Not a Review of A Complete Unknown.

I know by now we’re all sick of hearing from Dylan obsessives about what Mangold screwed up in his narrative. I’m inspired to write about Dylan, but I’m going to spare you an armchair review about what they got right or wrong about the history, or whether the performances measured up. My opinion isn’t going to change whether you’ll go see the film, and I don’t really care whether or not it wins awards (although I feel it should).

For the record, I loved the film. I went with my wife and 22-year-old daughter last week and we all loved it. I was intrigued that Heather and Anna enjoyed the plot more than I did, particularly the romantic tension around Dylan’s relationship with the Suze Rotolo-inspired girlfriend composite and the tension around the mutual attraction with Joan Baez. My own emotional reactions happened mostly during the musical performances, which I found convincing, lovingly created, and beautiful. My only real disappointment, having read Elijah Wald’s book that inspired the script, is that Mangold didn’t recreate the Newport Folk ‘65 backstage fistfight between Albert Grossman and Alan Lomax. These two egomaniacs wanted to destroy each other, but they were too old and fat to land a single punch. That would’ve been fun to watch.

Like so many people I know, I felt anxious about the movie because Dylan means so much to me. Had they gotten it wrong, it would have been more depressing than the familiar disappointment of shelling out for a mediocre holiday movie. I’m no scholar or authority, but Dylan and his music have always been part of my life, from my first moments of consciousness. That’s the music I grew up with. My parents shared a passion for folklore, folk music, and left-wing politics. To them, in the context of the Civil Rights and Free Speech movements in which they actively participated as college students on the East Coast and graduate students at Berkeley in the early 60s, social justice was our family’s religion.

My mother loved the popular music of the late 50s Folk Revival, such as The Weavers, Kingston Trio, and Peter, Paul, and Mary. I grew up hearing Pete Seeger’s Children’s Concert at Town Hall so often that I confused him for my singing uncle who would play folk songs for us when we visited Chicago. One of my earliest memories is sitting on my mother’s lap as she explained the words to Blowin’ in the Wind line-by-line, explaining what the lyrics meant and how they related to the war in Vietnam. Meanwhile, my dad considered most of the folk revival music to be watered-down versions of the real American roots music, the Harry Smith Folkways anthology, The Carter Family, Mississippi John Hurt, Dock Boggs. He loved to talk about how the old music influenced the new music, and how rock n’ roll was really just a reinvention of old blues records.

Years later I discovered Dylan on my own terms, as a music fan. I connected with Bob Dylan the rock star, not the young folkie. Just like with The Beatles, I liked the later work that I found musically more interesting. I’ve rediscovered Dylan’s songs again and again as I’ve dug deeper into his catalogue and deeper into his songs.

Of course his work is not only in my personal musical DNA, it’s in the shared DNA of practically everyone who makes music over the past 60 years. Like The Beatles and Stones, like Hank, Joni and like Stevie Wonder, it’s impossible to imagine modern music without the foundation of his songs and records. That sort of culture-changing work, repeated and developed over a career, is what I consider genius. He could have been the figurehead of the folk revival to reach millions more people around the world through his protest songs, and that’s the central tension of the film - that’s what the folkies like Pete Seeger and Peter Yarrow clearly wanted. Dylan the Artist, the genius, rejected that path and followed his creative ambition. He took big creative risks, which is the nature and definition of genius.

The film is about Dylan the man; but it’s also about his genius and celebrity, and how it affects the people around him. Anyone who found themselves in Dylan’s company in his prime is a potential Salieri, depending on how they are able to process such otherworldly talent. In a music community loaded with Very Special People, his specialness stood out. That is why it was such a disaster when he “went electric” and effectively left the folk community. That’s why the folkies booed his concerts, even though he’d released several albums primarily consisting of full band arrangements of rock material.

I remember my dad telling me about Dylan going electric. He spoke of it as an important historic event, no judgment. Based on the records he played around the house, mostly Blonde on Blonde, Highway 61, John Wesley Harding, the Basement Tapes, plus The Band and The Byrds - he favored the songs with rock arrangements. I’m on a limb here, but my sense now is that my mom favored the old guard of the folk revival, while my dad was willing to follow Dylan wherever he went. I wish I had a record of how they divided the record collection in their mid-70s divorce, but I know the ones that ended up in mom’s collection - a couple dozen, compared to dad’s +/- 1,000 titles.

It’s a little sad that we’ll never have another cultural moment like Newport ‘65 in music. We’ll never have another Woodstock, and music won’t impact culture like it did in the late 60s. It can’t. It’s all too fragmented, too recycled, too niche. What if “Beyonce going country” created the same sort of emotional fallout, upheaval, and chaos as Dylan going electric? Beyonce is far more popular than Dylan in ‘65, but nothing has that sort of cultural impact anymore. One of the biggest artists in the world can throw a full-on curve ball, and it’s gone with the news cycle.

I’ve always favored what I consider his career peak trifecta of Bringing It All Back Home through Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde, 65 and 66, the same years The Beatles and Beach Boys evolved to produce their greatest work. By the time I was born in the Spring of the Summer of Love, all that incredible music had already kick-started a cultural revolution. That music is the seedbed of my own passion for music, but my appreciation is disconnected from the culture around the music.

When I think about the Folk Revival now, the ideals of people like Seeger and Lomax, I see that it contains a lot of what I care most about. Like any big pop culture moment, it became about commerce. But the components of the movement - singing together, organizing and community building around shared values, reverence for great music that’s been lost to time - these are things that mean so much to me. With all respect and appreciation for Dylan and his work, I relate with those guys in fighting to keep the dream alive.

Like everyone who ever dreamed of playing music for the masses, I had to let go of my dream of being that guy, the transcendent talent that would come along and change everything. I’ve shelved my ego as a musician to be able to serve artists, to steer clear of any feelings of jealousy or competitiveness with the artists I serve. If you can do that, it’s an incredible experience to realize an artist is truly special. My work is about fostering, nurturing, and facilitating that specialness. I love the values and intentions behind the Folk Revival, but it’s dangerous business to impose your own values on an artist’s work. Grossman, the unapologetic capitalist, saw the writing on the wall. He saw the future, and that’s why he had to beat Alan Lomax’s ass. Maybe they’ll make a sequel about the fist fight - a man can dream.