Joan Osborne. Dylanology Live. The Cabot, MA, 7 June 2025.

Reviewed by Britt Eisnor

 

Thirty years after the release of her debut studio album Relish, Joan Osborne is on the road paying homage to one of her earliest influences: Bob Dylan. This tour, affectionately titled Dylanology Live, is in support of a new live album by the same name from Osborne’s 2018 Dylanology tour. That tour followed her successful 2017 album of Dylan tunes Songs of Bob Dylan. While Dylanology Live is the result of this sequence of events, it’s far from the beginning of Osborne’s relationship with Dylan’s music and with the man himself.

 

As she told us from the stage where I saw her in Beverly, Massachusetts on June 7th, 2025, Oh Mercy was the first full Dylan album that Osborne had owned and loved. She honored her devotion to the 1989 album with a cover of “Man in the Long Black Coat,” which sat alongside her inescapable hit single “One of Us” on Relish. That cover, she believes, is what caught the attention of Bob Dylan himself. A couple years after its release, Dylan’s team contacted Osborne and asked her to accompany the songwriter on a new studio recording of “Chimes of Freedom.” The track was intended for use in a now relatively forgotten and less-than-favorably reviewed miniseries called The 60’s – which is described as “an epic blend of music, drama and real live events that bring the decade’s most explosive events to life.” (One chapter on the DVD is titled “Dylan.”) Dylan and Osborne’s duet of “Chimes of Freedom” was the only new recording featured in the series.

 

Osborne began her career, like Dylan, as a live performer. She started playing open mics in the East Village in the early 90s, eventually leaving her established position in the New York City music scene for regional tours. In fact, Relish was preceded by a live album recorded at Delta 88 Nightclub in New York City. Osborne is often referred to not just as a singer/songwriter, but also as an interpreter of music. This seems to be in reference to the fact that she not only performs her original music, but has spent a great deal of time flexing her musical chops in a variety of genres and styles. With projects throughout her career focusing on Motown classics, Dylan, The Grateful Dead, and more, she has always displayed a knack for understanding and digesting different areas of music and turning them back out with her own emotion and character. This moniker of “interpreter” is one that would also do well applied to Dylan, and his constant musical exploration. The way in which the spirit of Dylan’s approach to live music resonates with Osborne was very apparent in the show I saw this year.

 

The run of shows Osborne performed with this concept in 2018, as well as the newly released Dylanology Live album, also share that spirit. With unique interpretation given to each song, and a kinetic energy among the team of musicians she had assembled seven years ago, it’s easy to see why she pulled this show out of her archive for release. And although she could not assemble the same lineup that is featured on the album (among others, Amy Helm, Jackie Greene, and Robert Randolph), the group at present is, as she said enthusiastically in Beverly, “just as good!”

 

Just as good indeed, from veterans like the incredible Cindy Cashdollar (who has her own history working directly with Dylan) and the remarkable Gail Anne Dorsey (most well known for her tenure in David Bowie’s live band from the years of 1995-2004), to relative unknowns Will Bryant and Lee Falco, the band strikes up a hell of a show.

 

At a time when we’re still blessed with the opportunity to see Bob Dylan in concert, there is no replacement for seeing him live. The spirit of reinvention still lives with him, and nobody covering his material is going to top that. However, it is still powerful to see an artist carrying on Dylan’s legacy of collaboration with other talented artists while lending new meaning to his songs. In a 2018 interview following the release of her cover album Songs of Bob Dylan, Osborne told the Dylan Review:

 

When covering any song, it’s the same regardless of the songwriter. The song lives through you. It takes possession of you. It lives in a way it never has. Each version is a different incarnation allowing the songs to live in a new way for another day.[1]

 

Admittedly, I am not one who tends to turn to other artists’ interpretations of Bob’s music very often. I prefer hearing how he has developed the songs over the years, with different arrangements, vocal approaches, and backing bands. It’s hard for me to step outside of Dylan’s own reinterpretations. Osborne’s words on helping these songs “live in a new way for another day” rightfully chastise me for that position. Her show rightfully chastised me for it as well.

 

Not only was I impressed by the masterful reimagining that Osborne gives many of the songs (something that is a highlight of Dylan’s live approach as well), but I was also satisfied by the equal degree of respect that Osborne bestowed on different periods of Dylan’s career. I remarked afterwards that I had, in the past, seen many Dylan cover shows – but had never before seen one feature “Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum.”

 

The show spotlighted material across Dylan’s catalog, including, of course, Osborne’s foundational inspiration, Oh Mercy. After opening with a fairly standard “Love Minus Zero” and “Highway 61 Revisited” came “Shooting Star,” one of my personal favorite Dylan songs. Having heard it performed four times on last summer’s Outlaw Festival Tour (and many more times on YouTube, from shows throughout the years) I am no stranger to live interpretation of this deeply emotional tune. Osborne’s delivery stood up to my expectations; it was clear that she was not messing around about her love for Oh Mercy. Her performances of songs off the 1989 album were among the night’s most compelling. Osborne’s voice displayed a deep, dusty passion on “Shooting Star” and the delightful following tune “Everything is Broken,” with Osborne quipping mid-song, “know what I’m saying?”

