Musings II: In Concert

So I saw him ‘in person’. Was it a religious experience? No. Was I prepared? Not the first time. Yeah, stupid me. The first time I expected that ‘The Man’, ‘His Bobness’ would be belting ‘em out just as I’ve always heard them in the soundtrack of my life, that the hits would just ‘keep on coming’. Right. That was when I was a true novice, when I still had expectations of predictability. But in the little more than a year since that first time I’ve learned a lot. A lot. First, I’ve come to realize that, despite what people say about his mumbling, it’s the lyrics that you really have to know backwards and forwards to have any hope of recognizing the songs because it’s the melody and the rhythm that he truly enjoys messing with. The lyrics hold up pretty well in comparison and if you can just pin down a phrase here or there among the mumbled words and distorted delivery thanks to the amped up sound system, you’re golden. I’ve found that binoculars are a great aid here if you can get a seat where you’ve got a shot at watching his mouth.

Okay, let’s skip all the usual arguments: “Why bother going to see him if he can’t sing/if he doesn’t care/if he’s just an old geezer” vs. “Would you go see Shakespeare or Picasso if you had the chance?/He can too sing, it’s just a new style”, etc. Taking the experience at face value rather than expecting to see only a slightly older version of the 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert or talking yourself into the transcendental nature of being in the same arena with his greatness, what do you have? These days you have a rockin’ band that, over time, is getting better and better at knowing what Dylan’s doing out there and enhancing it with their own talents. You’ve got a repertoire of classics and new tunes woven into such an unpredictable string of setlists that there are at least 2 websites dedicated to forecasting what he’s gonna play. You’ve got an old-fashioned, down-to-earth, no fancy-laser-light-super-screen-projected extravaganza techonographed to co-ordinate with a lip-synched production of previously recorded muzak, concert. There’s a man and his band. Period. (Okay, a coupla lighting effects here and there, but if you’re the lighting guy at a Dylan concert, you can pretty much phone in your efforts—and Dylan certainly won’t care/notice if you screw up ‘cause that’s not what he’s paying attention to. He’s there to have a good time for himself. Period.

How do I answer the complaints about the fact that he barely acknowledges the audience, that he sings ‘too many” new songs leaving out some of the old standards, that he’s just plain old? I say that this guy has followed his muse, his bliss, his instincts for a very long time now. Despite (or because of) his success, he’s paid some pretty high personal prices along the way. On top of that, he’s a very sen-sa-tee-uhv (oops, we haven’t gotten to Blood on the Tracks yet, have we?) person, who has built up an arsenal of defenses against the real and perceived lack of appreciation of his art by fans and non-fans. The fact that he still puts himself out there and is still creating, night after night, is a testament to his genius/artistry and I, for one, consider it a privilege to witness it. Period.