Recently, as the only person of somewhat advanced age among an informal group of college students, I deliberately (and maybe with a bit of malice) made some disparaging remarks about Bob Dylan. Aware that Dylan has had heroic stature for many of the emerging adult generation, I knew I was inviting severe disapproval when I used such terms as self-conscious folksiness and inept artiness. I read aloud some lines by Dylan that, I suggested, had neither the spare strength of folk poetry nor the insights and word sensitivity of sophisticated poetry. The sentiments were simple, I claimed-even, to put it blatantly, simple-minded. I played some Dylan tunes to demonstrate that they lacked the naive vigor of real folk music, that they were really eclectic, inexpert imitations. I was prepared for controversy. I thought someone might challenge me to read the text of a song by Robert Schumann, or some such notable, leaving me in an embarrassment of literary absurdities. No one did. I expected someone to challenge the assumption that one can dissect the elements of a song and expect each to stand alone with the validity of a pure art form. No one did. I considered it likely that someone would point out that in Dylan's songs, as in much pop work, music, text, and performance are indissoluble, representing a gestalt more meaningful than the sum of the parts. No one did. Rather than challenge my assumptions, the group responded with furious hostility The author is Professor of Analysis-Synthesis at the University of Wisconsin, Green Bay. and cries of outrage, and I suspect that the vehemence of the reaction was far more