TOP   APC   PEAK   title   YEAR  
  1   673   174   LIKE A ROLLING STONE   1965  
  2   957   210   HURRICANE   1975  
  3   1326   487   BLOWIN' IN THE WIND   1963  
  4   2011   846   KNOCKIN' ON HEAVEN'S DOOR   1973  
  5   2055   872   THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGING   1965  
  6   2784   1221   I WANT YOU   1966  
  7   3288   1402   JUST LIKE A WOMAN   1966  
  8   3462   1455   LAY LADY LAY   1969  
  9   3995   1444   RAINY DAY WOMEN #12 AND 35   1966  
  10   6626   1389   WIGWAM   1970  
  11   9347   4280   SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK BLUES   1965  
  12   15081   4604   GEORGE JACKSON   1972  
  13   16069   5012   I THREW IT ALL AWAY   1969  
  14   19614   5856   POSITIVELY 4th STREET   1965  
  15   19856   9932   I'LL BE YOUR BABY TONIGHT   1967  
  16       17072   DUQUESNE WHISTLE   2012  
  17       6042   WATCHING THE RIVER FLOW   1971  
  18       13569   MAGGIE'S FARM   1965  
  19       16939  
ONE OF US MUST KNOW
  1966  
  20           MURDER MOST FOUL   2020  
                     
                     
  Bob Dylan was born as Robert Allen Zimmerman on May 24, 1941, in Duluth, Minnesota, and grew up in the mining town of Hibbing, where the winters were harsh and the radio offered a window into a world full of sounds and stories. At an early age, he became fascinated by the music of Hank Williams, Little Richard, and Elvis Presley. During his teenage years, he played in bands like The Golden Chords, covering rock-'n-roll heroes, but it wasn’t until he discovered folk music—especially the songs of Woody Guthrie—that he began to find his true voice. He adopted the name Bob Dylan, inspired by the poet Dylan Thomas, and moved to New York City in the early 1960s, determined to follow his musical calling.

In the bohemian neighborhood of Greenwich Village, he found his place among poets, activists, and musicians. He played in small clubs, slept on strangers’ couches, and regularly visited Woody Guthrie in the hospital. His debut album, Bob Dylan, appeared in 1962 and mostly featured traditional songs, but it was his second record, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, that put him on the map. With tracks like “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall,” he became the voice of a generation yearning for change. His lyrics were poetic, sharp, and steeped in social awareness.

In the years that followed, he released albums that permanently altered the musical landscape. “The Times They Are a-Changin’” became an anthem for the civil rights movement, while “Chimes of Freedom” and “With God on Our Side” explored the moral complexity of war and justice. But Dylan was never one to be pinned down. In 1965, he shocked fans and critics alike by going electric on Bringing It All Back Home, with songs like “Subterranean Homesick Blues” and “Maggie’s Farm.” The follow-up, “Like a Rolling Stone”—a six-minute rush of anger, irony, and freedom—forever changed what a pop song could be.

His 1965 Newport Folk Festival performance, where he took the stage with an electric guitar, sparked boos from purists but also marked a new chapter. Albums like Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde revealed a Dylan who fused rock, blues, and poetry into a singular mix. His lyrics grew more surreal, his voice rougher, his image more elusive. At the height of his fame in 1966, he withdrew following a motorcycle accident. He spent the following years in relative seclusion, including work with The Band on The Basement Tapes.

In the 1970s, he returned with John Wesley Harding and Nashville Skyline, exploring country and simplicity. But Blood on the Tracks (1975) was his most personal and emotionally charged work. Songs like “Tangled Up in Blue” and “If You See Her, Say Hello” reflected a man grappling with love, loss, and memory. He toured again with The Band and released the fierce “Hurricane,” a protest against racial injustice.

The late ’70s and early ’80s brought a surprising shift: Dylan converted to Christianity and released three gospel albums, including Slow Train Coming, featuring the powerful “Gotta Serve Somebody.” While this era drew mixed reactions, it once again demonstrated his ability to radically reinvent himself. The 1980s saw creative highs and lows, with albums like Infidels and Oh Mercy, and collaborations with artists such as Tom Petty and the Grateful Dead.

In 1988, he embarked on what would later be called the “Never Ending Tour,” an ongoing series of performances worldwide. His voice grew grittier, his shows more unpredictable, but his commitment to the stage never waned. In 1997, he stunned audiences with Time Out of Mind, a dark, introspective album that earned him a Grammy for Album of the Year. Songs like “Not Dark Yet” and “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven” felt like reflections of a man staring death in the face, yet still compelled to tell stories.

