Bob Dylan

Though Bob Dylan will be remembered and celebrated for shooting barbs into the raw nerve endings of our national psyche, he's much more than a barbarian at the gates of power. In "The Times They Are A-Changin'," he assumes a role midway between those of Paul Revere and Ted Koppel — not merely reporting the coming transformation, but acting as its agent. In "Knockin' on Heaven's Door," he shifts focus to that next world, while "Blowin' in the Wind" grapples with both spiritual and secular, philosophical and practical questions, with his feet spanning both heaven and earth.

Dylan's on firmer ground when he has a clear target, and in "Masters of War" he swings a full arsenal of venom toward those who "hide behind desks" and "fasten the triggers for the others to fire." His outrage spills over into the judicial system as he retries the case of Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, twice convicted of murder and ultimately sprung, thanks largely to Dylan's fierce advocacy. And despite his continued windmill-tilting, Dylan surveys the cultural landscape and concludes that, from treaties and parts to idols and hearts, "Everything Is Broken."

If Dylan were merely angry, he'd have been just another torchbearer at the mob's edge. But his fury has always been tempered with faith and hope. In "When I Paint My Masterpiece," a swampy blues suggestive of pie-in-the-sky-style gospel, he envisions some distant future "smooth as a rhapsody," while in "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" he has to wait only 'til tomorrow to "fly down in the easy chair." Finally, Dylan bestows his blessing upon "every hung-up person in the whole wide universe," leaving room for himself, along with the rest of us, to gaze upon the "Chimes of Freedom" flashing.

When Woody Guthrie's fascist-killing guitar and plainspoken style derailed Bob Dylan from a bland-standard musical career track, folk music's professed innocence was both shocking and shameful. Sure, the stripe-shirted, pearl-toothed trios still had Michael rowing the boat ashore, except the real boat was a swift boat in Vietnam's muddy Mekong Delta, and all the campfires had been ignited by napalm. Beyond the public battleground of politics, Dylan's canvas extended into more personal combat zones: love, spirituality, community, and mortality. Now, at an age when most men are trying to make peace with their lives, Dylan is still rebelling, and much like his Welsh namesake, Dylan Thomas, he displays no hint that he will "go gentle into that good night."