I am not a Dylan discography aficionado, or even someone who immediately genuflects at the utterance of his name. But this is the one. The one you can put on any time, anywhere, and derive new pleasures on each listen. The one that you will catch yourself humming on a walk, navigating the highway at dusk. The unwavering bass will be ringing in your head long after the last Buckets of Rain have fallen. Witness an absolute triumph of songwriting, an artist who perfectly channels the turbulence of young love cut short, and instrumentals as raw as they are inviting.
10
1975, Columbia