The New Dylans
By: Christian Hagen
Bob Dylan is the greatest enigma in the history of rock and roll.
No one artist has embodied so much of the best and worst of the genres conventions, inventing many of them only to redefine them again and again as his life and work has progressed. Possibly the finest American songwriter of the 20th century, his anthemic and unorthodox musical arrangements laid the ground work for American rock music and made such music lyrical and defiant in ways that it had not been before.
Still, no genius is ever without his demons. In over 50 years of performing music, he’s been called everything from egomaniacal to radical to obnoxious. His philosophies and poetry have been at times controversial; his very voice divides the culture. It’s not accident that, of all the musical biopics produced in Hollywood, the Dylan-inspired I’m Not There is by far the most fractured, abstract, and wholly non-traditional.
As Dylan moves on in years, his recordings finding less and less of the revolutionary qualities or critical respect of his early career, it’s natural for us to remember his glory days and wonder: Who, if anyone, can create that same impact for the music of today?
Decade after decade, more artists are likened to Dylan. But who can truly carry the weight of the comparison? Who can be leader of the youth counterculture, socio-political firebrand, philosopher, innovator, creator, destroyer, all at once? It’s difficult enough, in today’s age, to simply remain a celebrity, to have relevance within the people. Here, I posit a few candidates for the role of the New Dylan. Maybe they can all represent a portion of the name.
—
Beck
Beck Hanson, for years performing only under his first name, is almost as much of an enigma to listeners as Dylan was in his day. Yet with technological advancements, the advent of remixes and mash-ups, it’s much harder to define the path that Beck has taken compared to Dylan’s path from folk to rock. In terms of eclectic, even innovative, musicianship, Beck has been in a class by himself for the last two decades. Even his greatest failures have failed spectacularly, he preferring to burn by risk than shine without substance.
Consider the year 1994, in which he recorded not one, not two, but three albums in the span of a few months, including Stereopathic Soulmanure, Mellow Gold, and the folksy One Foot in the Grave, all vastly different. Mellow Gold also featured the song that put Beck on the map, “Loser,” an anthem certainly not of the scope or positive influence of “Like a Rolling Stone” but essential to its generation, a blueprint for years of stereo DIY remix albums to come years after.
But of course Beck, like any good musician, is not without his controversies, most notably his public defense of Scientology, a church of which he’s been an active part for most of his life. But over the course of his career, few solo artists have managed to innovate and explore as thoroughly as Beck, and his triumphs are works of art.
His albums can almost be weighed against Dylan’s in terms of sensibilities. Sea Change is his Blood on the Tracks, his stripped-down heartbreak album. Odelay is his Blonde on Blonde, at times self-indulgent but inspiring to an entire generation of contemporaries. It’s not difficult to label Beck as the New Dylan. It’s more difficult, however, to predict what he will do next.
Conor Oberst
At once probably the least known and most debated inclusion on this list, Conor Oberst has been buried under the weight of the Dylan flag for his entire career, despite his absolute renunciation of the term. Yet the comparison is apt in many ways. Breaking into the musical consciousness with the 2000 Bright Eyes release Fevers and Mirrors, Oberst was instantly polarizing. Here was a young musician who wore his angst on his sleeve, and, though his lyrics showed poetry, his music was often abrasively emotional, to the point that they came across, to some, as grating. Add to this a reputation for pretension, resulting mainly from several blunt and unflattering interviews, a false version of one placed on his album, and a voice that left some clutching their ears in disdain, and Oberst was, from the start, a source of fierce criticism.
Yet within the same moments for which he was so critically viewed were moments of artistic defiance that gained Oberst a loyal, even rabid, following. And Bright Eyes’ follow-up, Lifted, cemented in the minds of many his enormous potential. The Omaha, NE native seemed to be searching for something, a truth, a sound, something by which he could define himself, in much the same way that Dylan’s “pre-electric” albums grew gradually more ornate in terms of backing music.
It was on 2007’s Cassadega, and particularly in the song “Four Winds,” that he seemed to find his footing. Long dabbling in the world of country, and scoring an underground success with the Bush-era folk protest song “When the President Talks to God,” Oberst found his true voice. Lyrically reminiscent of the best work of Dylan, overcoming his Midwestern outsider status and his contested vocal issues, and brimming with proficient musical arrangements, “Four Winds” stands as a Dylan-esque classic of the highest order.
And in this way, there is another parallel to Mr. Dylan, albeit in mirror: Whereas Dylan moved from the world of folk to the world of rock and roll, Oberst has moved from the harder and darker edges of indie rock to the softer but more honest realm of folk and country. Though often disputed, it is very clear that Oberst at least belongs in the conversation of the New Dylan.
Kanye West
As grand a cultural icon as one could ever imagine. West is a brilliant promoter, adept at making his every move seem important, self-aggrandizing to the point of self-parody. He’s been called the biggest dick in modern music. His public persona fluctuates from tortured genius to idiot savant, and his antics have caused no end of media attention into even the minutia of his life. His Twitter feed, of all things, has transformed the business of music.
And yet, through all the insanity of West’s identity, his strongest suit has always been his music. From producer to rap superstar, his rise was certainly not slow or simple. But the brilliance of his work is undeniable, and critics continue to laud every note as though each were dipped in gold. His success is truly indicative of our time. The reactions to The College Dropout were akin to those of Highway 61 Revisited; it was as if he’d skipped being a folk artist and skipped straight to the shock of going electric. His productions were revelatory, soul samples and violins and choirs and guest vocals from iconic hip-hop stars across the country, all beneath verses that crowned him king of an unwitting but needy world, a ruler for the people who didn’t even know they wanted him. And it was only the beginning.
West’s status as a lightning rod for criticism has only grown with time. Consider his post-Katrina slam of the White House: “George Bush doesn’t care about black people.” Or his repeated and vocal assertions of his faith, as on the classic “Jesus Walks.” Or his storming of the stage at the VMAs to interrupt Taylor Swift. No matter the issue or the event, West promotes discussion, promotes controversy. No single artist is as shocking to the sensibilities of American music and press as Kanye West while still remaining a viable artistic force.
He’s even had his moody falling-out with rap music, similar to Dylan’s brief abandonment of songwriting that saw him declining an invitation to Woodstock in 1969. And while 808s and Heartbreak is nowhere near the songcraft or listenability of Blood on the Tracks, it’s no less emotionally true. “Heartless” could be his “Idiot Wind.” And where to go next? It’s only been two years since his last album, yet already it’s felt like a lifetime has passed in the world of hip-hop since the last time West released a full rap album. Will his new album be the mark on history that his early albums showed he could create? Time will tell.
Also, he made ridiculous sunglasses cool again.
—
Perhaps none of these candidates are worthy of the title of the New Dylan. But as long as there is a youth culture, we must look to Dylan’s example and remember what is possible, not just in musical performance and advancement but also in terms of cultural leadership. Who are the alternative youth of today to follow? Flawed a person as he or she may be, whomever should bear the crown of the New Dylan must be prepared: There are a world of problems to face, and we need someone who can handle the challenge.