Anne Margaret Daniel: Happy Birthday, Bob Dylan
Huffington Post - almost 4 years
Bob Dylan, 1965. Photograph courtesy and © Daniel Kramer
Happy birthday, Bob Dylan.
Summer, 1988. A skinny redheaded girl is standing in a folding chair in the front row at the Mann Center in Philadelphia, with her arms around two perfect strangers, a blonde and a brunette. We're all dancing to "Maggie's Farm." When Bob delivers the line "She's sixty-eight, but she says she's twenty-four," he looks at us and grins. From the circles of eyeliner, his eyes, an improbable shade of bright blue, laugh - more at us, maybe, than with us.
The first time I heard Bob Dylan live was that night. I'd heard him plenty before then, having grown up with the Folkways Newport Bob thanks to my parents, a mother from an Appalachian family full of fiddle players and a father who knew every old Southern hymn, folk song, blues, and holler - if you can ever properly differentiate among these. Blood On The Tracks was the first Dylan album I came to on my own, and I had never heard anyth
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