I’ve never got Dylan. Many of my age (and generally slightly older) revere him as a major deity, but I just don’t see (or hear) it. He’s written some great songs, but I can’t get past that delivery. It’s almost the gruff discord of Tom Waits, but without any indication of the years of dissolute life and heartbreak that scarred that voice. Perhaps, (Emperor’s New Clothes moment here), he’s just got a horrible voice.
So why is this album on my shelves? What possessed me to break my Dylan duck? Several years ago, in December, we went to see Mark Thomas at The Horsebridge in Whitstable, and among Mark’s choice of music while we waited for the start was a really catchy, call and response song that became an earworm. So, when we got home, I Googled “It Must Be Santa” and discovered it was indeed, His Royal Bobness himself. So, wanting some different Christmas music (with all respect to Kirsty, Shane and Noddy, I don’t need to hear Fairytale of New York or Merry Christmas Everybody ever again. Great songs, but …). And what a mistake that was.
It’s Dylan growling through unadventurous versions of overworked standards. Mostly awful. So far, while writing this he’s murdered Here Comes Santa Claus, Little Drummer Boy and many more Christmas favourites. He’s now trying to prevent me having myself a merry little Christmas. But then the aforementioned Must Be Santa shines like a welcome lighthouse through the festive gloom, a real song of Christmas cheer, but it’s scant reward for what I’ve had to sit through to get here. There are five more songs on the album for Bob to destroy, but he doesn’t disappoint. They’re awful. This CD will be relegated from the shelves to the drawer upstairs*, with only Must Be Santa to be streamed in future winter solstices. Merry Christmas!
*Update - Oxfam had it
1* - I’d hoped that Must Be Santa would raise it to 2*, but not after sitting through the whole album.
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