 

While Joan Osborne is the obvious leader, the assembly of artists she brought along on this journey offered equally enticing performances. The first of those was a theatrical rendition of “Shelter from the Storm” from the delightfully melodic and sweet voice of piano player Will Bryant, brilliantly dressed in a Dylanesque cosplay of a black western shirt and wide-brimmed black hat, all while he perched behind a red keyboard reminiscent of Dylan’s own. In duet with Gail Anne Dorsey, Bryant’s voice was complimented through a delightful contrast of playfulness (Bryant) and soul (Dorsey). One verse was delivered by Bryant as spoken word poetry. It was as unique a version as I’ve heard, and the spoken word element was nothing short of mesmerizing.

 

In fact, the variety of interpretation and style throughout the show was consistently refreshing and exciting. Unlike some Dylan shows that lean heavily on a specific era, or genre, this one was happy to flit between both eras and approach.

 

Osborne regained the mic for a sultry “When I Paint My Masterpiece” and a unique “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” The latter is a consistent crowd pleaser at any Dylan-related show, and this one was no exception. Its arrangement was almost threatening, presented in a sexy minor tone. This style is where Osborne shines the most.

 

Guitarist and singer Anders Osborne [no relation] was billed as “special guest” for the evening. This means that he was not present for the entire performance, like the rest of the band, but instead joined in occasionally. He first came out swinging with a passionate rendition of “The Man In Me,” and afterwards the band broke into the first rocker of the evening, “Maggie’s Farm.”

 

On “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven,” Joan Osborne’s sultry voice provided a great deal of emotional depth. A heartbreakingly beautiful slide guitar performance from Cindy Cashdollar carried that voice along. Cashdollar played the slide part on “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven,” on the actual album version from Dylan’s 1997 Time Out of Mind: a fact that Osborne was delighted to share.

 

After this emotional interlude, the first set of the evening closed with a jaunty version of “Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat.” It brought the show into a jazzy, doowop, swinging zone, supported by backup harmonies that wouldn’t be out of place in the 1950s. I had never heard a Dylan song done that way. It made me giggle, and then it made me want to dance!

 

When the band took to the stage after a brief intermission, I nearly jumped out of my chair at the opening lick to “Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum.” This was an intensely cool performance of one of my favorite songs. Osborne made it as smoky and sly as it deserves, leaning into the song’s bluesy elements. An equally smoky “Man in the Long Black Coat” followed, the song that connected Osborne to Dylan all those years ago.

 

The highlight of the show, for me, was a beautiful and emotional “Lay Lady Lay,” sung by bassist and vocalist Gail Anne Dorsey. With the pronouns of the song thoughtfully shifted not entirely in reverse, but rather to suit the gender of the singer and leave the subject well alone (stay lady, stay, stay with your woman a while…), I couldn’t help but think of the song that Dylan contributed in 2018 to Universal Love – Wedding Songs Reimagined. That album took beloved romantic anthems and related them to the relationship experiences of same sex couples. Hearing “Lay Lady Lay” get the same treatment was both moving and revelatory. Whether through Dorsey’s strong yet tender vocal or through the inherently changed narrative of an entreating plea from one woman to another, the song took on new life and new meaning in her hands:

 

Why wait any longer for the world to begin?

You can have your cake and eat it too

Why wait any longer for the one you love

When she’s standing in front of you?

 

It moved me to tears.

 

While “Love and Theft” is the most contemporary well that the setlist drew from, the group still managed to travel a long way across Dylan’s discography. The earliest song performed was about as far back as one can go. The band cleared out, and drummer Lee Falco walked to center stage where he lifted an acoustic guitar and delivered a heartfelt rendition of “Song to Woody.” It was touching, authentic, and helped along by the figure he cuts on stage, his curly hair ducked down in front of the microphone. This was also one of the few times in the show that we were given a rest from the clumsy, distracting lights that persisted at the back of the stage through most of the evening.

 

Anders Osborne returned to the stage to accompany Osborne on “Buckets of Rain.” His presence brought an edge to the whole proceeding. It became a rock show, reminiscent of the kinetic and collaborative energy of the Rolling Thunder Revue. Fittingly, the band then hit us with a double blast of “Mozambique” and “Isis.” In “Isis,” distortion on the guitar was epic, the sound searing and grungy; when it started, I remarked to the stranger beside me, “Is he going to play a Neil Young song?” It felt wrong to be sitting politely in a theater gently bobbing my head.

 

Many aspects of this show, in fact, contained a distinct Rolling Thunder Revue feeling. The Dylanology Revue would’ve been an apt title for the whole endeavor. I had been following Osborne’s Instagram posts in the weeks leading up to the show, and I thoroughly enjoyed the organic, ragtag vibe of the tour. Pictures of band members stuffed together in a van, headed out on the road, called to mind pictures of Dylan and Co. from 1975. With Osborne as the adept band leader – standing in the middle of the stage, introducing her musical compatriots, handing off solos and trading duets – Allen Ginsberg’s words from Martin Scorsese’s Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story came to mind: “It is like Dylan is … presenting us. I mean, that’s his conception. I mean, it hasn’t been made overt. His idea is to show how beautiful he is by showing how beautiful we are by showing how beautiful the ensemble is.”

