The second book in Gregory’s trilogy about Dylan, Minstrel Boy: The Metamorphoses of Bob Dylan, which will be released in October 2025, turns out to be remarkably solid. He tackles the toughest stretch of Dylan’s life—from 1967 to 1990—and he handles it brilliantly.

Chris Gregory has this rare gift. He can write seriously about music, yet his prose flows effortlessly. You know how academics can get tedious and fans can get carried away? Gregory finds the sweet spot in the middle—he tells the story in a way that’s engaging and informative at the same time.

The book’s structure is very deliberate. It’s divided into three parts: first, Dylan’s retreat from fame after the accident; then his comeback with Rolling Thunder; and finally, his Christian period. The chapters about live performances stand out the most. Gregory’s strength here is extraordinary. He explains why Dylan performed certain songs in a particular way at a specific moment. How he altered arrangements, shifted lyrics, and what that meant for the songs themselves—it all comes alive on the page.

Gregory’s writing is dense, yet rich with information. Every page is packed with details that usually get overlooked. He dug into archives, listened to bootlegs, and studied contemporary reviews. He amassed a huge amount of material, but presents it without ever feeling pedantic.

The only part that dragged for me was this long section about the gospel tours. Not because it’s bad writing – Gregory’s great throughout – but because I’ve never been that into born-again Bob. Though I gotta admit, after reading his take on “Gotta Serve Somebody” I have a totally different perspective on it now.

One thing I really respect about Gregory is he doesn’t pretend every Dylan decision was genius. Like when Bob was doing those weird 80s albums with all the synths? Gregory’s basically like “yeah this was pretty terrible but here’s why it happened and what we can learn from it.” Refreshing honesty.

If you’re someone who just throws on Highway 61 occasionally and calls it good, this book will probably overwhelm you. But if you’re the type who argues about which version of “Visions of Johanna” is definitive (Royal Albert Hall ’66, obviously), then you need this.

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