Sometimes music is more than just background noise or a soundtrack to daily life. Sometimes, an album reaches straight into your soul. For me, Bob Dylan’s Slow Train Coming did exactly that in 1979, when I was twenty years old.
At the time, I wasn’t what you’d call a hardcore Dylan fan. I owned his Greatest Hits on vinyl and loved songs like Blowin’ in the Wind, The Times They Are A-Changin’, Mr. Tambourine Man, and of course Like a Rolling Stone. But when Slow Train Coming was released, it arrived at a very particular moment in my life. It was the tail end of the Jesus Movement revival that had swept across North America, and I was at a turning point in my own spiritual journey. Music mattered deeply to me then—and this record struck me to the inner depths of my core.
Dylan himself had just undergone a spiritual awakening. Having converted to Christianity, Slow Train Coming was the first of three albums where he openly expressed his faith and drew on the teachings of Jesus. It went on to become his best-selling album in nearly a decade. The lead single, Gotta Serve Somebody, even earned Dylan a Grammy for Best Male Rock Vocal Performance—an irony, given that his voice had never been what critics celebrated most.
From the very first listen, the album floored me. The lyrics, the poetry, the conviction—I finally understood why so many considered Dylan America’s greatest songwriter. And all these years later, after listening to it for forty-six years, it still hasn’t lost its pull. If I had to narrow down my collection to just a handful of records for the rest of my life, Slow Train Coming would be on that list.
Part of its magic lies in the production. Dylan brought in the legendary Jerry Wexler—the same producer behind Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, and Wilson Pickett—who co-produced with Muscle Shoals keyboardist Barry Beckett. They cut the record at the famed Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in Alabama, and you can hear that soulful DNA in every track. (If you haven’t seen the Muscle Shoals documentary, do yourself a favor and find it.)
Technically, it’s one of the finest engineered albums I’ve ever heard. The separation is stunning: Dylan’s vocals stand front and center, while Mark Knopfler’s guitar and Barry Beckett’s keys weave around each other with unmatched clarity.
Knopfler, fresh off the debut success of Dire Straits and their breakout single Sultans of Swing, joined the sessions and brought drummer Pick Withers along with him. Bass duties fell to Tim Drummond, whose résumé stretched from Clapton and James Brown to Neil Young and Miles Davis. And to round it out, the Muscle Shoals Horns gave the album its gospel-soul firepower.
But if I had to single out one element that elevates this record above the rest, it’s Knopfler’s guitar. Playing a Gibson Les Paul Standard replica built by Erlewine, he manages to carve out leads that are soulful without ever overwhelming Dylan’s songs. His touch is restrained yet expressive—melodies that lift the music higher without stealing its heart. You can’t explain it. You have to hear it.
Even now, whenever I want to escape the noise of the world, I head to my basement, dim the lights, put on my headphones, and let Slow Train Coming wash over me. It’s an album that helps me unwind, reconnect, and remember why music matters.
If you’ve never heard it, and you love music that carries soul, artistry, and conviction, I encourage you to give it a listen. Picture a 20-year-old in 1979, wide-eyed and inspired—and the same man, now 66, still hearing that same soul moving clarity of every note.
