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“The Faceless American Rock Conglomerate, Wikipedia, and Bob Dylan’s Intersection Therein”

Wikipedia is really troubling sometimes. Like when it states that Colombia’s economy declined in 1997, and then fails entirely to frame this with the event of Starbucks’ burgeoning.

And, when it mentions Rolling Stone magazine, whatsoever. I mean, you’re trying to sit there and have an intellectual discourse on Bob Dylan’s album Highway 61 Revisited instilled in you, and all of a sudden you’re obligated to acknowledge some Rolling Stone list that the album made. Oh yeah, you mean the magazine that’s named after the first song on the album? Yeah, naturally it would put it on the list, I’d imagine.

Since wikipedia contains a high volume of information on rock music — bands, albums, songs — I consider it part of the faceless American rock conglomerate. The conglomerate achieves said stature simply by taking in an elephantine revenue, and reaching a wide audience, with no apparent moral anatomy.

What makes the situation intricate, somewhat, is that an excellent book, Bob Dylan: The Essential Interviews, appears with the “Rolling Stone” logo on the front, though Wenner is accredited with the publishing. Whereas Salinger apparently, according to one Bukowski blurb, found “that the world wasn’t worth writing for anymore,” Bob Dylan in light of all the available literature strikes as someone who SHOULD have thought this. His hilarious, memorable interviews give the palpable impression of an opinion of the interviewer, and of the human race, as stupid. But the stuff he’s talking about is high-profile all the way: early, defining Bo Diddley concerts, events from when he was 11 years old or whatever (he says something like, “What struck me was that Bo Diddley was Bo Diddley and everybody else was just everybody else.” So it’s generosity in a way that gets Bob Dylan’s dictional wheels churning throughout all of his masquerades whatever they may be, but then again, he is getting paid for it. In this way, Bob Dylan forms the ultimate SELF: a hashing of irrefutably integral artistic direction, the pervasive enjoyment of which then in turn feeds the self, which is always in entire control, while performing something nonetheless uncanny. Bob Dylan’s art will always be there for us lucky, relishing listeners, and it will always be deleterious of stuffy prejudices and general thought patterns, which is ironic since it’s so championed by and benefactor of Rolling Stone.

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