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DYLAN'S COCKLEWARMING CHRISTMAS ALBUM

In "Don't Look Back", D.A. Pennebaker's documentary of a 1965 concert tour,
a cheeky and cherubic Bob Dylan boasts he can sing "as good as Caruso," and
"hit all the notes." It was his wry response to complaints about his voice, which many bemoaned was like a bray or a howl.

All too soon critics would be grumbling about Dylan's smug indifference to his earlier folk masterpieces, such as "Blowing in the Wind". His controversial decision to plug in his guitar was a turn on both his detractors and idolaters. A spate of electrified and electrifying tales emerged; references to Napoleons in rags, tattered clowns, mystery tramps, chrome horses, Ma Rainey and Beethoven befuddled his adoring folk fans, but brought him new idolaters, more frenzied than ever. Hounded by the press to explain himself, Dylan responded with jokes and put-ons.

The poet laureate of rock has long been a consummate shape-shifter. The teen-idol wannabe morphed into a Woody Guthrie clone, then lefty radical, beat poet, cowboy crooner, family man, and even became a gentleman farmer for a season or so. He got stoned, got lost, got saved, got saved from being saved, and embarked on a never-ending tour from which he has yet to return. Over the years, masks have been donned and discarded. Ambiguity and humour: these have been his constants for 45 years and counting.

Of late, on his weekly satellite radio programme called “Theme Time Radio Hour”, he’s been channelling Alan Lomax, a late American folklorist and ethnomusicoligist. Lomax's life work involved collecting field recordings of the roots and rhythms of the country's sounds, which he understood would otherwise be lost forever. Like Lomax, Dylan frets that music is endangered by computers, hot ice, popularity polls and a calculated indifference for what was. On his thematic broadcasts, Dylan plays the part of droll educator, guiding listeners through the rich history of music. Every song stands on the back of some earlier song, he teaches. As disc jockey, Dylan may play music by Scrapper Blackwell, quote Shakespeare, recite entire Delmore Schwartz poems, discourse on the history of  pistols or the coffee bean, and take nothing very seriously.

Word last summer that a Christmas album was in the hopper and that its
proceeds would go to feed the hungry got the Dylan fan base into something a lather. Could a man who has performed "Like a Rolling Stone" 27,732 times (but never quite the same way twice), keep any traditional Christmas song recognisable? Relax. “Christmas in the Heart” is a 15-song compilation of well-rehearsed chestnuts, glossed and sugared. Picture grand Christmas trees and cosy stockings, wafting Lawrence Welk bubbles and the Andrews Sisters in trimmed chiffon.On the one hand it's a Bing Crosby tribute album, delivered in Dylan's rusty slab of a voice. On the other, it's a sifting through kitsch in search of musical merit. And finally, it's a hoot.

Gene Autry's "Here Comes Santa Claus" is chortled and laced with the sound of sleigh bells. "O Little Town of Bethlehem" is a tableau of a Minnesota nativity scene. "Little Drummer Boy" evokes fruitcake harmonies, majorette twirlers, and snare drums. Dylan finds a husky pathos in "The Christmas Blues" that would've made Dean Martin cringe, and  serves a fruity Hawaiian punch with "Christmas Island". He gets himself and the band riled up on "Must Be Santa", where a wacky polka chases itself into what could be an Israeli folk dance, complete with a swipe at a recent American president.

On almost every cut, guitars chime brightly, bells give off disciplined tinkles, and girly voices float pitch-perfect calls and responses. Occasionally Dylan chases and misses the high notes and botches daring full-throttle endings. His church Latin is no good, and he's losing yet more ground on his claim to sing as good as Caruso. But he's still out there, making new of what's old, light of what's silly, and merry for merriment's sake.

"Christmas in the Heart" (Sony), Bob Dylan, out now

~ RENARDO BARDEN