Mary and I saw Bob Dylan in concert last night. We’ve never been huge fans, but were able to snag 4th row seats and he is an important American icon. He is also 77 so we’re thinking the threescore and ten math limits the odds of a future opportunity.
Sadly, the medium size concert venue at the Toyota Center in Las Collinas was just semi-full with the lawn area closed. The large stage was made small by a black backdrop curtain. The dim lights showed a black grand piano as the centerpiece with a small drum kit to the left, amps and guitars behind.
The announcer gave us severe warnings about cell phone or camera use and we realized the lawn area had been cordoned off to make room for a firing squad. The short, white-bearded, maize-shirt-white-pants event staffer warned the guy in front of me once, then dragged him out. Bob didn’t have any pyrotechnics so that must have been a car backfiring.
Mary and I felt suitably intimidated and smashed our phones with a Hilary Clinton commemorative hammer. Then we were ready to be made welcome to the performance. It was a performance, not a concert.
Concerts involve banter and an interchange of energy between musicians and the audience. Bob Dylan and his 4-piece band played ably for two hours and he said not one word. Not one. Rock concerts today feature a high degree of sophisticated multi-media stimulation. Lasers, choreographed dancing lights, retina-damaging floodlights, videos, photos, smoke, fog, wind, fire, TNT, rain, hurricanes, and tornadoes.
Bob Dylan had three or four large, muted streetlamps above and behind him and a handful of small lanterns on stage. I was reminded of the calm first leg of Pirates of the Caribbean ride and began looking for fireflies. The effect was actually perfect—an intimate, warm, uncluttered stage suitable for chamber music, lounge singers, and the inimitable Bob Dylan.
I was impressed with Bob’s piano playing—he, sadly, never touched a guitar—and the mix of music—folk, rock, blues, jazzy blues. The few songs we knew, though, we didn’t recognize because he, according to a musician in the know two rows behind us, had rearranged everything. I don’t blame him. Honestly, could you sing Blowing in the Wind the same way for almost 60 years?
It is, to me, a great irony that Bob Dylan has won a Pulitzer Prize for his lyrics when, in fact, and I listened hard, I only recognized one or two words from my native tongue.
Broa g not alto oceano oclllandil ccdklitere….Highway 61
Mary suggested we should have brought an interpreter. I would have liked to follow along on my battered cell phone with help from Lyrics.com but forgot my bulletproof vest.
Still, we are super glad we went. It was great to see an influential, prolific singer-songwriter still at it, we appreciated the tight musicianship and felt happy that his acolytes had an opportunity to express restrained reverence.
I do not know if Bob had a good time or not.