By the end of the 20th century, Bob Dylan was no longer just a musician—he was an icon, a myth, a living legend. His influence extended beyond music: he was studied in universities, honored with awards, and admired by generations of artists. But above all, he remained a traveler, a storyteller, a man with a guitar and a voice that, though broken, still had the power to open worlds.

As the clock struck midnight on January 1, 2000, Dylan stood at a crossroads of time and meaning. He was no longer a young rebel or a voice of an uprising generation, but a living legend navigating a world changing faster than ever. Yet he remained true to his own rhythm. In 2001, he released Love and Theft, an album brimming with musical references to Americana, blues, and ragtime. With tracks like “Mississippi” and “High Water (For Charley Patton),” he proved his pen was still sharp, his voice seasoned, and his view of the world as idiosyncratic as ever.

In the years that followed, Dylan continued to tour, compose, and surprise. His voice grew deeper, rougher, almost abrasive—but this gave his interpretations a new intensity. During his performances, he reimagined classics like “Tangled Up in Blue” or “Like a Rolling Stone” as if he were rewriting them on the spot. No concert was the same, no version definitive. He remained an artist in motion.

In 2006, Modern Times was released, unexpectedly reaching number one on the U.S. charts. With songs like “Thunder on the Mountain” and “Ain’t Talkin’,” Dylan proved he was not only still relevant but still capable of shaping the musical landscape to his will. His lyrics were soaked in biblical references, blues structures, and an ironic take on the modern world. He was no longer a commentator on current affairs, but a chronicler of the human condition.

In 2012, he received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Barack Obama, who praised him as someone who had “redefined the boundaries of music and poetry.” That same year, Tempest appeared—a dark, epic album inspired by Shakespeare, Titanic legends, and murder ballads. Its title track, a fourteen-minute chronicle of the ship’s demise, sounded like a modern memento mori.

But it was in 2016 that Dylan stunned the world once again. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.” It was a recognition that blurred the lines between high and popular art for good. Dylan responded in his own cryptic fashion: at first, he remained silent, then sent a speech, and did not attend the ceremony. But his words—read by Patti Smith—echoed his entire body of work: mysterious, layered, deeply human.

In the years that followed, he stayed active. He released three albums covering the American Songbook, including Shadows in the Night and Triplicate, on which he recorded songs by Frank Sinatra and others with quiet melancholy. It felt like he was bidding farewell to an era he had helped shape. But in 2020, amid a global pandemic, he surprised once more with Rough and Rowdy Ways. The album, featuring the monumental “Murder Most Foul”—a seventeen-minute meditation on the JFK assassination and the American soul—was hailed as a masterpiece. Other tracks like “I Contain Multitudes” and “Key West (Philosopher Pirate)” showed a Dylan reflecting on his life, his influences, and his place in history.

Despite his age, he kept performing, albeit with pauses. His concerts grew more subdued, his movements slower, but his presence on stage remained magnetic. He played piano instead of guitar, sang with a voice like sandpaper over velvet, and delivered his lyrics with a depth only years of experience can bring.

Beyond music, Dylan continued to work as a visual artist. His paintings and iron sculptures were exhibited in museums around the world. He remained sparing with words in interviews, but his work spoke volumes. He stayed an enigma—resistant to easy interpretation. Never a neatly framed icon, he was more a mirror in which each generation saw something different.

In 2024, the biographical film A Complete Unknown was released, with Timothée Chalamet portraying the young Dylan. The film ended with his legendary Newport Folk Festival performance in 1965—but of course, the story continued. Dylan himself gave no comment on the film, just as he rarely commented on his own mythology. He preferred to let the music speak.

And so he kept going. In an interview, he once said, “I’m not old, I’m timeless.” Perhaps that’s the heart of his existence: a man who refused to be captured by the moment, choosing instead to recreate it again and again. His songs—from “Blowin’ in the Wind” to “Not Dark Yet,” from “Forever Young” to “Crossing the Rubicon”—form a chronicle of an era, but also a mirror for who we are and wish to become.

Bob Dylan, the poet with a guitar, the wanderer with a voice, the man who stayed true to his own path, even when that path led through darkness, doubt, and solitude. He is still out there, somewhere on the road, singing of what was, what is, and what might yet come.