Highway 61, circa 2006
The Bob Dylan concert in Rochester on Wednesday night, part of his baseball tour, all concerts in minor league ball parks, was attended by the oldest audience ever to see a rock concert. I saw a couple guys with canes wearing tie-dyed tee-shirts. And there were at least one hundred bald guys with pony tails. White hair was the norm. I figure half the audience was on social security.
In front of us sat this couple with their shopping bags full of stuff: extra clothes, scarves and gloves, water bottles of course, and a book to read. The gal read her book through all of the opening acts. She probably would have read right through Dylan’s set, only the sun had gone down and it was too dark to read. I figure she reads that book when they’re making love – has it open on the bed in front of her, when she’s down there with her big booty up in the air. (How scary is that thought?) Earlier in the evening, when the opening acts were on, the two of them got up to go to the rest room. We knew that – that they were going to the rest room and not for a hot dog or certainly not a beer-- because they took a couple sheets of paper, and taped them, with a roll of scotch tape that came out of that big shopping bag, to their seats. On the paper was written the following message: “Gone to the rest room. Please don’t take our seats.” Most people, of course, would simply have left their stuff in the seats, thus signaling that the seats were taken. I mean, after all, who on earth would want any of their stuff? Extra careful people might have asked us, “Would you mind keeping an eye on our stuff. We’re going to the rest room.” (Really, who needs to know that you’re going to the rest room? Can’t we just save the seats and spare everyone that detail?) But they were trying to make sure that the seats were still available when they returned. And who am I to make fun, because it worked. Even though a dozen couples came by, looked at the signs, and rolled their eyes, no one stole the seats. They were still there when Dick and Jane returned from their bathroom break.
In any event, although the opening acts were great, Junior Brown and his crazy guitar, and Jimmy Vaughn with Lou Ann Barton on vocals, the evening was all about Dylan, and fortunately the sun went down, so we no longer had to watch all the freaks who had come out, and could concentrate on the music.
In a word, Dylan was astonishing. He voice has deteriorated to the level of a growl, but he was never a great vocalist. And once again this summer, instead of seeing some aging artist, who was merely a shadow of his former self, we saw an artist who continued to reinvent himself and his work. In this way, Dylan reminded me a lot of Wayne Shorter, whom we saw in June at the jazz festival – playing with younger performers, rearranging his music, and really creating a new style of playing.
Dylan began the set by alternating new and old, but before too long, he concentrated on older songs, many of them now more than 40 years old. I recognized : You Ain’t Goin Nowhere (which I first heard on the Great White Wonder bootleg album); Positively 4th Street; I’ll be Your Baby Tonight; Memphis Blues Again; Masters of War; Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat; Highway 61; and then for his two encores, Like a Rolling Stone, and Watchtower. I couldn’t have asked for a better selection. Let’s start with Memphis Blues, which I had never heard performed live, but which is one of my all-time favorite songs. In fact, one morning recently I awoke with this song in my head, as if I had dreamed about it, and have been listening to it obsessively for a couple weeks. Dylan did two very interesting things with the performance. First, he totally changed the phrasing of the song, so its sound was completely different, although the lyrics remained, for the most part, intact. But, in true Dylan fashion, always trying to leave everyone guessing, he omitted the one verse that explains the whole song – the one about mixing the rainman’s two cures, thus strangling up his mind.
His performance of Masters of War was also completely rearranged—the effect was an ominous sound that matched the dark lyrics, now 44 years old. But to counteract the somber note sounded by that number, he immediately followed it with Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat, one of the least serious and most entertaining songs he ever wrote.
I expected Rolling Stone as his encore, but was unaware that he has made Watchtower the closing number of his act for several years now. (Playlists from previous concerts, which can be accessed on his website, reveal that Watchtower is now the standard closing for his concerts.) I’ve been telling folks for years, not that anyone ever cared, that the Hendrix version of Watchtower was the greatest rock and roll song ever recorded. After all, Dylan’s lyrics are better in every way than those of any other rock performer. But Hendrix took what was really a quiet song, with biblical imagery, and transformed it into an ominous, almost apocalyptic anthem. Dylan clearly went to school on the Hendrix interpretation, because the Watchtower that ended this concert sent chills up and down my spine.
Earlier in the evening, I had been wondering why we were listening to all this music from Austin, Texas, whether Junior Brown’s psychedelic rockabilly guitar, or Jimmy Vaughn’s Texas blues, but then when I heard the band behind Dylan, I understood. There was this southwest, blues-rock sound to the music, unlike anything I’ve heard on any of his CDs (although I confess not to be that familiar with his recent music). The band was loud and driving at times, and then eerily quiet at other times. Mostly guitars, including a slide guitar, and Dylan on keyboards and harmonica. (The audience really loved the harmonica; I had the sense that some of the white-haired and tie-dyed fans actually went all the way back to the folk music days, probably hoping he’d sing Blowin in the Wind. But it wasn’t that kind of night.)
