any attempt to put into words what broken english meant to me in adolescence would be reductive. a truly brilliant artist and shamefully under-recognized. even though she’s gone, her harrowing, exhilarating communion with a singular shade of darkness feels absolutely immortal

forgot to post yesterday for the 50th anniversary of dylan’s opus and one of my favorite albums so here’s a clip of idiot wind in fort collins, CO. impossible to articulate just how much this album changed my life. “brilliant” and “revolutionary” somehow both feel reductive. hbd blood on the tracks