That folk scene certainly involved an amount of affectation - it was an actual craze, after all. And while "craze", as opposed to "movement" may be a rather vulgar word, it was a craze even so. To recognise that goes some way to help explain the reaction of Dylan fans when he "betrayed" the "movement" with the simple act of plugging in his guitar and hitting the road with a rock-band. Judas! they shouted. In Belfast, where they knew their Bible, they even threw money on the stage.
It really shouldn't have been quite such a shock. The Byrds were already singing souped-up versions of his songs, and Dylan himself had recorded the odd dangerously rockin' song like Subterranean Homesick Blues. Most notoriously of all, he had seriously rocked the folk boat at the 1965 Newport Festival - apparently making such a rock'n'roll racket that Pete Seeger, so they say, literally tried to pull the plug on him. Perhaps those folkies, for whom presentation was almost everything, should have seen it coming. Or perhaps they simply didn't realise that their man's roots were as much in Chuck Berry as in Doc Watson.
In fairness, given the passion and idealism that was around in the Sixties, it is possible to feel the sense of abandonment these fans felt when they saw their hero, in their view, taking the soup. But that's to forget that Dylan the folk singer was not necessarily the real Bob Dylan. Those protest folkies had, after all, already been disappointed by Another Side of Bob Dylan in 1964 - an album of love songs and long, surreal rambles that seemed to have no particular political target. And as politicos weren't big on subtlety, here their former spokesman had again grievously broken the rules. Yes, they felt betrayed, but they had seriously underestimated his approach to the creative process itself. In a sense it was entirely their own fault for projecting their own notions of Bob Dylan on a young and developing artist - especially one for whom being a political folkie, rather than an electric rocker, had been the odd bit. We should never forget that long before Dylan ever heard The Clancys in The White Horse, he had played a few gigs with Bobby Vee!
That said, The Clancy Brothers had by far the bigger influence. Dylan has often remarked on songs like Brennan on the Moor and how The Clancys sang the song as if Brennan was still alive. The old songs also gave him shapes and chord sequences for his own growing songs - many of them sounding like Irish ballads for very good reason. An equally significant influence, and one far from Ireland, was that of Allen Ginsberg. Poets like him were shamelessly encouraging endless outpourings of words - breaking the rules on form and subject matter in a way which must have been a huge liberation for a young writer. Imagine the sheer pressure of words and notions that must have been building in Dylan's head prior to its first release on typewriter. Luckily for him, in the many verses of the folk song, he found somewhere suitable to put it all.
Whatever about the actual times, Dylan did change music, and the nature of songwriting in particular. He freed up people like Van Morrison, enabling them to understand that songs did not have to be written about certain prescribed things in a certain prescribed way. After Dylan you could write about anything you wanted. And this, outside his actual body of work, is perhaps his greatest contribution to music. He was the great literate liberator who made everything possible for those who followed. The downside is that he also unleashed eejits like me trying to sing Maggie's Farm on a wet Friday night in Fermanagh.
The rewards for years of Dylan loyalty came a few years ago with what was the first of several top-drawer Dylan performances. This time it was Belfast and it was evident, even during the first song, that Dylan was bang on form. He held the microphone in his hand and crooned like a crooner. The sight of a smiling, swaying Bob, singing out with strength, sparked massive excitement in the audience and we began to look at each other, nodding and smiling - relief, thumbs up - this was it, we were finally going to see Dylan. He sang Boots of Spanish Leather and people were actually in tears. He sang The Times They Are A Changin' and the hairs, in the circumstances of post-ceasefire Belfast, really did stand on the back of my neck. An old, and maybe tired song, was once again the most powerful statement imaginable and the stature of Dylan revealed itself in a way that was quite overwhelming.
Then came news of a serious health scare. A festival gig in Cork was cancelled and all sorts of concerned late-night phone calls were made to America and back. People who knew Dylan, and people who didn't, kept each other informed as best they could. The news went from "death's door" to "out of the woods" and then suddenly he was back with his best album in years (Time Out of Mind) and a return to the Never Ending World Tour. He played in Belfast again and this time he sang, of all things, The Newry Highwayman - learnt, no doubt, from an old Johnstons' record. "Here's a song from round these parts," he said. It was quite a moment and a clear reminder that Dylan is never, under any circumstances, just another rock'n'roll circus act.
Of course, the anorak arguments will always rage about Dylan. Is he a better poet than Keats? Can he sing or not? Is he a genius? Is he for real? But all you can really say for sure is that he is a direct line to Woody Guthrie, to Blind Willie Mc Tell and to all that store of musical treasure brought to us from America. He is also the man who wrote some of the most enduring songs and most memorable words of our times. He dramatically changed popular music and made it possible for others to write about whatever was on their minds. While he was at it, he broke down all sorts of barriers between folk, country, rock, blues and whatever else.
For all those reasons and more, I once shook Bob Dylan's hand and muttered words of gratitude. To be quite honest I wanted to hug him - but as he had just finished his set with It Ain't Me Babe - I regained my professional cool, squeezed his hand one more time and escorted myself, swiftly, from the room.
Go 'way from my window,
Leave at your own chosen speed.
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I'm not the one you need.
You say you're lookin' for someone
Never weak but always strong,
To protect you and defend you
Whether you are right or wrong,
Someone to open each and every door,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, No, No, it ain't me babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.
Bob Dylan plays the Point Theatre in Dublin on September 14th, and a special, intimate, gig at Vicar St on September 13th for which tickets (£37.50, from Ticketmaster) go on sale on Monday - sales are limited to two per person.