Over the course of his six decades of omnipresence in public life, Bob Dylan has manifested many guises: Guthrie-besotted roustabout, silver-tongued enfant terrible, dignified country-western crooner, world-weary gypsy, fire-and-brimstone evangelist, befuddled ’80s artifact, and finally the sly and wizened trickster of his triumphal later years. Dylan’s penchant for personal transformation creates the eerie, quasimystical feeling that there is not one single person dwelling within the singer, but several, that somehow, the strange, enchanted boy from Minnesota’s Iron Range contains all of the multitudes of American music within his diminutive frame.
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