Bob Dylan’s Infidels is the sound of a man stepping back into the world after years of staring at the sky. Released in 1983, it is a secular record from an artist who had spent his previous albums wrestling with gospel and judgment. Here, he trades the pulpit for the roadside, and the shift is immediate. The album is trying to prove that Dylan can still write about the here and now — politics, love, betrayal, and the slow rot of the modern age — without needing a choir behind him.
It is a rock record, but not a loud one. The production is warm and direct, with a band that locks into a relaxed, mid-tempo groove and stays there. There is no synthesizer gloss, no attempt to chase the radio. The songs are built on guitars, bass, and a steady drumbeat, with Dylan’s voice — weathered, nasal, and full of hard-earned authority — sitting right on top.
The result is an album that feels like a comeback, but a cautious one. It is not a fire-breathing statement of intent. It is a man checking his own pulse, and finding it steady.
The Opening Gambit of Jokerman
The record opens with “Jokerman,” a six-and-a-half-minute song that remains one of Dylan’s most enduring pieces from this era. It is a slow, hypnotic track, built on a reggae-tinged lilt and a chorus that asks a question Dylan never quite answers. The lyrics are dense, Biblical, and slippery, full of images that seem to shift every time you look at them.
“Jokerman” is not a straightforward song. It is a portrait of a trickster figure, someone who dances between truth and illusion, and Dylan delivers the verses with a kind of weary amusement. The music is deceptively simple, but it holds your attention across its long runtime. It sets the tone for the album: smart, literate, and unwilling to spell things out.
This is the strongest track on the record, and it earns its place at the front. It announces that Dylan is back to writing songs that reward close listening, and it does so without raising its voice.
Sweetheart Like You and Neighborhood Bully
Track two, “Sweetheart Like You,” is a quieter, more intimate piece. It is a song about a woman in a bad situation, and Dylan’s narrator offers a kind of gruff tenderness. The performance is one of the album’s most restrained, and the sentiment lands with real weight.
It is a good song, but not a great one. The melody is pleasant, and the mood is clear, but it lacks the restless energy of the opener. It feels like a breather, a moment of calm before the record gets back to business.
Then comes “Neighborhood Bully,” and the tone shifts hard. This is a political song, written from the perspective of a figure who is blamed for everything wrong in the world. It is widely read as a defense of Israel, and the lyrics are blunt about the idea of a nation forced to defend itself against constant criticism.
The song is musically straightforward, a mid-tempo rocker with a simple riff and a driving beat. It is not subtle, and it does not try to be. Dylan’s delivery is firm, almost defiant, and the chorus lands with the weight of a man who has heard the arguments and is not buying them.
“Neighborhood Bully” is not the album’s most beloved track, but it is one of its most direct. It shows Dylan willing to take a stand, even when the ground is contentious.
License to Kill and Man of Peace
“License to Kill” is where the album starts to dig into darker territory. The song is about the abuse of power, specifically the way that those in control treat the world as a resource to be consumed. The lyrics reference the arms race and environmental destruction, and Dylan’s vocal is angry, almost bitter.
The music is tense, with a sharp guitar line and a rhythm that feels like a slow burn. It is one of the more aggressive performances on the record, and it lands with real force. This is Dylan at his most pointed, writing about the machinery of death without flinching.
Track five, “Man of Peace,” is a different kind of warning. It is a song about the devil’s ability to disguise himself, to appear as a figure of calm and reason while working toward ruin. The lyrics are full of specific images — a man in a silk suit, a man who knows the right things to say — and the delivery is sly, almost amused.
Musically, it is one of the more upbeat tracks on the album, with a bouncy rhythm and a gospel-influenced backing vocal. But the cheerfulness is a mask. The song is a warning, and Dylan delivers it with a wink that does not hide the seriousness underneath.
“Man of Peace” is a strong piece, but it also marks the point where the album begins to lose a little steam. The ideas are still sharp, but the execution starts to feel familiar.
