Keen to explore an artist’s oeuvre but overwhelmed by choice in today’s stream-heavy world? Fear not: from Joni to Fela, Madonna to Miles, our critics tell you which album to begin with
This is one of those reviews that would probably have been better written double-blind, like they feature in academic journals. As with the films of Terence Malick or Michael Mann, Bob Dylan is just someone I can’t really be objective about. I like the Woody Guthrie-aping troubadour stuff. I like the drunken mid-‘60s Rimbaudian stuff. I like the electric aggro stuff. I like the faux-Nashville crooner stuff. I even like the period in the ‘80s when he was dressing like a pimp on Miami Vice and trying to sound like Dire Straits. Naturally, I like his latest iteration as the wizened ambassador of America’s great folk idioms.