The blues, whether created in barrooms of Texas and Chicago or interpreted in the cafes of Paris, provide the roots for Bob Dylan [ tickets ]'s latest gem of an album, a no-nonsense travelogue that's rich in characters on both sides of the wall of romance.

The stories inside the songs of "Together Through Life" are told with an unguarded directness; the listener hears these people's chuckles, sees the tears and shares the inflation of the heart. At times, the protagonists step far enough out of the shadows that we see their faces, the sort of writing that was foreign to Dylan in his prime, when everything exposed needed to be quickly covered on the next turn. As he has aged, particularly in his work this century, Dylan has become OK with leaving the personal artifacts on the table for all to see. "Together" takes that attribute a step further.

Overall, it's a confirmation of love's ability to enhance life. "I walk the boulevard admitting life is hard without you near me," he croons over a bit of musical impressionism in which gondolas are docked on an Appalachia waterway.

Penning this album after writing "Life is Hard" for director Olivier Dahan's film "My Own Love Song," Dylan has acutely used the blues for admonishment and serenity, sweet talk and crooning. The rhythmic and lyrical blues structures, especially the repetition of phrases--written with Grateful Dead lyricist Robert Hunter--give "Together" the weight of a classic being reinterpreted.

Only a handful of thoughts are proffered on love here: The importance of togetherness on the burning opener "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'," the Texas shuffle "Jolene" and the Tex-Mex tune "This Dream of You"; intense yearning is covered on the bluesy "Forgetful Heart," "Shake Shake Mama" and "This Dream of You." "I Feel a Change Comin' On" could be a wedding vow.

The record's devilish spin comes in Dylan's adaptation of Willie Dixon's "I Just Want to Make Love to You," which Muddy Waters recorded in 1954. Dylan retains the animalistic drive of the original while spinning the lyrical intent 180 degrees. No longer is desire on his mind. No, in the new version, Dylan declares "hell is my wife's hometown," a sentiment expressed with a furtive growl, an increasing resentment and, just as the story concludes, a snicker.

The guitars, mandolins and accordion of Los Lobos' David Hidalgo and the Heartbreakers' Mike Campbell brighten the hues that surround the sagely barking. The album's closer, "It's All Very Good," is so influenced by Hidalgo, it could be inserted into his band's songbook. The loosey-goosey production is untidy the way a well-used hideaway hotel room would be about midday on a Sunday.

The cover photographs--lovers on the front by Bruce Davidson, musicians on the back by Josef Koudelka, both of them classics--are there to be read into. This is Dylan as a vulnerable lover caught between wistful and virulent as well as the aging musician bound to a tradition.

There's a glow on this record (let's attribute that to Dylan handling production and billing himself as Jack Frost) that was only hinted at in his last three marvelous records. He has a single misstep here, "If You Ever Go to Houston," a bloviated collection of advice, but overall there's airiness and freedom, the sound of a man looking at the sky ahead instead of the shadows over his shoulder.