Sudden 'Dirge' attack this morning

"I've paid the price of solitude
But at least I'm out of debt."

Dylan's last (definitely maybe)

Due on Sept. 11 (Oh, that date) what may be his final album, Tempest.

Don't you love the characteristic modesty with which he compares himself to Shakespeare?

And Prospero.

This is Dylan saying, This rough magic I here abjure.

This is Dylan saying, I'm not here.

Can't wait. Waiting.

'Was that sincere enough?'

Via TR, commenting on KM's post, the story of how Blood on the Tracks got made.

*

There's this bit:

Lighting was a big deal in the rooms. It was all about setting the mood for creativity. I turned most of the lights off. All was black except a glow over the flying-V mixing console. Once you blocked out all external stimuli and you were listening for endless hours, the space between the beats got bigger and bigger. You could hear inside the sounds all the way to their core.

And I found myself nodding. Oh, yes. Sound studios are magical in a way editing studios aren't. Editing studios are noise and repetition, they're flicker and blindingness. There's no spotlight and then darkness. There's no awe.

In sound studios, you're always on the outside looking in. There is austerity and exclusion (as with the image of Zbignew Herbert on the cover). You're always on the other side of the glass. It's cold. You might even need a sweater. There are mysterious words that you're allowed to hear once in a while. On the screen, the images play themselves out in silence. Sound recording is liturgy.