10-12-08, 10:25 am

The Political Art of Bob Dylan Edited by David Boucher and Gary Browning Palgrave MacMillan, 2004

Too much intellectualizing?

Much has been written about Bob Dylan's life and work, and much of it is very good. From Christopher Ricks' investigation of Dylan's 'Visions of Sin' to Mike Marqusee's look at his protest songs in the 1960s and Clinton Heylin's biographical work – not to mention Dylan's own autobiographical 'Chronicles' – we have come to learn a great deal more about one of our age's great voices. But what we haven't yet had, contend the authors of this volume of essays, is a scholarly take on Dylan's politics, a gap that editors Boucher and Browning set out to fill.

The essays (there are seven in all) range broadly across the contributors’ chosen themes, and the result is, inevitably, uneven. From Gary Browning, who posits more of an analogy than an argument, we have a likening of Dylan's political development to that of ultra-critical postmodern philosopher Jean-Francois Lyotard. His argument is interesting, if somewhat elevated, and he certainly doesn't suggest that the two influenced each other.

From Andrew Gamble, we have an assessment of how Dylan used the idea of judgement to situate his political art. Gamble finds that as Dylan’s 1960s career developed, the act of judging became more complicated and the taking of political sides far harder.

There is an excellent analysis by Michael Jones of the 'Judas!' cry shouted at Dylan’s 1965 gig at the Manchester Free Trade Hall. Jones explains Dylan's life work as 'change itself,' a reaction to a culture which sought to straitjacket him – both from the left (in the form of folk and protest movements) and by capital (in the form of the culture industry).

Jones’ view of the culture industry as a touchstone for Dylan's chameleon-like character is neatly followed by a piece on the resonance between the work of Adorno and Dylan by Lawrence Wilde. Wilde notes Adorno's love of German abstract-expressionism and astutely compares its masters with Dylan's mid- 60s period, shedding new light on works like 'Desolation Row,' which Dylan fans should appreciate. Jones writes that although Dylan had made a formal disavowal of political art in 1964 (in 'My Back Pages'), 1965's 'Desolation Row' 'comes out with an outright rejection of the status quo' in the form of a 'vibrant, autonomous song which exposes and explodes hypocrisy without falling into the trap of dogmatic sermonizing.' Many Dylan fans will surely agree.

One of the questions about Dylan's work that the volume treats well is his transition from 'protest art' (such as 'Masters of War') to a form of expressionist, 'autonomous' song, which might, on the surface, appear less as a cry of protest than a mystifying appeal to the senses. But as Dylan once said of his later songs, 'they are all protest songs.' Reading Wilde's essay, it is hard not to agree.

What The Political Art of Bob Dylan does not offer is a coherent explanation of Dylan's politics. His links with groups and individuals are not even broached. Some periods are basically blacked out, such as the early 1970s and the 1980s, and although a few 1980s songs such as 'Union Sundown' are looked at, there is no mention of the more intriguing 'Jokerman.' In terms of more recent work, the volume’s limits its attention to 2001's 'Love and Theft.'

The focus of these essays, however, is very much on the 1960s, and the volume tends to cover much the same ground as Marqusee did in his 'Chimes of Freedom.' While the terrain is familiar, what is new here is a critical academic interpretation of the period, along with a desire to situate Dylan's work in time both artistically and politically. This focus uncovers a Dylan bordering on the post-modern, renouncing organized politics and commercial pressures alike, a conclusion that many will appreciate, but which also tends to neglect later eruptions of actual political commitment.

And while there is, for example, mention of Dylan's support for imprisoned black boxer Rubin 'Hurricane' Carter in 'Desire' (1975), and another passing reference to Dylan's advocacy of farm reform at the 1985's Live Aid concert, little effort is expended assessing the seriousness of such stances.

Despite this, these essays enrich our understanding of Dylan's eccentricity as a political writer, and provide new insight into his most powerful work. The Political Art of Bob Dylan is a thought-provoking volume, albeit for those of a more critical bent. Its erudition does flirt with excess at times, and the words of David Boucher ('too much intellectualizing could destroy the experience') need to be kept need to be kept in mind. However, such intellectualizing is, by and large, avoided, and the contributors should be applauded for that.