You win. Again. All you bastards with your linear narratives. All you male bastards, writing entire worlds out of existence.
I’m not going to offer reasons. I think the reasons are clear: needless reinforcement, redundancy, over-familiarity, bad grammar, tuning, contempt of the mainstream for the outlying reaches, the curse of ‘authenticity’ (not sure Dylan ever claimed that for himself, fair play), tired tropes and rhetoric, school teachers and academics, the male gender… the Nobel Prize award is is the equivalent of David Cameron saying he likes The Smiths. A pathetic, shallow attempt to engage with the Great Unwashed. A reaffirmation of the place of the babyboomer in this cursed world of ours (right on top of the pile, baby, right on top of the pile!). Whatever. Others have and will say it more eloquently than me. Me? I just never want to hear these song – and so I offer a few meagre alternatives.
Oh, and they ain’t giving Dylan a Nobel Prize for his fucking wordsmithery whatever you choose to believe. They’re giving him it for being a performer. All awards are popularity contests, Nobel Prizes triply so.
The Times They Are a-Changin’
Blowin’ In The Wind
Mr Tambourine Man
Like A Rolling Stone
Just Like A Woman
Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door
All Along The Watchtower
It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)
Masters Of War