He was, for a time, the voice of my generation. Heralded as the poet laureate of the early 1960s, Bob Dylan vanished, in the late 1970s and early 1980s, “into a haze of substance abuse,” and was dismissed as a “has been.” Yet he came back. Now 82, the recipient of the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature has been touring steadily since 1988.
When I attended a recent concert, I thought the aging, graying Austin audience was a bit disappointed. After all, not since the 1980s has he made much effort to publicly sing the antiwar and protest songs that made him famous.
Yet his distinctive voice—nasal and gravelly—is instantly recognizable, and remains an instrument in its own right. His evocative, idiosyncratic, textured vocal style, his intimate and conversational tone and manner, and his remarkable emotional range, conveying feelings that run the gamut from sarcasm and disdain to vulnerability, weariness and sorrow, stands out among the musicians of our time.
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He remains as enigmatic and mysterious as ever, his lyrics elusive and allusive, his persona ranging from the voice of protest to the introspective poet, the perplexing shape-shifter, the joker, the prankster, and the wise or holy fool, whose paradoxical statements exude deep insights, critique societal norms and suggest truths that others overlook.
He continues to sing songs that reflect the influence of the tunes and lyrics that inspired him during his formative years. The raw emotions and themes of love, loss and longing of the Delta blues dominate, but one also hears echoes of earlier work songs and labor anthems and English and Irish ballads and laments, including the storytelling techniques and melodies of artists like Ewan MacColl and the Clancy Brothers. To these, we might add a host of other influences: gospel and religious psalms, but also honky-tonk, as well as the music of the 1930s Popular Front, especially Woody Guthrie, but also folk-inspired composers of serious music like Aaron Copland.
His lyrics and verbal style, in turn, pay homage to the mystical poetry of William Blake, with its esoteric references, the French symbolist Arthur Rimbaud, and the poetry and literary sensibility of the Beats, especially his longtime friend Allen Ginsberg.
He quite rightly regards himself as a modern-day troubadour, minstrel, bard and rhapsode, like those who recited Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey.
His ability to draw upon and synthesize these varied influences and create songs that are entirely new and original is a real testament to his musical and poetic genius.
More than any other popular songwriter of his time, his lyrics retain their lyrical depth, poetic quality, complexity, perplexity and thematic richness, and explore a broad range of social, political, philosophical and personal themes, offering fertile ground for scholarly analysis. This intellectual and lyrical complexity set him apart from many of his contemporaries and appealed to a generation seeking deeper meaning and reflection in their music.
His early work, especially, gave voice to the aspirations and discontents of a generation grappling with civil rights, war and liberation from entrenched societal norms. He embodied what one critic calls “rockism”: a belief in the power of music to be the bearer of authentic personal or political truth, unmediated by studio trickery, synthesizers or artifice—wholly unlike the kind of eclecticism and experimentation associated with Paul McCartney, “hopping cheerfully between retro Tin Pan Alley schmaltz, Motown, orchestral pop and, on songs like ‘She’s a Woman’ or ‘Helter Skelter’, the Beatles’ most aggressive proto-punk (or rather, proto-‘No wave’) rock.”
In stark contrast, Dylan refused to be pigeonholed or conform to expectations, whether they came from the music industry, his fans or political movements. This integrity resonated with a generation grappling with issues of identity, authenticity and commercialism. His early works gave voice to disillusionment and world weariness, and offered an oddly apolitical form of protest and an alternative perspective that challenged mainstream narratives.
As he grew older, his work increasingly explored personal and abstract themes. This shift to a more introspective songwriting did not diminish the complexity or the social relevance of his music but rather enriched his artistic legacy. While less overtly political, his songs continue to engage with themes of love, morality and mortality. His shifts in musical direction and the opacity of his lyrics help to partly explain why his work continues to draw scholarly attention.
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Quite an unconventional choice for a Nobel Prize, his selection inspired debates about whether song lyrics should be considered a form of literary art on a par with poetry and novels, especially at a time when more traditional literary forms are under considerable strain.
After hearing him afresh after years and years, I’m more convinced than ever that his career can offer insights into the nature and dynamics of artistic creativity and why some artists have staying power and others do not.
Question 1: Do the times make the artist or does the artist make the times?
Periodically, Dylan acknowledges that he never matched nor can’t explain the string of successes he had between 1962 and 1966. Perhaps the best one can say is that he captured—and shaped—the zeitgeist. His greatest works responded to the cultural moment and pressures and expectations of his audience.
That period of Dylan’s career demonstrates how creativity can be a response to the social, political and cultural environment, providing commentary, raising awareness or advocating for change. His period of greatest creativity coincided with a tumultuous and transformative period in American and global history, whether we’re speaking of decolonization, civil rights struggles, the Vietnam War, the rise of the counterculture or a general questioning of traditional values and authorities. These times played a significant role in shaping Dylan’s creativity and output, providing both inspiration and a backdrop against which his music resonated deeply with a wide audience.