 

That isn’t to say Joan Osborne radiated ego that Saturday night in Beverly. Quite the opposite: she was so proud and enthusiastic to be sharing the stage with these talented people. Every single time Cindy Cashdollar hit a stunning riff, Osborne beamed and praised her name.

 

When “Every Grain of Sand” began, I automatically assumed we’d reached the end of the show. After all, Dylan himself has ended every recent performance on his Rough and Rowdy Ways Tour with this stunning number from 1981’s Shot of Love. For Osborne, however, this wasn’t the grand finale – they followed with “Tangled Up in Blue.” A couple of verses in, Osborne tripped over the lyrics and lost her place. She dealt with the flub in a charming way, though, acknowledging her mistake with a laugh and getting right back into the groove. Afterward, she and the band left the stage to enthusiastic applause before returning with a perfect encore: “I Shall Be Released.” The song has lent itself to beautiful show closing performances many times over the years, most notably at The Last Waltz. Here, it played a similar role in drawing together the artists that we have seen throughout the evening for one last soaring performance.

 

It was abundantly clear throughout the show that Osborne’s aim wasn’t to sing over Dylan’s songs – rather, she puts herself in conversation with his original versions. This seems to be a theme, in terms of her approach to other artists’ material. In her 2018 interview with the Dylan Review, she said of her decisions on which songs to feature that “we asked ourselves, do we have a way to play/arrange the songs in a fresh way, a way to bring something unique to them, make them blossom, open up in a different way?” For the Dylanology tour, she has clearly asked herself that same question again. This wasn’t a hits show and it wasn’t a revival. It was a continuation of the life that these songs have already lived.

 


[1] “Interview with Joan Osborne Following the Release of Her Album” (2019), The Dylan Review https://thedylanreview.org/2019/06/12/interview-with-joan-osborne-following-the-release-of-her-album/

Norman Raeben (1901-1978): The Wandering Painting, edited by Fabio Fantuzzi. Livorno, Italy: Sillabe, 2025, pp. 250.

Reviewed by Alessandro Carrera, University of Houston

 

This luscious book is the catalog of Norman Raeben’s exhibition hosted in Venice, Italy by the Venice Jewish Museum and other artistic associations (Ikona, Lab Space, Azzime) from November 24, 2024, to January 14, 2025. The project was conceived and directed by Fabio Fantuzzi, with the supervision of Stefania Portinari (associate professor of Art History at Ca’ Foscari University in Venice) and funded by the European Union under a Marie Sklodowska-Curie grant. It contains a preface by Dario Calimani (President of the Jewish Community in Venice), introduction by Fabio Fantuzzi, six essays by various authors (one was a Norman Raeben student), and, possibly, the most complete selection of paintings, drawings, and studio works from Norman Raeben, the painter-teacher who perhaps never knew the impact he had on that scruffy guy who in the early months of 1974 took painting classes in his studio on the eleventh floor of the Carnegie Hall building in New York. Raeben would certainly have been surprised to know that his teaching helped Dylan conceive a new approach to the narrative ballad genre, one in which the song must be contemplated like a painting where different events seem to happen at the same time, or in no time at all.

 

“I had the good fortune to meet a man in New York City who taught me how to see. He put my mind and my hand and my eye together in a way that allowed me to do consciously what I unconsciously felt.”[1] This is Dylan’s first oblique reference to Norman Raeben, given in a 1978 interview (all other references are oblique as well). As we know, the immediate result of this re-learning was the manipulation of time in the lyrics of Blood on the Tracks, where it is often impossible to place the events described in a linear chronology. Dylan’s newly found ability to suspend or twist narrative time shows up in other songs of the 1970s, such as “Isis,” “Señor,” and “No Time to Think” (a title, as Chistopher Ricks observed, that must be read both ways, “there’s no time to think” and there’s “no-time” to think about).[2] In fact, Dylan’s new style extends all over the 1980s, leaving traces in “Jokerman,” “Blind Willie McTell,” “Foot of Pride,” and “Brownsville Girl” (and, years later, “Highlands” and “Tempest”). The process that Dylan learned was his personal adaptation of Horace’s well-known saying, namely, that painting and poetry have a lot in common (ut pictura poesis, or “as is painting, so is poetry,” Ars poetica, 361). The seven stanzas of “Tangled Up in Blue” are either the story in chronological order of a man desperately in love with the same woman or the same story with scrambled chronology. The song could also be the story of one man chasing seven different women, or seven men chasing the same woman. The listener is supposed to “stop time” and contemplate the song as one synchronic event.

