What we need around here right about now is a bit of a tempest. Preferably a few 100 kilometres out at sea to pulse out some sweet swell.
The closest to a tempest I got this grey Monday morning is Bob Dylan's 35th album, Tempest. Not bad for a 71 year old. I bought this one cold from iToons following a very impressive review in the press. Now I know from first hand experince that the Bobster has had a few duds, including the last time I saw him live. Dark muddy lighting and equally confusing muttering don't constitute a satisfactory sonic experience.
I've just done my first listening of Tempest and I can report that although the title may be a misnomer, the old story teller can still spin an evocative yarn. There's whiffs of the Delta, the scarlet delights of Bourbon Street, the sea, death and love. There's always richly complicated surrealistic relationships in Bob's universe. My verdict on one listening - a fine moody gem just right for a quiet midnight wind down or a Sunday morning come down.
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