I am, as even a cursory glance at this blog will readily prove, a pretty damn big Dylan fan. And when I heard he was putting out another album, I was – as is to be expected – pretty damn excited. And honestly, the album is pretty great. It’s got some solid songs on it, Dylan’s voice is in fine (albeit raspy, gravely) form, and I enjoyed it from beginning until almost the end. But…

Well, it doesn’t honestly grab me, y’know? Usually, with a Dylan album, I want to start it over again right after it finishes. That…didn’t happen here. This is an excellent album, but it’s an album I feel like I’ve already heard three times before.

Don’t get me wrong: there’s plenty of great stuff to be mined from the styles Dylan’s been working in since Love and Theft (still my favorite Dylan record of the past thirty years), but it feels like the always-restless Dylan is just spinning his wheels here. Dylan and his band still do their thing with skill and even finesse, but there’s nothing here he hasn’t already done before. There are no surprises, no sudden detours in an unexpected direction (either lyrically or sonically), and honestly, it’s just not what I was hoping for.

The positive side, though, is that if you haven’t heard anything by Dylan in the past ten or twelve years, this album will feel pretty fresh to you. And really, the songs are generally quite good. Things start off well with “Duquesne Whistle,” an old-fashioned train song done in an old fashioned style. The subtle steel guitar work is reminiscent of Hank Williams, Sr., which is never a bad thing. “Early Roman Kings” borrows the riff from “Mannish Boy,” but does it on accordion (which isn’t a surprise at all if you’ve heard Together Through Life, but it fits as though there’s never been any other way to play it). “Pay In Blood” is one of Dylan’s darker comic songs, featuring the recurring line “I’ve paid in blood, but it’s not my own.” Other songs, such as “Soon After Midnight” and “Narrow Way,” work very well, and the first half of the album is pretty fantastic.

The second half, though, is bogged down by the last two tracks: the sprawling, lethargic title track, a story song about the sinking of the Titanic that does nothing new or interesting with the topic, and the album’s closer, “Roll on John,” a tribute to John Lennon that borrows lyrics from several of Lennon’s own songs and feels about thirty years too late. They’re both duds, falling quite flat, and they bring the end of the record down considerably.

Ultimately, Tempest isn’t going to win any new converts to the Cult of Dylan. It’s good, but there’s really nothing to distinguish it from the three albums that came before. While I can’t fault Dylan for pursuing the styles and themes he wants to (it’s led to same damn fine music over the years), I’m starting to have a tough time following him down the path.