Union Sundown and I and I
“Union Sundown” is the most overtly political track on the record. It is a song about the decline of American manufacturing, about jobs shipped overseas and the hollowing out of the working class. The lyrics are blunt, and the chorus hammers the point home.
It is a protest song, but not a romantic one. Dylan is not singing about solidarity or the dignity of labor. He is singing about a system that has failed, and he does it with a sneer. The music is a driving rocker, one of the most energetic tracks on the album, but the mood is sour.
This is not the strongest song on the record. The message is clear, but it is delivered with a hammer rather than a scalpel. It works, but it is not subtle.
“I and I” is the album’s most mysterious track. The lyrics are elliptical, full of references to dreams, distance, and a sense of being split in two. It is a slow, meditative song, built on a sparse arrangement and a vocal that sounds exhausted.
This is the track that critics have often singled out, and it is easy to see why. It is the most personal song on the record, a glimpse of a man who is tired of the road and unsure of where he stands. The chorus is less a statement than a question, a way of naming the gap between the public figure and the private self.
Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight
The album closes with “Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight,” a song that is both a plea and a farewell. It is a love song, but a fragile one, full of lines about holding on and letting go. The narrator is asking for one more chance, but he sounds like he does not believe he will get it.
The music is gentle, a slow ballad with a soft guitar line and a warm backing vocal. It is the most tender moment on the record, and it provides a quiet ending to an album that has spent most of its runtime being loud or clever.
But here is the problem. The song is good, but it is not great. It feels like a closing statement that is trying to be moving without quite earning it. The album has built up so much tension — political, personal, spiritual — that a simple ballad does not feel like enough of a release.
The Missing Track
No review of Infidels can ignore the elephant in the room. The album was recorded with a number of strong songs that did not make the final cut, the most famous of which is “Blind Willie McTell.” That song, a haunting acoustic piece about the blues and the American South, is widely considered one of Dylan’s best from this period, and its absence from the album has been a topic of debate for decades.
Dylan chose the eight tracks that appear here, and he left “Blind Willie McTell” in the vault. It is impossible to know exactly why, but the decision shapes how the album is heard. Infidels is a good record, but it is also a record that could have been better. The songs that made the cut are solid, but the one that got away casts a long shadow.
The Verdict
Infidels is a strong album, but it is not a masterpiece. Its first half is excellent, with “Jokerman” and “License to Kill” showing Dylan at his sharpest. The second half is less consistent, with “Union Sundown” and “Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight” failing to match the energy of what came before.
The record is a successful return to secular songwriting, but it is a cautious one. Dylan is not trying to reinvent the wheel here. He is trying to prove that he can still roll it, and for the most part, he does.
The album runs a tight 42 minutes, and it never overstays its welcome. The performances are strong, the production is clean, and the songwriting is, at its best, as good as anything he had done in years. It is the work of a man who has been through the fire and is not sure he wants to go back in, but is willing to stand near the flames.
| Track | Length | Verdict |
|---|---|---|
| Jokerman | 6:19 | The standout, a hypnotic opener |
| Sweetheart Like You | 4:36 | Tender but slight |
| Neighborhood Bully | 4:38 | Blunt and defiant |
| License to Kill | 3:35 | Sharp and angry |
| Man of Peace | 6:32 | Clever but familiar |
| Union Sundown | 5:26 | Heavy-handed politics |
| I and I | 5:13 | Mysterious and meditative |
| Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight | 5:56 | A gentle but weak closer |
Infidels deserves its reputation as a comeback, but it is a comeback with limits. It is an album that shows Dylan climbing back to his feet, but it does not show him at full height.
The record is a 7 out of 10.
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- Jokerman6:19
- Sweetheart Like You4:36
- Neighborhood Bully4:38
- License to Kill3:35
- Man of Peace6:32
- Union Sundown5:26
- I and I5:13
- Don't Fall Apart on Me Tonight5:56
