Mendelsohn: Klinger, I’m about to commit blasphemy. I like Dylan. But I don’t love Dylan. When it comes to Dylan, given my druthers, I’d rather listen to Highway 61 Revisited. When it comes to music in general, given my druthers, I’d probably choose to listen to something other than Dylan. Is there something wrong with me? Did I just cash a one-way ticket to music critic hell?
Klinger: I’m glad you said that, Mendelsohn. It’s true that your abject blasphemy has most certainly earned you a place in critic’s hell—move over, guy from Entertainment Weekly! And while I’m sorry about that, I must thank you for blunting the force of my own transgression: although I really like Blonde on Blonde, I don’t think it’s anywhere near Dylan’s best album, and I kind of wish the criticerati would take a breath from their incessant fawning over it.
Mendelsohn: I have to tell you, that’s a huge load off my shoulders. I thought there was something wrong with me—like I had gone insane but I was the only one who knew I was insane and if I opened my mouth everyone would realize I was insane and I would be institutionalized. Please, don’t have me put away, I just don’t get it. I don’t get Zimmy in general but the position of Blonde on Blonde on the list befuddles me.
In an effort to understand this album I went out and read reviews on it until my eyes started to bleed. To keep a long, boring and bloody story very short—I came away with the impression that everybody was reading a little too far into this record. Which leads me to ask, is everybody reading into Dylan a little too far as well?