One last note. G-Man told me that Crosby Stills etc charged him over $140 a ticket for the concert he recently saw on Long Island. Dylan tickets were under $50. Maybe that’s only market forces; maybe Dylan has never been a major draw. But I’d like to think that he’s just keeping things in perspective. Giving us four acts, and four hours of concert, for not too much dough.
In front of us sat this couple with their shopping bags full of stuff: extra clothes, scarves and gloves, water bottles of course, and a book to read. The gal read her book through all of the opening acts. She probably would have read right through Dylan’s set, only the sun had gone down and it was too dark to read. I figure she reads that book when they’re making love – has it open on the bed in front of her, when she’s down there with her big booty up in the air. (How scary is that thought?) Earlier in the evening, when the opening acts were on, the two of them got up to go to the rest room. We knew that – that they were going to the rest room and not for a hot dog or certainly not a beer-- because they took a couple sheets of paper, and taped them, with a roll of scotch tape that came out of that big shopping bag, to their seats. On the paper was written the following message: “Gone to the rest room. Please don’t take our seats.” Most people, of course, would simply have left their stuff in the seats, thus signaling that the seats were taken. I mean, after all, who on earth would want any of their stuff? Extra careful people might have asked us, “Would you mind keeping an eye on our stuff. We’re going to the rest room.” (Really, who needs to know that you’re going to the rest room? Can’t we just save the seats and spare everyone that detail?) But they were trying to make sure that the seats were still available when they returned. And who am I to make fun, because it worked. Even though a dozen couples came by, looked at the signs, and rolled their eyes, no one stole the seats. They were still there when Dick and Jane returned from their bathroom break.
In any event, although the opening acts were great, Junior Brown and his crazy guitar, and Jimmy Vaughn with Lou Ann Barton on vocals, the evening was all about Dylan, and fortunately the sun went down, so we no longer had to watch all the freaks who had come out, and could concentrate on the music.
In a word, Dylan was astonishing. He voice has deteriorated to the level of a growl, but he was never a great vocalist. And once again this summer, instead of seeing some aging artist, who was merely a shadow of his former self, we saw an artist who continued to reinvent himself and his work. In this way, Dylan reminded me a lot of Wayne Shorter, whom we saw in June at the jazz festival – playing with younger performers, rearranging his music, and really creating a new style of playing.
Dylan began the set by alternating new and old, but before too long, he concentrated on older songs, many of them now more than 40 years old. I recognized : You Ain’t Goin Nowhere (which I first heard on the Great White Wonder bootleg album); Positively 4th Street; I’ll be Your Baby Tonight; Memphis Blues Again; Masters of War; Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat; Highway 61; and then for his two encores, Like a Rolling Stone, and Watchtower. I couldn’t have asked for a better selection. Let’s start with Memphis Blues, which I had never heard performed live, but which is one of my all-time favorite songs. In fact, one morning recently I awoke with this song in my head, as if I had dreamed about it, and have been listening to it obsessively for a couple weeks. Dylan did two very interesting things with the performance. First, he totally changed the phrasing of the song, so its sound was completely different, although the lyrics remained, for the most part, intact. But, in true Dylan fashion, always trying to leave everyone guessing, he omitted the one verse that explains the whole song – the one about mixing the rainman’s two cures, thus strangling up his mind.
His performance of Masters of War was also completely rearranged—the effect was an ominous sound that matched the dark lyrics, now 44 years old. But to counteract the somber note sounded by that number, he immediately followed it with Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat, one of the least serious and most entertaining songs he ever wrote.
I expected Rolling Stone as his encore, but was unaware that he has made Watchtower the closing number of his act for several years now. (Playlists from previous concerts, which can be accessed on his website, reveal that Watchtower is now the standard closing for his concerts.) I’ve been telling folks for years, not that anyone ever cared, that the Hendrix version of Watchtower was the greatest rock and roll song ever recorded. After all, Dylan’s lyrics are better in every way than those of any other rock performer. But Hendrix took what was really a quiet song, with biblical imagery, and transformed it into an ominous, almost apocalyptic anthem. Dylan clearly went to school on the Hendrix interpretation, because the Watchtower that ended this concert sent chills up and down my spine.
Earlier in the evening, I had been wondering why we were listening to all this music from Austin, Texas, whether Junior Brown’s psychedelic rockabilly guitar, or Jimmy Vaughn’s Texas blues, but then when I heard the band behind Dylan, I understood. There was this southwest, blues-rock sound to the music, unlike anything I’ve heard on any of his CDs (although I confess not to be that familiar with his recent music). The band was loud and driving at times, and then eerily quiet at other times. Mostly guitars, including a slide guitar, and Dylan on keyboards and harmonica. (The audience really loved the harmonica; I had the sense that some of the white-haired and tie-dyed fans actually went all the way back to the folk music days, probably hoping he’d sing Blowin in the Wind. But it wasn’t that kind of night.)
One last note. G-Man told me that Crosby Stills etc charged him over $140 a ticket for the concert he recently saw on Long Island. Dylan tickets were under $50. Maybe that’s only market forces; maybe Dylan has never been a major draw. But I’d like to think that he’s just keeping things in perspective. Giving us four acts, and four hours of concert, for not too much dough.
posted by pops | 5:33 PM
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