Women, everywhere: in households, by the water, on the street. Golden-haired vixens carrying themselves in a way that keeps men wary, aware. A young Dylan loves women, writes about them. Gnaws on his molars with his eyebrows contorted, piecing together the clues. “From A Buick” is not the most mesmerising song he’s ever written about a girl, about girls. Hundreds of great singles, covered and remodeled. It’s the instrumentation, the way Dylan crafts a sound that feels like a dose of amphetamines, a rush, a dizzying spell of infatuation and running, running towards the warm light that brushes your face a blushed tone when your wearisome eyes start hanging. It’s the sound that makes this song. [Ready to sew you up with the thread.]
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