In 1970, Dylan was so set on releasing a terrible album that he left out all the good stuff.
Here’s the good stuff.
Welcome to Dylanland.

You don’t need Thile and Mehldau to justify the standing of Dylan or Mitchell. But their fresh new readings may still amplify and even enhance the originals.

This is the way the world the world ends, this is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with Jeff babbling about the demigods playing ping-pong.
Wishing all of us, everywhere, health and peace of mind.

Dylan, not as a kid pretending to be a cotton-picker in Greenwich Village; not him embarrassing himself as an Evangelist preacher; not as an old fool croaking standards–this is Dylan at his creative pinnacle.
It’s another side of Bob Dylan — unmasked, naked and vulnerable. We’re idiots, babe, it’s a wonder that we still know how to breathe.

Bob Dylan at his best. Which is to say the art of our time at its best. For time capsules, for satellites to distant universes, for future generations: this is what we had to offer.

Kids, be careful! One little romp in the back seat, whoops, you’re a parent forever. One untimely text, you’re limping through the Pearly Gates at 21. Write a Protest Song at 22, you’re a Protest Singer forever.

Bob Dylan at his best. It don’t get no better than that.

‘Tears of Rage’ is Dylan’s “King Lear”, a brutally painful description of a daughter’s love denied. The Basement Tapes, recorded in 1967 as he convalesced from his motorpsycho accident, lay underground for decades. But their impact on the way we perceive the world is greater than any other pop music, including “Sgt Pepper”.