 

Dylan, who attended Raeben’s classes five days a week (something that he had never done, that is, sit down in a classroom and pay attention, since his high school years) never revealed the name of his teacher, probably to protect him from unwanted exposure. The first Dylan sleuth to name him was Bert Cartwright in the early 1990s.[3] Clinton Heylin, Howard Sounes, and Sean Wilentz picked up from Cartwright. When I was working on the first edition of my Dylan book, I did some research at the Bobst Library of NYU, and I found more biographical details in the Who’s Who in American Art.[4] Ten years later, my few pages on Raeben spurred Fabio Fantuzzi, then an undergraduate student at the Università Ca’ Foscari in Venice, to investigate further. He wrote to me, asking if I thought that he could submit a Norman Raeben research project for a Ph.D. in American Studies. I remember that I was skeptical. I was afraid that no American Studies professor in any Italian university might find the Raeben project worthy of a doctoral fellowship. How wrong I was! He was accepted at Università Roma Tre under the guidance of Professor Maria Anita Stefanelli and immediately started hunting the legacy of Norman Raeben. He went to New York, found Raeben’s old students, interviewed them, found the location of his remaining paintings, motivated art historians to delve into the life and works of a quasi-forgotten heir to the Ashcan School of realist painting, wrote his dissertation, and published his first findings in a 2020 book on Dylan as an artist.[5] Fantuzzi has now crowned his research with this gorgeous catalog, which will be the mandatory reference for anyone who wants to know about this Norman Raeben, Dylan or not. Raeben was born Numa Rabinovitz in Ukraine and was the youngest son of Shalom Rabinovitz, better known as Shalom Aleichem, one of the major figures of modern Yiddish literature, and whose stories inspired the musical The Fiddler on the Roof.

 

The Wandering Painting is a tribute to Norman Raeben with and without Dylan, as it should be, because there’s a lot to say about Raeben himself: “a sophisticated artist,” Fantuzzi writes in his introduction, and:

 

an erudite, influential teacher whose long career spanned across some of the most influential 20th-century American and European artistic movements and cultural milieus […] The project analyzed Raeben’s career and his artistic collaborations as a case study to deepen the knowledge of the evolution of Ukrainian Yiddish-derived culture and art in New York in the 20th century. […]  The most substantial part of the research, however, consisted in examining private collections belonging to the artist’s students, collaborators, and relatives. The study of these archives uncovered a wide range of information […]; it also unearthed a corpus of unpublished materials, including letters and documents, videos and audios of his lessons, various lectures, excerpts of an unfinished book on art history, and an extensive collection of his paintings. (pp. 11-12)

 

During the 1920s and 1930s, Raeben’s works were displayed in several collective exhibitions. In 1946, he opened his school in the heart of New York, and it is amazing that the Venice retrospective of his work has been the first. Raeben, who was good at many things, was not good at publicizing himself. It is also true that many of his works, located in a studio in Connecticut, were lost in a fire.

 

Why “The Wandering Painting”? Because, as Fantuzzi explains, “most of his works were made ‘on the road’.” Moreover, and starting from the mid-1930s, “Raeben stopped giving titles to cityscapes and intentionally did not provide indications, dates, or progressive numbering, forcing the viewer into a journey, both real and ideal, among and within the works in a circular path with no beginning and no end.” Just like in “Tangled Up in Blue,” “Where Are You Tonight,” and possibly “Changing of the Guards,” “the journey thus becomes the very substance of the artistic process as both subject and method. Such transposition of a wandering approach, rooted within traditional Jewish and American culture, into painting foreshadowed the incoming cultural zeitgeist that shortly thereafter would mark the essence of 1950s and 1960s Americanism” (p. 12). That may very well be, but it must be remembered that the zeitgeist that put people on the move, albeit anticipated by the Beatniks, only began in the second half of the 1960s.

 

Clearly a post-impressionist modernist, leaning sometimes toward expressionism (no mere “copy from life” was allowed in his school), Raeben was neither avant-garde nor retro-garde. Raeben could do good, traditional portraits, and he did them on commission. In his personal work, however, as Fantuzzi says, he was “mid-garde,” between the realism of the Ashcan school and a more stylized approach to the American genre of cityscape. In fact, the similarities between Raeben’s cityscapes and the 1990s Dylan paintings cannot be missed. In more recent years, however, Dylan’s large paintings have moved toward a stricter realism that probably would not have impressed his old teacher that much, but that’s a different story.[6]

 

The volume includes six essays: “Locating Norman Raeben in American Art,” by Andrea Pappas; “‘Way of Seeing and Being Seen’: Norman Raeben in Paris,” by Stefania Portinari; “Norman Raeben, American in Paris, European in New York,” by Nico Stringa; “Portraits of Wandering: An Artistic Journey from Sholem Aleichem to Bob Dylan,” by Fabio Fantuzzi; “Norman Raeben: Art Telescopes Time,” by Roz Jacobs (one of Raeben’s students), plus the technical approach of Antonella Martinato in “Maintenance and Conservative Restoration Process Diagnostics and Study of Materials.” Except Fantuzzi, the authors are not Dylan scholars, yet they share the temptation to understand what made Raeben so important to Dylan. Because, as it seems, Raeben showed Dylan the way to consciously regain access to his unconscious, Portinari comments:

 

When Dylan attended that school for two months in the spring of 1974, he was encouraged not to focus on details and was taught ‘to see,’ to become aware of what he already felt ‘in an unconscious way.’ He benefited from a welcoming philosophical counseling environment that fit within a culture of synesthesia, very Yiddish yet also idealistic, existing in America within the intellectual climate of neo-avant-gardes, stemming from the European theosophies that passed to the Bauhaus masters exiled in America, to the 1970s climate of minimalist artist-thinkers like Sol LeWitt and Smithson. (p. 37)

 

Certainly, any investigation on “theosophies” that were passed on to Dylan, no matter how second-hand they were, would be fascinating. I have doubts, however, that it will ever be undertaken, except maybe for the Tarot symbolism in Desire.

 

Fantuzzi’s essay opens with Raeben’s alleged portrait of Bob Dylan, showing a bespectacled young man in a light-brown jacket, just a hint of a beard, and sleeves that end without hands coming out of them. The Poet with No Hands (A Portrait of Bob Dylan) is now at the Bob Dylan Center in Tulsa, Oklahoma (reproduced in the book at page 46, 54, and 79). Before we delve into the psychoanalytic interpretation game of the poet with no hands, however, Fantuzzi informs us that Raeben did that painting as an exercise a few days before Dylan showed up at his school. So, was the title already there or did Raeben add it later? Did he retouch the painting to make it more a portrait of Dylan? We don’t know, and Fantuzzi doesn’t say. A better question would be, did Dylan have heart and mind but no “hand” at painting (or writing) when he enrolled in Raeben’s class? And did he regain his “hand” afterward”? There is no doubt about that. We leave the rest to the goddess of synchronicity.

 

The second part of the volume is dedicated to the retrospective. As Fantuzzi explains, placing Raeben’s paintings in any order is a difficult task. Fantuzzi has done all he could to reverse the artist’s decision, date, and locate the paintings, as it was his duty to do so (artists and scholars rarely see eye to eye on these matters), and the result is impressive in terms of scope and precision. Thanks to The Wandering Painting, we can see now in sequence the portraits of Raeben’s father and mother dating back to the 1920s, many cityscapes and landscapes from places known and unknown (Venice included), charming drawings, nudes and dancers reminding us of Degas, figure studies oscillating between cubism and realism, many instances where the brush strokes break free from realism to create a structure of pure signs, and studio works that do not seem to need further completion.

 

In the end, was Norman Raeben a “great painter”? Maybe not, but that’s not the point (Dylan isn’t a “great painter” either). Because of his European upbringing and the time he spent in Paris, where he was familiar with Chagall, Matisse, and Soutine, Raeben never really broke with post-impressionism. He did not become a fully “American artist” like the new masters of abstract expressionism – who were not “great painters” either, yet were able to conjure up great paintings from pure concepts. Still, Raeben was a painter, to the extent that he had a vision of the America he wanted to portray. The world is full of “great painters,” just as it is full of “great poets.” What we miss, most of the time, are just painters, like Raeben, and just poets, like Dylan.

 


[1] Interview with Jonathan Cott, “Rolling Stone,” November 16, 1978, in Bob Dylan: The Essential Interviews, ed. By Jonathan Cott (New York: Wenner Books, 2006), 260.

[2] “In terms of the transitory language, it is not that there is no time to think, but rather that one of the things that must be promptly thought about is that there’s no time.” Christopher Ricks, “American English and the Inherently Transitory,” in C. Ricks, The Force of Poetry (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), 427.

[3] Bert Cartwright, “The Mysterious Norman Raeben,” in Wanted Man: In Search of Bob Dylan, ed. by John Bauldie (New York: Citadel Press, 1991), 85-90.

[4] Alessandro Carrera, La voce di Bob Dylan. Una spiegazione dell’America (Milan: Feltrinelli, 2001, 2011), 296-310. The title of the third, expanded edition is slightly different: La voce di Bob Dylan. Un racconto dell’America (Milan: Feltrinelli, 2021). In his bibliographical references, Fabio Fantuzzi has conflated the two titles.

[5] Fabio Fantuzzi, “Painting Songs, Composing Paintings: Norman Raeben and Bob Dylan,” in Bob Dylan and the Arts: Songs, Film, Painting, and Sculpture in Dylan’s Universe, ed. by Maria Anita Stefanelli, Fabio Fantuzzi, and Alessandro Carrera (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2020), 209-232.

[6] For an assessment of Dylan as a painter, see Bob Dylan: Retrospectrum, ed. by Shai Baitel (Milan: Skira -MAXXI Museum, 2022), and Alessandro Carrera, “Bob Dylan: pittore realista americano (minore),” in Changes. Riscritture, sconfinamenti, talenti plurimi, ed. by Angela Albanese (Sesto San Giovanni: Mimesis, 2024), 71-88.

Bob Dylan: Point Blank. Halcyon Gallery, London. 9 May–6 July 2025.