His songs from that period, offshoots of the folk revival, not only reflected the zeitgeist but also contributed to shaping the cultural consciousness, making Dylan both a product of his times and a significant influence on them. The era’s demand for change, openness to new ideas and the convergence of various movements provided the perfect backdrop for Dylan’s creative outpouring,
Creativity isn’t solely an individual accomplishment. Dylan’s surge of creativity during the early to mid-1960s offers a compelling case study for understanding how artistic innovation is both a deeply personal process and a reflection of broader societal currents. This period of Dylan’s career underscores the idea that artists do not create in a vacuum; rather, their work is deeply interconnected with the cultural, social and political contexts of their times.
Dylan’s songs from this period, like “The Times They Are A-Changin’” and “Blowin’ in the Wind,” articulated the hopes, fears and demands for change of a generation. His music became a mirror reflecting the zeitgeist, resonating with the experiences and aspirations of his audience.
Dylan’s work during that era was not created in isolation but was the result of a process of cultural cross-pollination. His interactions with other artists and movements—not just Woody Guthrie or Joan Baez or Phil Ochs but the artists represented on Harry Smith’s Anthology of American Folk Music—contributed to his evolving sound and message. The folk revival movement, in particular, provided a backdrop for his early acoustic work, while his later transition to electric music was influenced by rock and blues. This cultural cross-pollination reveals how creativity is often a collaborative and intertextual and inter-artistic process.
Dylan’s position as a participant, commentator and observer of the cultural and political shifts of the 1960s allowed him to articulate insights that were both deeply personal and universally resonant. His songs illustrate how great artists can play a crucial role in documenting and critiquing their times. Dylan’s willingness to experiment with new sounds and themes, even at the risk of alienating part of his audience, underscores the importance of adaptation and evolution in the creative process.
Dylan’s songs from the early to mid-1960s illustrate the complex interplay between individual experience and collective consciousness, weaving together personal reflection with broader social commentary. This interplay between the individual and the collective shows how personal experiences and emotions can resonate on a much broader level, particularly when they echo larger societal trends and concerns.
Artistic innovation is both an individual endeavor and a reflection of the times. His work from this era demonstrates the ways in which creativity is fueled by a complex interplay of personal experiences, cultural influences, social movements and the broader historical context. Through his music, Dylan both shaped and was shaped by that era, underscoring the dynamic relationship between artists, their art and the world around them.
Question 2: What do “love and theft” have to do with creativity?
Dylan’s work exemplifies how creativity is often fueled by a wide array of influences. This eclectic absorption reveals the importance of exposure to and engagement with diverse forms of art and culture in fostering creativity. It suggests that creative work often emerges not in isolation but as a dialogue with existing traditions and ideas.
Every now and then, a critic accuses Dylan of plagiarism, a claim that I find not only baseless, but which is ultimately rooted in a gross misunderstanding of the creative process. Even the most original ideas come from somewhere. As Gertrude Himmelfarb demonstrated, Thomas Malthus’s theory of population had a profound influence on Darwin’s thought.
Dylan was, and remains, a sponge, with an incredible familiarity with various musical and literary traditions. It’s likely that no musician or songwriter can match his depth of understanding of various folk musics. His genius is to take the music that he loves and forge songs that draw on those traditions and yet are utterly original.
This intellectual and lyrical complexity set him apart from many of his contemporaries and appealed to a generation seeking deeper meaning and reflection in their music.
Question 3: Why does the muse come and go?
Creativity seems to conform to a natural cycle. Most of popular music’s composers and lyricists have a short span of creativity, generally lasting no more than five years. The Irving Berlins and Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammersteins are quite the exception. The professional songwriter, like the late Hal David (or Brian Holland, Lamont Dozier and Eddie Holland), who viewed lyric writing as a job and took the train to work every day, is not an example that many aspire to follow. But that kind of craftsmanship is badly missed today.
Dylan’s career also illustrates that creativity is not a constant but can ebb and flow over time. His periods of immense creativity, such as the early and mid-1960s when he produced his most influential work, were followed by times that could be seen as periods of stagnation or lesser productivity. This pattern underscores the natural cycles of creative life, where periods of output are often interspersed with times of reflection, reassessment or even doubt. This suggests that “downtime” can be an integral part of the creative process, allowing for the gestation of new ideas and approaches.
Question 4: What explains a great artist’s longevity?
Dylan’s career, marked by constant reinvention, offers valuable insights into the nature of innovation and creativity in popular music. It also sheds light on why some artists achieve longevity while others fade from prominence.
