Worse, still, than losing a lover is losing a muse. Gently, lovingly, at other times with parasitic intention or vampiric intensity, men have turned to women for inspiration. F. Scott Fitzgerald had Zelda, Rodin had Camille Claudel, Picasso had a distaff palette; and Bob Dylan, one of the most intriguing, important, irascible figures in rock, had whom? On Time Out of Mind, his first CD of new, self-penned material in seven years and his most consistently rewarding album since the '70s, Dylan seems to be haunted by an imaginary, unnamed muse who has come and gone, leaving him loveless and listless, feeling out of fashion and out of time. The situation is desperate, but the album is cathartic and ultimately hopeful: there is salvation, and it comes from within. Dylan's fortunes may be changing in the '90s.
But can time really be divided into neatly defined decades? More likely it is for historical neatness's sake that we stuff trends into boxes, like books shelved by the Dewey decimal system, so that we can comprehend the world and categorize its contents. And yet Dylan's career divides easily into decades: the folk ingenue of the '60s, fresh-faced from Hibbing, Minn., drawing from Robert Johnson, Blind Lemon Jefferson and Woody Guthrie, busting with old blues, freshly learned folk songs and rock-fueled new ideas he was on the verge of unleashing. Then the folk-rock mystery rebel of the '70s, releasing insurgent basement tapes, performing benefits for Rubin ("Hurricane") Carter (a convicted murderer whose guilt he questioned). And then the fading master of the '80s, toying with gospel-inspired backup singers, collaborating with playwrights like Sam Shepard, embracing a born-again evangelistic tone, losing some of his edge, his vibrant outsider insolence.
And in the '90s, what? Punk poets came and went, Kurt Cobain chief among them, and a folk-rock movement arose again--neo-folkies like Beck, Indigo Girls, Laura Love, all charged with youth but drawing on the past. Where was Dylan? His albums in the '90s have been mostly cautious retoolings--CDs laden with aged, unreleased material or dusty covers of traditional folk songs.
But something promising has been happening. In concert, Dylan has been regaining strength. At the 25th anniversary of Woodstock in 1994, on his MTV Unplugged album in 1995 and in concert recently at Jones Beach, outside New York City, Dylan displayed a renewed focus and grace. He has also been touring with stars of the new folkie set--punk-folk rocker Ani DiFranco and pop-folk star Jewel have opened his shows. One wonders: Does he stand in the wings and watch these young women perform? What does he feel as he sees his son Jakob, of the folk-rock band the Wallflowers, ascend the charts? Does he see where he has been or where he has to go?