Bob Dylan

Four sides of hard-drinking heartbreak, late night desperation, and exuberant self-destruction. Basement Tapes is de facto proof that crappy recordings can be better than those made in a studio -- and also that Dylan is God, Robbie Robertson is the filthiest guitarist since Mickey Baker, and Richard Manuel's voice is the damned saddest thing there ever was.

There was a desert wind blowing that night, and the hot breeze that sighed through the
open window had just enough muscle to swirl the smoke from the ghosts of a hundred
cigarettes a single time around the solitary desk lamp before giving it up as a bad job. I
knew the feeling. I had been sitting in the office for days, thinking and rethinking the case.
It added up all right -- hell, it had added up from the very beginning -- but I just c... More >