A song as a summary of several decades of work, Murder Most Foul may just be the best piece of work Bob Dylan has released. That is without the context of the times, the periods which define Dylan as the protest folk hero, the subconscious writer with a read on the world. Murder Most Foul, then, remains in the conversation of those very best pieces of work from Dylan. Though it may never see the lights of a live performance, it does not need to. Taking listeners on a trip through life is a performance in of itself. The effect of history, what we learn from the passage of time, and the loose ends it provides. That is what Murder Most Foul offers. Those deep wounds, the cuts and blows of life lived at the forefront of history in what may be the clearest song Dylan has offered.
Clear in the sense of open with a listener. Blood on the Tracks may be an album of divorce and disaster, but Dylan would swear it is the work of Anton Chekov guiding him. Murder Most Foul has no excuse. This is as true and open a song, from the recollection of realising John F. Kennedy had been assassinated to the cultural cornerstones, from The Beatles to Woodstock. This is a drift, not a trip, through six decades. Where so many songwriters look to capture the fundamentals of the American Dream and its loss, Dylan turns the concept on its head. What if there was no dream? There is certainly no evidence of a long-lasting effect, bar the depression which followed a brief spark of economic activity. Those ambitions were just that, unfulfilled aspirations which, as Dylan notes here, were like trying to shoot the invisible man. Murder Most Foul is an example of Dylan at his best, not as a performer, but as a man whose words require context gained by experiencing the world, not by listening to the song.
For those unmoved by the cultural reference points, the fleeting look at history and how it may feel, at some point, like a footnote rather than a lived-in life, all it takes is a choice moment with art. With history. Interspersed between the death of Kennedy and the immediate reaction to follow are the ever-moving laments of artists, of writers and the public. Life goes on, even if the scars of history are preventing that new frontier, the American Dream, from thriving. The age of the Antichrist is one of the more pertinent lines, and given the state of the world at present, it feels like another subconscious knock at the world, something Dylan specialised in during his folk days.
Murder Most Foul remains a staggering and somewhat depressing comment on culture. What we have so far, what is left to give. The spoils of sixty years are put to song as Dylan lists the highlights of his particular genre, and while he may not make it to the present day and the overwhelming feeling of being present in these times, he does maintain the view of observer extremely well. It is not a matter of overstating his own presence, nor is it a chance for him to come across as too humble; it just doesn’t make sense to be self-referential. Instead, we hear what has moulded Dylan into the artist he is today. The changes, the music, and the thrill of a song steeped in history. A litany of moments from history backed by the cool groove Rough and Rowdy Ways presented.
Dylan mentioned Chekhov one time in passing in an interview. And yet years later people still claim it as gospel. It’s not. Dylan has name-dropped many crumbs along the way. I have yet to read one serious comparison of Chekhov’s short stories to Blood on the Tracks. Perhaps it could be done, but it’s never been done. Just the casual name-drop of Chekhov, again.