfalls, and sadly, this album is one of very few. And I'm going to be short and blunt about it. It is pretty much crap, and is one of Bob's worst works. But anyway, let's get down to business...
It terms of musical enjoyment, this album is up there with a colonoscopy, if you'll pardon the pun. It starts with a dreadful prepubescent cacophony called "All I Really Want to Do", which should end with "is return the record", and concludes with the worst song to ever grace a Greatest Hits compilation, "It Ain't Me, Babe." Most of the songs are boring, tedious and coma inducing, except for two notable exceptions - "Motorpsycho Nitemare", the most intelligent song on the album, and "My Back Passage...I mean Pages", which are only really useful for when you have little time left and you need to stretch things out a bit. And putting the track listing on the front cover is frankly a pathetic idea - it's like waddling into a classy uptown bar and trying to score sympathy sex by telling people you're dying of AIDS. Still, at least this album comes to an end, just like the colonoscopy. My verdict - two songs are ok, but overall this album is about as pointless as pubic hair.
C-
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