Reviewed by Angus Gibson

 

Point Blank is an exhibition of 97 new paintings by Bob Dylan at the Halcyon Gallery on London’s New Bond St from May 9th to July 6th, 2025. The gallery is located in the heart of Mayfair, one of the city’s wealthiest districts. King Charles III has his suits made around the corner at Anderson & Sheppard on Old Burlington Street, and the Halcyon itself is flanked by high-fashion boutiques Gucci and Balenciaga. Dylan has regularly presented his artwork at the Halcyon since 2008’s Drawn Blank. On each visit the Dylan fans – imitating our man’s scruffy Greenwich Village style – stand in contrast to the sharply-dressed locals.

 

On one level, Dylan’s now extensive collection of artwork is a commercial enterprise, no different to the luxury handbags and jewelry in the windows of New Bond St’s other shops. Signed prints start at £1,950 ($2,645). An original costs tens of thousands. But the gallery’s plush location also has a rich and authentic artistic history. Handel lived a stone’s throw away at 25 Brook St, in an apartment later rented by Jimi Hendrix. The Beatles’ Apple Records was headquartered at 3 Saville Row, and if you stood outside the Halycon Gallery on January 30th, 1969, you would have heard the Fab Four’s final concert booming out from a nearby rooftop. Notably, Robert Fraser’s Indica art gallery was once in the neighborhood at 6 Mason’s Yard. Here, John Lennon first met Yoko Ono, and Paul McCartney bought the Matisse painting that inspired the band’s apple logo.

 

Art and commerce have long been interwoven in Mayfair, and this duality is also present in Dylan’s artwork. Though Dylan has painted since at least the mid-60s, he held his first exhibition in 2008, titled Drawn Blank and composed of watercolors based on sketches made in the late 80s and early 90s.[1] After this first exhibition, new collections – from oil paintings to metalworks – followed routinely: the Brazil Series (2010), the Asia Series (2011), Revisionist Art (2012), Face Value (2013), Mood Swings (2013), the New Orleans Series (2013), The Beaten Path (2016), Mondo Scripto (2018), and Deep Focus (2021). Thousands of signed prints from each series are distributed by Castle Fine Art, who also sell works by other celebrity painters such as Billy Connolly and Ron Wood. Dylan has grossed millions of dollars from this business model.

 

It would be wholly unfair, however, to dismiss Dylan’s efforts purely as a cash grab. One of the joys of regularly visiting Dylan’s shows at the Halcyon is witnessing his progress as a painter. What started with Drawn Blank – as relatively simple pencil lines and watercolors – has advanced in ambition both technically and compositionally, culminating in the epic landscapes of The Beaten Path and Hopper-esque oil paintings of Deep Focus. Slowly, Dylan has won over the art establishment. Critic and Turner Prize judge Jonathan Jones wrote of The Beaten Path: “[Dylan’s] drawings are intricate, sincere, charged with curiosity …  He has a surprising amount in common with [David] Hockney. His art looks more serious with every exhibition.”[2]

 

We can look at Point Blank, therefore, as Dylan showing off his development as a painter in comparison to his first show, Drawn Blank, as the similar titles suggest.[3] Like that earlier collection, the works in Point Blank started as pencil sketches on thick drawing paper that the artist later painted over in acrylic, using broad brush strokes and bold color. But unlike Drawn Blank, which dazzled in bright primary colors, Point Blank’s use of color is more sophisticated, preferring earthy tones, dark blues and lipstick red. The subject matter is also more varied and complex: portraits of musicians, boxers, cowboys; still life studies of eggboxes, Scotch tape, binoculars; landscapes of rural America. Dylan’s brushwork is also now more skilled; he uses thick blotches of paint to add texture in places, and he frames his subjects with big rectangles of color that have an almost Rothko-like quality. As such, Point Blank evidences Dylan’s considerable progression as a painter.

 

As you enter the Halycon Gallery, you are greeted with a quote from Dylan printed in large black letters on the wall making this connection, while considering his work in poetic but vague terms:

 

The Point Blank series is an extension of the Drawn Blank series that was done some years ago. It can be looked at as an update, or a continual refinement of a certain process … The idea was not only to observe the human condition but to throw myself into it with great urgency … to create living breathing entities that have emotional resonance, colours used as weapons and mood setters.

 

This is evocative writing, but it doesn’t tell us much about Dylan’s real process. It’s naive to expect much insight from the ever-vague artist – especially in a sales blurb – but if Dylan is a serious painter now, it would be fascinating to know how he actually paints. Where does he work – on the road or at home? What brushes does he use? Dylan has previously described his technique in itemized detail, writing in a 2016 Vanity Fair article (“Why Bob Dylan Paints”) of his system for composing The Beaten Path landscapes: “I went to the camera-obscura method … I put a 58-mm 0.43x wide-angle conversion lens onto a used Nikon D3300 Af-p on quite a few paintings.”[4] The promotional literature accompanying Point Blank is less elucidatory. While a line such as “the idea was not only to observe the human condition but to throw myself into it with great urgency” might describe Dylan’s artistry as a whole, it doesn’t shed much light on Dylan the painter. Still, the evidence of his work – whatever the process – is proudly displayed across Halycon’s two floors.

