Said the joker to the thief

"Love And Theft" - Bob Dylan (2001)

It would be hard to call "Love And Theft" a career zenith for an artist with such albums as Highway 61 Revisited (1965) and Blood On The Tracks (1975) on his resume, but it remains a favourite of mine since picking it up on the day it was released, the rather horrific September 11, 2001.

This album is a lyrical delight, with Dylan bursting in poetic bloom. He pulls off line after line in substantial stanzas full of astounding epigrams, witty couplets, even a knock-knock joke. This is all done with a wink and a nod to Junichi Saga's 1991 Confessions Of A Yakuza (via John Bester translation). In the realms of folk and blues music that Dylan has bookended his career in, borrowing and appropriating have always been accepted means of preserving and even furthering the traditions. If one would even deem it "theft", then, it is certainly done out of "love".

A rapid bongo rhythm fades the album in, accompanied by the shrieks of an antique-sounding guitar and the quick jive of a perfectly junky old organ. "Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum", (93/100), are Dylan's most obnoxious pair of scoundrels since "Tweeter And The Monkey Man", and their wild antics take them from "happy harmony" to an uncertain end. The lead guitar engages in majestic swirling runs while the rhythm guitar sets down a riff like a rugged spine. The narrator proposes that "a childish dream is a deathless need."

There may be "only one thing I did wrong," but the song "Mississippi", (100), (http://www.mediafire.com/?ccfdefrh3wp2oso), is certainly not it. This song is not in a hurry. It takes a leisurely albeit lonely stroll through a life filled with a little sunshine and a lot of struggle. While "walkin' through the leaves falling from the trees, feelin' like a stranger nobody sees," some regret is expressed, but no bitterness harboured: "My heart is not weary, it's light and it's free, I've got nothin' but affection for all those who've sailed with me". Every line is ripe with folksy acumen and the journey must continue. As the song says, "everybody got to move somewhere."

"Summer Days", (90), picks up the swing, offering a perfect tune for a cool autumn evening. While the mood set by the music and wild wedding party imagery is lighter, the song is still sung by one whose "back has been to the wall for so long, it seems like it's stuck". Perhaps the lively nature of this blues is the spark one needs to make a break from their heartbroken past or from the rut that life can so easily fall into. When told, "'You can't repeat the past', I say 'You can't? What do you mean, you can't? Of course you can.'" As a result, the escape will be spectacular. "I'm leavin' in the morning," he promises, severing all ties to yesterday by "break(ing) in the roof" and "set(ting) fire to the place."

This is followed by "Bye And Bye", (82), the first of two crooned ballads that "Love And Theft" contains. It's a short slow roller, a sincere tribute to the kind of dreamy, dancing love as imagined by a smoky Hollywood romance from the late 1920s or early 30s. Highlighted by laid back organ frills, the singer is wise, "watchin' the roads ... (and) studying the dust."

That gentle scene is shattered by the boistrous energy of "Lonesome Day Blues," (94), (http://www.mediafire.com/?s5w8762i12bwq9o). These are some big blues, sonically speaking, striking with the ferocity of some serious tremors. The band plays lavishly and the song is delivered from the perspective of one brought to complete isolation by death, abandonment and a lifetime of disappointment. "I tell myself something's comin'," he says, "but it never does."

Meanwhile, "Floater (Too Much To Ask)", (90), has the feeling of a lazy spring day. The ethereal quality is amplified by a breezy intermittent violin. The images come fast and furious, though, in this song, which borrows the most from Yakuza. Solitude again makes its lack of presence felt as "I keep listenin' for footsteps but I ain't ever hearing any." It reminds listeners that indeed "times are hard everywhere."

"High Water (For Charley Patton)", (96), is certainly not the first time Dylan has emulated one of his blues heroes and its aims are as authentically executed as ever, right down to the broom dusting. (Patton's "High Water Everywhere, Part 1" can be heard here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=336dDZsU1Eg). The machine-gun banjo, gasping accordian, background moans and epic drum rolls give Dylan's "High Water" an urgency appropriate of foreboding disaster.

"Moonlight", (83), is the second ballad, notable as much for its beautiful nature imagery as for the anachronistic fact that it would not appear at all out of place in Nat Cole's songbook. Love blossoms amongst tranquil orchids, cypress trees and twisted oaks.

The pace picks up once again on "Honest With Me", (93), courtesy a twitchy organ, a heavy beat and an intensified guitar note repeatedly bent to the point of breaking. Dylan also bends the language. The prevalence of puns here and over the course of the entire album showcases a sense of humour too often absent from like subject matter. Then again, sometimes things are so bleak, all one can do is laugh, simply because laughing beats the alternative. Just one standout line from this song: "You say my eyes are pretty and my smile is nice, well, I'll sell it to you at a reduced price."

"Po' Boy", (92), presents the misadventures of a hard-luck hero. Its melancholy theme is again juxtaposed with slapstick writing. I appreciate the appearance of Othello and Desdemona here much more than that of Romeo and Juliet in "Floater", due to the ubiquity of the latter pair. Both, however, match the tragic mood of a song about someone who just can't win.

Next, "Cry A While", (93), takes some jabs, both lyrically and instrumentally, seeking emotional retribution from a relationship gone bad. The bumpy road of the narrator's life is manifest in the music which jerks and rattles along like a jalopy. Whether battling tears "on the fringes of the night", in a church pew or in a courtroom, it seems there are many to be shed all around.

Finally, "Sugar Baby", (93), is the latest Dylan kiss-off in the grand tradition of "Idiot Wind". The impassioned bitterness of that diatribe is replaced with a disgusted but stoic indifference here. The sense of humour demonstrated in previous songs on "Love And Theft" has dissipated and a dusky, reflective tone is left in its wake. In a similar ghostly atmosphere as the one evoked on much of Dylan's previous album, 1997's Time Out Of Mind, wisdom gleaned from a lifetime of experience is dispensed soberly and sullenly. The dispenser knows tribulation and "can see what everybody in the world is up against."

The limited edition of "Love And Theft" features a second disc with two bonus tracks. "I Was Young When I Left Home" is an early Dylan demo from 1961, and an alternate take of "The Times They Are A-Changin'" from 1963 is also included. Both will have appeal for the Dylan fanatic, perhaps not so much so for the casual listener.

This album finds itself inexorably rooted in the past that sometimes haunts it. Dropping in ever so briefly on an assortment of characters in various states and places, "Love And Theft" has the feel of an evasive trip down a never-ending road. The corner of every phrase is handled precisely and the fuel is supplied by the dual charge of reminiscence and discovery.

"Love And Theft" (album): 92/100.