In “Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?”—one of his bitter, indicting gems of poison-penned songwriting—Bob Dylan takes aim when he sings of one who “looks so truthful, is this how he feels?/Trying to peel the moon and expose it.” Dylan knew about people like that—attempting to figure him out and get into his head—as early as 1965 when he wrote those lines. More than 40 years on, little haschanged. Now director Todd Haynes is the latest to throw his hat into the ring, trying his hand at peeling the moon with the biopic I’m Not There. It’s a surreal, impressionistic and freewheelin’ twist on the bard that’s bound to be anything but a simple one. With multiple actors of varied sexes, ages and ethnicities playing patchwork versions of Dylan, it’s going to be interesting. Fans may balk at Haynes’ approach but they will have a tough time finding flaw in the double album that accompanies it. This is a special album, far exceeding staid soundtrack standards. The songs are the lifeblood of the Dylan story, however one might decide to tell it. They are more than background elements to the plot or some sort of sonic mise-en-scène: They are the story. It’s terrific that the filmmakers took such care in putting together what’s bound to go down not only as one of the finest collections of Dylan interpreted but an all-star achievement that will set the bar for film soundtracks for years to come. On board across are a pair of top house bands. First there’s the atmospheric, Tucson-based maestros Calexico lending their magical, majestic tones to Dylan refigurings like My Morning Jacket man Jim James’ soulful read of “Goin’ to Acapulco,” Willie Nelson’s perfect Mexicale redo of “Senor (Tales of Yankee Power)” as well as numbers by Iron & Wine and Roger McGuinn. Then there’s the Basement Tapes name-dropping outfit called “The Million Dollar Bashers,” which includes members of Sonic Youth, guitarist Tom Verlaine and current long-standing Dylan bassist Tony Garnier lending their skill to Eddie Vedder’s bombastic opener “All Along the Watchtower” and numbers by Stephen Malkmus. Verlaine takes vocal duties on the latter-era Dylan burner “Cold Irons Bound.” The explosive, bar-blustering antics of the Hold Steady are a perfect non-laconic fit to cover the aforementioned “Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?” but manage to bring out a whole new side, putting in new grit and a sense of immediacy. They perhaps even best the favored Jimi Hendrix BBC session version. Add artists like Jeff Tweedy, Mark Lanegan, Antony and the Johnsons and Yo La Tengo and I’m still just scratching the surface. There’s not enough space to get into everything here, and it’s better heard than written about. Dylan’s own recording of the title track—a long-lost track well-known to bootleggers and fanatics—is the cherry on top. If only the film can come close to living up to its stellar soundtrack.

James Blunt is a genius. No song in the last decade has exploited the fragile psyches of young American females more successfully than his smash hit, “You’re Beautiful.” Blunt saw a country that has made a national pastime out of making women feel ugly and unwanted, realized that these same women had more disposable income than ever before and wrote some bullshit that they’d eat up with a spoon: “There must be an angel with a smile on her face/When she thought up that I should be with you.” I can just see him in his dank British lair, rubbing his hands together like a Bond villain and saying, “Those Americans think they’re so smart. Fools! Just wait until those big, ignorant cowboys have to endure my bleating voice when their simpering girlfriends put ‘You’re Beautiful’ on repeat and say things like ‘This song is about me!’ And what’s worse, they’ll have to pretend they like it! Woo-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” On his latest record, All the Lost Souls, Blunt doesn’t offer up anything quite so diabolical as “You’re Beautiful.” In a way, he turns the tables completely, writing songs that seem deliberately meaningless, but keeping the musical formula the same—bland, unobtrusive soft-rock productions that feature one of the most unappealing falsettos you’ll ever hear on the radio. (I never realized there was such a big market for a singer that sounds like Barry Gibb’s asshole grandson.) Blunt’s newfound love of lyrical rat’s nests reaches its apex on another brilliantly titled song, “I Really Want You.” Over yet another framework of throwaway acoustic strumming and a Natalie Merchant-esque vocal melody, the songwriter lays this doozie on us: “I really want you to really want me/But I really don’t know if you can do that/I know you want to know what’s right/But I know it’s so hard for you to do that.” After hearing these lines, I didn’t not know if you knew if I wasn’t sure if I didn’t really understand them. And if you’re busy trying to decipher them as if they were actually poetic, don’t bother. That’s not the point of James Blunt’s music. All that matters is, he thinks you’re beautiful, he really wants you, he’s got the wool over our all-too-trusting eyes and he’s bleating all the way to the bank.