 

The first paintings on ground level are a dozen or so portraits. These are reminiscent of Dylan’s earlier Face Value collection and display a great leap forward in ability from Self Portrait’s album cover. Unlike that LP sleeve, painted in an underdeveloped style over fifty years ago, the faces here are well-defined and carry emotive human expressions. Dylan tempts the viewer to imagine each subject’s back story. The viewer is led to ask: why is one woman wearing 1920s flying goggles? Is the man with the clean-cut hair and 1940s-style shirt from decades past, or a character from the present day wearing vintage clothes? Some portraits have odd proportions. There is a bearded man with an unusually thin head; another man with an unnaturally bulky chin holds his hand to his eye as if peering through a telescope. Ten years ago, critics might have attributed these strange proportions to Dylan’s poor draftmanship. But there’s now enough evidence to suggest he’s a skilled drawer, making deliberate and effective choices. The strangely-shaped faces make the viewer feel like Mr. Jones in “Ballad of a Thin Man,” staring back at a rogues gallery of sword-swallowers, lepers, and crooks. And the titles of these portraits in the accompanying catalogue add to this sense of carnival. Dylan has evidently enjoyed creating exotic names for each subject: “Dennis Manga (Man with a Crooked Smile),” “Peeping Tom,” “Vag Siska (Stunt Flyer),” and “Mr. Soup Can,” to cite a few.[5]

 

Among the most interesting entries in the catalogue is the portrait of “Vera Silverlake,” a Black woman with striking features. Like a number of works in the catalogue, this portrait is paired with short prose. However, unlike others, the text beside “Vera Silverlake” is written in first person and uses Dylan’s distinctive voice:

 

I dreamed about her the other night, we were in the bar at the Adolphus Hotel and she was talking about my Nobel Prize, and said that “The only people pissed off about you winning that, were white people. You deserve that Nobel prize honey, you really do. At your best, you’re wonderful.” I asked her if I could see her later. She wrote down her address and gave me instructions on how to get there. Then I woke up. It was one of my better dreams.[6]

 

It’s unclear if Dylan wrote this himself. The catalogue’s title page notes “Text by Eddie Gorodetsky, Lucy Sante, and Jackie Hamilton,” though the individual entries aren’t credited. And while Gorodetsky and Sante regularly collaborate with Dylan, at the time of writing it’s not obviously clear who Jackie Hamilton is.[7] This mystery aside, the catalogue is a worthwhile purchase at £45 ($61), with a hardcover, thick high-quality paperstock, and 193 pages of Dylan’s original pencil sketches shown before he added paint.

 

The rear half of the ground floor contains still life studies and a series of paintings of musicians. The still life paintings detail a variety of eccentric objects. A box of eggs recalls the scene in Hearts of Fire (1987), where Dylan’s character opens a fridge filled only with eggboxes.[8] A painting of a Scotch tape holder is particularly intriguing. While Dylan’s compositions have historically tended towards cliché – open highways, fifties diners, retro Cadillacs – this painting looks genuinely original. Another study is of a wooden crate of grapes, emblazoned with a cartoon logo of a woman holding a bowl of fruit under the words “MIXED GRAPES.” The woman’s face is visibly contorted as if to emphasize that she is part of a logo branded on the box, not a real person. This brings to mind the Ekphrasis – where art depicts other art – discussed in relation to Dylan by Raphael Falco previously in this journal, as well as Warhol’s Brillo box pop art.[9]

 

On the opposite wall from the still life, the series of musicians is presented as a set of four paintings: two pianists, a guitarist, and a saxophonist. Placed together, they look like a band, with each dressed in a 50s-style suit like some well-regarded jazz combo. It’s hard to view the piano players and not think of Dylan’s current live shows, where he’s usually seen behind a baby grand. These aren’t self portraits, but they are evidence of a musician studying the poses of other musicians. The viewer is naturally inclined to wonder what, if anything, these paintings can tell us about Dylan’s own impression of himself as a pianist.

 

A disappointing aspect of this set of paintings, and indeed of others in Point Blank, is Dylan’s inability to competently draw fingers. In the painting “Young Man with a Horn,” the saxophone player’s digits are long and bulky, like lifeless sausages indelicately sprawled over the instrument. Unlike the misshapen heads in other portraits, this rendering does not have any positive effect, nor does it suggest controlled distortion. Rather it looks amateurish. Dylan’s artistic skill has advanced greatly, but he can still improve if he is to finally paint his masterpiece.

 

Downstairs, the basement is furnished with a similar number of paintings as upstairs and a short film that plays on a loop. The film is a dull hagiography that merely lists Dylan’s various awards, as if to convince deep-pocketed but uncultured clientele of his worth. It’s an unnecessary addition, as the quality of the paintings here is enough to speak for Dylan’s talent alone.

