My cohort has alerted me to the news that Bob Dylan’s new album is currently number one.

Being perfectly frank, I can only handle Dylan in very small doses. I like Desire, Blood on the Tracks, and Blonde on Blonde, but I can’t really listen to more than three Dylan songs in a row. And that could last me more than a year. But I’ve got a lot of respect for his songwriting which is brilliant.

I hear he’s got a show on satellite radio now, though I can’t imagine it. I haven’t heard the guy speak in years, but the last time I did I couldn’t understand a word he said. That’s not an exaggeration; I mean I literally couldn’t understand a single syllable. Might as well have been Klingon or Laotian.

Regardless, he’s got a number one album and I’ve reached the point where any album not recorded by a boy band or lip synching strumpet is a triumph. I have no use for house, techno, hip, hop or anything recorded by people who have gone to the “Creed” school of moan rock. I am old and jaded and I remember the days when people actually wrote their own songs. I remember the days when you put on an album and listened to the whole thing because it was good. The order of songs on an album was a big deal.

That’s no longer true because the music industry cultivates only the most processed shite and gang rap. There you have it, two choices; completely emasculating or violence inducing.

I take this Dylan thing as a sign, especially after the old bastard starting spouting off about how all music these days is crap. He may be unintelligible but he’s no dumbass.

I need to dig out my copy of Almost Famous tonight.