His willingness to evolve musically, from folk to rock to country and beyond, demonstrates the importance of embracing change and reinvention. This adaptability keeps artists’ work fresh and relevant, allowing them to engage with new audiences and stay creatively stimulated. Also, his willingness to take significant risks and challenge his audience’s expectations, most notably in his transition from acoustic folk to electric rock in the mid-1960s, has been crucial to his sustained relevance. He comes across as possessing the courage to depart from what is safe or successful to explore new creative territories.
Artists who continuously reinvent themselves and incorporate different influences into their work can sustain their creativity over time. That was as true for Picasso as for Dylan.
Part of Dylan’s “brand” and appeal lies in the impression that he prioritizes artistic authenticity over commercial success. Whether true or not, this integrity resonated with audiences who were seeking genuine self-expression in music. Same for the sense of mystery and elusiveness he has consistently conveyed throughout his career. He has maintained a distinctive mystique, rarely giving straightforward answers about his songs’ meanings. This enigma invites interpretation and engagement from fans and critics alike, keeping interest in his work alive.
In an important essay in the New Left Review, Owen Hatherley, a British author, journalist, and cultural critic, argues that popular music is now less central to youth culture than it was during the 1950s, 1960s or even the 1990s. In his words
“People still listen to music, it still changes and develops, but it is no longer the main vehicle for social comment or subcultural identity, far less important than social media; perhaps on the same level as clothing. Gone is the idea that pop music could ‘say’ something, that it could be a means of commenting on society, or an integral element of an oppositional counter-culture.”
I think he’s correct. You needn’t agree with The New York Times’s conservative pundit Ross Douthat and think that we’ve entered a period of cultural stagnation and decadence:
“aging, comfortable and stuck, cut off from the past and no longer confident in the future, spurning both memory and ambition while we wait for some saving innovation or revelations, growing old unhappily together in the glowing light of tiny screens.”
Yet Douthat is clearly onto something.
Even though we have more venues than ever to distribute entertainment, we do seem to be in a period with fewer artistic breakthroughs. I’d attribute this cultural malaise to the interplay of several factors, including the commodification of art, marketplace pressures and technological trends that promote hom*ogeneity.
When art is primarily viewed as a commodity, its intrinsic value and the creative impulses behind it are easily overwhelmed by its market potential. This commodification encourages the production of art that is likely to sell or go viral, often at the expense of originality and risk-taking. As a result, artistic expression can become constrained by commercial imperatives, leading to a proliferation of formulaic and derivative works.
The entertainment industry’s emphasis on brands, franchises and sequels can also stifle innovation. The financial success of established franchises encourages studios and publishers to invest in known quantities rather than new, untested ideas, leading to a cultural landscape dominated by repetition and recycling of content.
Despite the existence of YouTube and its imitators, it’s still extremely difficult for independent and experimental works to find a platform. Economic pressures have contributed to the hom*ogenizing of cultural offerings.
Also, in an era of information overload, artists and creators often compete fiercely for audience attention, sometimes prioritizing content that is easily digestible or sensational over works that are challenging or thought-provoking. This competition can lead to a race to the bottom in terms of quality and depth.
While technology has democratized access to artistic production, the widespread use of certain software and platforms can lead to a hom*ogenization of aesthetic and style. For example, the use of similar digital tools in music production, like autotuning, can result in a uniform sound that transcends genres.
Streaming platforms and social media use algorithmic curation to recommend content to users based on their past preferences. While this can help audiences discover new content, it can also create echo chambers that reinforce existing tastes and discourage exploration, leading to a narrowing of cultural experiences.
Nor has cross-cultural exchange had the effects I anticipated. Even though globalization has facilitated the cross-pollination of cultures, it can also contribute to cultural hom*ogenization, as globally dominant cultural products overshadow local traditions and diverse voices.
It strikes me as true: Societies get the art that they deserve. If the creative spark has dimmed, the artistic pallet has narrowed, and artistic creativity has flatlined, if we are witnessing the stealthy grip of artistic hom*ogenization and spectacles of sameness amid a creeping tide of cultural uniformity, then we’d do well to look to figures like Dylan.
He speaks to a world quite different from today’s, with lyrics that are poetic, replete with allusions, symbols, imagery and cultural referents that draw on a wide panoply of cultural, literary and historical sources to create songs that operate on multiple levels of meaning. This intertextuality makes his lyrics ripe for analysis and interpretation.
If his songs’ meanings are often opaque and elusive, his works are also rich and deeply expressive, with a depth and complexity that transcends other pop musical compositions. His poetic approach, in other words, aligns with the traditions of Romanticism and literary modernism. It resembles Rimbaud’s sensory-rich poetry, which sought to “derange all the senses” and capture the ineffable. He shows that even a two-and-half minute song “the lowest of low art” can be “bottomless in its complexity and richness.”
Steven Mintz is professor of history at the University of Texas at Austin and the author, most recently, of The Learning-Centered University: Making College a More Developmental, Transformational, and equitable Experience.
