“He remains mysterious”: Ritchie Blackmore’s favourite Bob Dylan album
There’s a point of contention with being mysterious, where ambiguities and fabrications become obscured. Many artists in history have been given the coveted enigmatic label, with even fewer actually being authentically so. In Bob Dylan’s case, this has never really been much of an issue, as it feels more like part of his intricate artistry than a forced identity. Just ask Ritchie Blackmore.
As an artist, being “mysterious” in itself can easily be a positive or negative trait. After all, if such a retreat from public connection starts to feel inaccessible or not interesting enough to warrant longevity, audiences can feel alienated and unsatisfied, pushing them to move on to the next thing. On the other side, it can be the ideal fodder for parasocial relationships, allowing space for endless meaning.
In Dylan’s case, this has always felt like a healthy balance of both. While that might seem paradoxical, as obtaining enigmatic traits can sometimes fall into one category or the other, Dylan’s intrigue has always centred around just the right amount of give and take, where the art feels effortlessly meticulous without giving too much of the game away.
However, this all also comes from a fairly one-sided view. Dylan himself has never claimed to be such a withdrawn, brooding figure and even finds some aspects of such labels entirely absurd. Even when the singer received his Nobel Prize—which he was thoroughly worthy of—he didn’t seem as enthralled or celebratory as he seemed perplexed by the idea that his words could hold such intense literary weight.
At the same time, all of this seems even more endearingly confusing when placed alongside Dylan’s undeniably complex ego. After all, there are countless stories about Dylan’s unkempt demeanour, all pointing towards something deeply ingrained in the fabric of his being, many of which could be read as an excessively conceited individual who finds his artistry holds more worth than anyone else.
This, along with his towering presence in the industry and neatly calculated retreat from anything praising his work, makes him one of true mystique. It’s also why, when asked about his favourite Dylan record, Ritchie Blackmore indulged this facet of his appeal and explained why his 1966 release Blonde on Blonde is the ultimate testament to this timelessness.
“I would love to play with Bob Dylan. I mean it sounds kind of funny in a way. But he is the only person I admire in the business,” Blackmore told a fan in 1996, continuing, “I have been in the business for so long, he’s the one that I still feel he remains mysterious. There is something about him that I think is truly monumental and he is so creative. When you think on all the songs that he has written, you know, ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’, ‘Blowing In the Wind’, it’s endless. So I’m a big fan of his.”
Beyond the endless analyses of Dylan’s work, it says a lot that even the more legendary industry veterans find it difficult to pin him down. Someone like Blackmore might have lived through enough surrounding pretentiousness to know when to spot it, but his inability to figure Dylan out only points out the mere fact that, no matter how much time passes, he truly remains an enigma.
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