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Bob Dylan: The white R Kelly?

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Life in a Shanty Town

August 20 · Issue #331 · View online

The hip-hop newsletter that's not afraid to ask the tough questions


Internets,
I’ve long felt that Bob Dylan is similar to R Kelly in terms of his songwriting prowess, but it turns out that he may have also made sweet, passionate love to underage girls.
A woman who’s now in her late 60s claimed that he “sexually abused” her in his swanky apartment in the Chelsea Hotel in 1965, and perhaps needless to say, I believe her.
I believe all women who accuse men of sexual assault, as a matter of principle, with the rare exceptions being Kesha, who’s obviously lying, and the girl who tried to #MeToo Joe Biden, which was a situation where the fate of humanity was hanging in the balance, so she just had to take one for the team, figuratively speaking.
Dylan’s accuser claims that she remains emotionally scarred to this day, despite the fact that a) she was high on drugs at the time (which can sometimes enhance a sexual encounter), and b) this was nearly 60 years ago. She’s suing for damages.
It just so happens that Dylan recently sold his catalog to Universal Music for $300 million, so it should be nothing for him to cut a check. He’s not in a position like, say, Sly Stone, who recently got his publishing back, who had to spend some of that money right away to get his watch back from a pawn shop.
How did Bob Dylan still own the rights to his music anyway? I thought you signed away the rights to anything you could possibly write as a condition of being allowed to enter a recording studio in the first place? Even white artists.
Michael Jackson, you’ll recall, copped the Beatles’ publishing, which was why he had to be assassinated, and the Rolling Stones didn’t make any money from that song “Bitter Sweet Symphony,” which was HUGE back in the late ‘90s, because they didn’t own the rights to the song of theirs it sampled.
I’m sure it’s a mere matter of coincidence that Dylan’s alleged victim is suing him now and not a few years ago, when he was doing Victoria’s Secret commercials for sweaty handfuls of dollar bills, as if he were one of the girls Jeffrey Epstein introduced to Prince Andrew.
It can be difficult to come forward with allegations of sexual assault, no matter how glamorous the alleged perpetrator. I’ve kept the details of a situation that took place between myself and Tyra Banks (back when she was about something) under wraps for precisely that reason.
We shouldn’t regard Dylan’s alleged victim with suspicion just because she came forward a mere matter of months after he cashed a check for $300 million, and we should understand if she decides to settle outside of court for an amount in the low to mid five-figure range rather than pursue this matter in court, where she’d be forced to testify under oath.
Regardless of the outcome, I’d say the most important thing here is that Dylan is no longer allowed to pursue a career as a recording artist. I know he’s quite literally 80 years old, but he had an album out as recently as last year, and if it weren’t for Corona he’d probably be somewhere this evening mumbling gibberish into a microphone at a minor league baseball stadium where you can buy a Luther Vandross sandwich, as he has been for the past few decades.
If DaBaby wasn’t allowed to perform at Lollapalooza, it’s only right that Bob Dylan shouldn’t be allowed to perform anywhere. DaBaby’s crime, so to speak, was essentially victimless in nature, given that it was only words. What he said was true to a certain degree, statistically speaking, and arguably his performance fee should have been prorated to a corresponding percentage.
Dylan, on the other hand, has been accused of committing an assault so disturbing that it can’t be described in any detail in any of the media reports on the lawsuit. I shudder to think what he may have done.
Take it easy on yourself,
Bol

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