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The moans on Dylan's latest aren't exactly of the morbid death-rattle variety

Consider "Day After Tomorrow," off Tom's last record, 2004's Real Gone, hiding amid perhaps a few too many corny carnival barker nightmares (titles like "Don't Go Into the Barn" etc.) with a shockingly vivid soldier's plea for survival, a whole other world of Holy Shit I'm Dying, painted in quiet tones gorgeous and mournful and beyond belief. I wish Bob Dylan still wrote songs like that. He undoubtedly can. If he'd written that particular one it would've triggered laudatory press orders of magnitude greater than any half-assed paean to Alicia Keys. It's ridiculous to expect him to play along with my bizarre deathbed-lament fetish, but for a guy who ascended to greatness by violently accosting the gllllrrrrrhhhhh of the world, we sure could use his opinion on it now. He's our link with history.

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