Under the Red Sky (1990)


 

  1. Wiggle Wiggle
  2. Under the Red Sky
  3. Unbelievable
  4. Born in Time
  5. T.V. Talkin' Time
  6. Ten Thousand Men
  7. 2 X 2
  8. God Knows
  9. Handy Dandy
  10.Cat's in the Well

 

Released in the shadow of Oh Mercy and sandwiched between Dylan’s two forays with the Traveling Wilburys, Under the Red Sky occupies an unusual and often misunderstood space in the artist’s discography. It lacks the gravitas of its predecessor and the harmonious collaboration of his Wilbury ventures, yet it contains an irreverent charm that, while undeniably slight, is not without its merits.

The influence of the Wilburys is tangible—not in the songwriting per se, but in the spirit of casual spontaneity that permeates the record. The tracks are compact, breezy, and exhibit a kind of throwaway glee, as though dashed off in a single weekend session. Whether this is a virtue or a vice remains open to interpretation. It’s easy to imagine that with more care, these songs could have been richer. Yet it is precisely their tossed-off quality that lends the album its peculiar appeal.

Following the meticulously produced textures of Oh Mercy, this record feels almost like a deliberate exhale. Gone are Daniel Lanois’s ambient atmospheres; in their place is a leaner, almost garage-band aesthetic. Dylan seems content here to let the music saunter rather than strive. Tracks such as Unbelievable, Handy Dandy, and the much-maligned Wiggle Wiggle flirt with self-parody, but do so with enough infectious rhythm and good humor to defuse criticism—at least from those not entirely humorless.

Lyrically, this is not Dylan at his sharpest. Many of the songs drift into surreal or nonsensical terrain, their meaning—if it exists at all—eluding both the listener and, one suspects, the songwriter himself. But this isn’t to say the album is without insight. God Knows emerges as the spiritual core, a track that glances backward toward Dylan’s evangelical period while stepping forward with less dogma and more quiet conviction.

Under the Red Sky is not a major statement. It lacks thematic cohesion and is, at times, infuriatingly trivial. Yet it remains oddly endearing. It is, in essence, a minor work—perhaps even a throwaway—but it is a throwaway that smiles back at you. There’s warmth in its shrug, and a kind of reckless joy in its brevity. It doesn't try to be essential. And in not trying, it sometimes—briefly—is.

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