The Times They Are A-Changin' [Vinyl]

"Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught. They lowered him down as a king. But when the shadowy sun sets on the one that fired the gun, he'll see by his grave, on the stone that remains, carved next to his name, his epitaph plain: Only a Pawn in Their Game."


Magnificent   September 23, 2004
Trey Nunley
9 out of 10 found this review helpful

I am officially obsessed with this album. In my opinion, the most amazing thing about it may be the fact that Dylan recorded this at 22 years old. While still only a child, his worn voice and cynical lyrics create an atmosphere of wisdom and maturity far beyond his years.

Released in early 1964, mere weeks after the Beatles touched down in America for the first time and standing at the foot of the civil rights monolith to come, the title track has taken on an almost prophetic identity of its own. At times on this album, it seems as though the ghost of Woody Guthrie has taken over Dylan. And there he is, standing on a mountaintop, peering out into the second half of the 1960's.

The times were definitely a-changin', and then there was Dylan.


perfectly encapsulated moral intensity   June 19, 2000
paul barlow
6 out of 6 found this review helpful

A gaunt and bony-faced Bob stares out austerely from the cover, trying to resemble a Walker Evans depression-era photograph, and doing a pretty good job at that. These are THE classic 'protesty songs of his protest years', and overwhelmingly powerful they are too, building up from the attention- grabbing title song to culminate in the engrossing human tragedy of Hattie Carroll, the black maid beaten to death by a drunken socialite. Dylan's own mixture of fear and commitment is a noticably intriguing counterpoint to the strong political rhetoric. His usual `restless feet' imagery in `One Too Many Mornings' neatly contrasts with crumbling social stability of `North Country Blues'. Even in `Oxford Town' his campaigning is cut short by the urge to get out of the heat. By the end, the `Restless Farewell' to activism is starkly set against the personalising of oppression in the story of Carroll and the vile Zanzinger. Both these final songs are hypnotic - perfect examples of Dylan's subtle development of his old technique of hanging onto, and drawing out lines so that resolutions seem suspended in mid-air, and endings seem like blessed moments of release.

What is most impressive, is that these mid-60s protest-songs seem neither dated, nor `politically correct' in any way. Instead they recreate the real and intense sense of injustice and fear of destruction that dominated the era.