I Can't Sing, But I Got Soul

Bob Dylan, King of Songwriters, and aging better than the Mick Jagger's children is set to loose the little cd-thingy Modern Times next Tuesday is interviewed by Rolling Stone magazine, and I can't wait for his album to come out. On Love and Theft his voice was smoky with blackness of the world, darkness of the soul coming through his blackened lungs. So he didn't even try to sing, he crooned and drawled with a near grandfatherly sweetness or regret on the slower songs, and for the faster songs he chanted like a medicine man on the warpath. I hope this style will continue; I hope he's been smoking the exhaust pipe of a diesel truck.

A few weeks ago I was able to listen to his Theme Time Radio Hour program that he hosts on XM radio, and I had to strain my ears to listen to what he was saying because his voice was so low and soft. Slowly, I was able to listen clearly to him, when that happened I wanted to go back and just listen to him talk and not understand, as he speaks with a voice suitable to spoken word lullibyes.

I hope to this weekend post on Soccer (and sport in general) and art.
To Mere-Imagers I would like it if we wrote a group post, a sort of discussion, on art, and on our preferences regarding art, but I think it work best if someone other than myself led off the discussion.