 

As with the quartet of musicians on the level above, the basement walls display several sets of paintings arranged around coherent themes. There is a set of characters in evening wear. One sports a mask and cocktail dress, like the woman on the rear cover of Shadows in the Night. In the next picture, a man in a tuxedo lies on a table. It is unclear whether he is dead or alive. Another set of paintings depicts landscapes, while a further set collects nudes.

 

Of particular interest is a group of four paintings showing couples. Upon first look, they each appear heteronormative, but this assumption gives way on further inspection. One painting is of a pair in a passionate embrace. But up close, the male subject has feminine features accentuated with makeup. A second picture, called “Outlaws,” shows two people in a window. One is wearing a polka-dot dress and hat, the other is in a shirt and tie. Both have feminine features and also seem to be wearing makeup. Someone else’s hand is reaching across them towards the window, as if trying to halt their escape. Awareness of the discipline of gender studies is growing among Dylan scholars, following the “Bob Dylan: Questions on Masculinity” conference at the University of Southern Denmark in 2024.[10] An examination of these paintings from such a perspective may prove worthwhile.

 

The most moving set of paintings in Point Blank is a collection of eight pictures illustrating a 1940s house. It looks very much like the sort you might find in northern Minnesota. One shows a fireplace, another a staircase, one more a kitchen. But a painting of a crib below a small bedroom window caught my eye. I visited Dylan’s family home in Hibbing, Minnesota recently; the room in this painting, with the upstairs window and neat period furniture, looks strikingly like Dylan’s childhood bedroom. Many people remember the view from an early bedroom window, and carry it with them forever. It’s touching to think that Dylan might have done the same, remembering it one day as he sat down to paint. This picture, titled “Crib” in the catalogue, gets to the heart of Point Blank. Most of these images are about memory. They depict scenes from the past: people in archaic clothes, 50s cars, old-timey gamblers and boxers. Just as Dylan’s music in the two decades since “Love & Theft” has increasingly taken influence from the music of his childhood (Frank Sinatra, Bob Wills, Hank Williams), so too has his visual art focused on subjects from the pre-Bob Dylan era (cowboys, jazz musicians, men in hats and ties). The viewer is left to consider whether these paintings, like “Crib,” are from Dylan’s own memory, or are merely a nostalgic invention of  his imagination.

 

I asked myself this question as I left the gallery and walked past the diamond rings and shiny watches in neighboring windows. Ultimately, for those who buy paintings from the Halcyon Gallery, Dylan’s artwork may be nothing more than another of Mayfair’s superficial luxury gifts – and for Dylan another large check. But there’s more to Point Blank than naked commerce. Dylan is adroitly displaying the progress he’s made as an artist since 2008’s Drawn Blank, and in doing so is furthering his exploration of pre-1960s American culture. That it’s on display in Mayfair, where London’s old-school financiers have long cut loose with artsy bohemians, is perfectly fitting.

 

Angus Gibson is managing editor of the Dylan Review.

 


[1] Notable early paintings include covers for Sing Out! magazine and The Band’s Music from Big Pink, and illustrations for the book Writings & Drawings (1973).

[2] Jonathan Jones. “Bob Dylan: a Hockney-like painter of America’s strange essence” The Guardian, 8 Nov. 2016. http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/jonathanjonesblog/2016/nov/08/bob-dylan-paintings-halcyon-gallery-london-beaten-path

[3] The title may also reference the 1967 spy film Point Blank, starring Lee Marvin, as suggested by Expecting Rain user Mirte (https://expectingrain.com/discussions/viewtopic.php?t=108402). Indeed, Scott Warmuth has noted (https://www.instagram.com/p/DDDdS7nu9uQ/?img_index=1) that a number of Dylan’s paintings from the recent series Deep Focus are based on stills from Hollywood movies of the late sixties and early seventies. The film Point Blank is of this era, but none of Dylan’s compositions in the Point Blank appear to be based on film stills.

[4] Bob Dylan. “In His Own Words: Why Bob Dylan Paints.” Vanity Fair, 2 Nov. 2016. http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2016/11/why-bob-dylan-paints

[5] Bob Dylan. Point Blank (Quick Studies). Castle Fine Art, 2025.

[6] Dylan, Point Blank, p.126.

[7] Eddie Gorodesky is credited as writer and producer of Theme Time Radio Hour and received thanks as Dylan’s “fishing buddy” in The Philosophy of Modern Song. Lucy Sante wrote the sermons for the film Trouble No More, included in Bootleg Series Vol. 13.

[8] Hearts of Fire. Directed by Richard Marquand, performances by Bob Dylan, Fiona, and Rupert Everett, Lorimar Motion Pictures, 1987.

[9] Raphael Falco, “‘Unheard Melodies’: Ekphrasis and Possible Gaze in Dylan’s Lyrics,” Dylan Review, 5.1 Spring/Summer, 2023.

[10] Bob Dylan: Questions on Masculinity.” Conference, University of Southern Denmark, Odense, 23–24 May 2024. event.sdu.dk/dylan/conference.