Bob Dylan’s show last night in Bridgeport, Connecticut was dynamite, in my humble and hopelessly subjective opinion. For me, it was one of the very best performances by Dylan that I’ve seen.

…

Mrs. RWB and I had to travel some to and from the venue, and got back home about two and a half hours after the show concluded. When I checked Bill Pagel’s site to see whether the set list was up or not (I had dutifully scribbled it down myself during the show) of-course it was. (Sue from Australia had already emailed to say how envious she was of the song selection I’d gotten to hear.) However, I was taken aback to see that there were also three fan reviews already posted! I guess it was a highly wired audience.

Things that struck me:

The opening number, Leopard-Skin Pillbox Hat, was a suitably mind-blowing entrance, with Bob center-stage on electric guitar and the whole ensemble delivering an extremely ballsy sound (I can’t come up with another word for that particular quality). Dylan’s current look — mainly his current hat, I suppose — evoked Clint Eastwood for me, as opposed to the country gentleman look of other recent tours, and somehow it seemed to set the attitudinal tone. On the third number, I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight, I confess it seemed like the 77-year old Eastwood might actually have been the one up there doing the singing, with Dylan coughing out the words of the melodic classic in his best/worst hoarse and staccato style. However, on the next number, a poignant You’re A Big Girl Now, Dylan went behind his keyboard (set to electric organ sound of-course) and began doing some real singing. From then on, his singing was often remarkable, improvising little melodic twists and riffs and phrases that kept me spellbound.

Bob and the band hit an incredibly evil and thunderous groove on Til I Fell In Love With You. The concentrated, tight, power of the combo on this number was just unbelievable, and Dylan’s exceptional and focused vocal performance took it into the stratosphere.

The closer of the main set was I Shall Be Released, and, suffice it to say, Dylan demonstrated that you don’t require dozens of famous singers holding hands on stage in order to get to the heart of this song of salvation. Really magnificent.

I could go on number by number, but I’m afraid it would be a dull succession of superlatives.

…

During his solo set, Elvis Costello sang his old song Radio Sweetheart, which segued seamlessly into a romping version of Van Morrison’s Jackie Wilson Said, which became an engaging singalong with the crowd. It’s a very effective way of grabbing an audience, and it’s particularly impressive the first time that you hear it. For me, as it happens, that was over twenty years ago now — another lifetime. Elvis has been leaning on a lot of the same stuff for a long time, clearly (albeit that he also diversifies to an almost insane extent in terms of his recorded work). But, fair play to him, it works, and almost all performers do the same thing — they have their stand-bys, their crowd-pleasers, their sure-fire gimmicks. Elvis has a lot of them. But a notable exception to that showbiz rule, when you think about it, is the guy who took the stage after Elvis. It struck me, during Dylan’s set, that there is really nothing he takes along with him, year after year, tour after tour, that he can rely upon to win over an audience, other than the bare bones of the songs themselves. The arrangements, how he sings the songs, even how he looks — it all changes from one year to another. The band changes too — not as often, but regularly — and he doesn’t just replace one player with another to play the same parts. The new player becomes part of a new combo that sounds substantially different to the last one.

In other words, Bob Dylan — by choice, obviously — puts himself out there bereft of the kinds of rock solid supports that most other performers take for granted. It’s not that he doesn’t know any showbiz tricks; he’s been there and done them all at one time or another. He just doesn’t take that stuff with him. He chooses to be, year after year, almost as naked as the day he first took the stage. Either his new arrangements and sound will stand up for his audiences, or they won’t. Either he’ll be able to wring something new out of the songs, or they will fall flat to the floor. And the most amazing thing of all is that he succeeds. It is no small thing at all. It is really an astounding thing that he is pulling this off, although those of us who follow him so closely might take it for granted. He doesn’t announce a tour every five years so promoters can drum up artificial excitement: he is out there every year, around a hundred gigs, returning to largely the same places (indeed many of the identical venues) time after time after time. Sure; after every gig you’ll hear the grumblings of those who say, “I didn’t recognize the songs; I couldn’t make out the words; why didn’t he say anything?”, but the proof is very much in the pudding: Bob Dylan keeps filling those venues and getting the ovations while delivering night after night from a high-wire, without a net. It is an amazing achievement; not least an amazing showbiz achievement. Very few are his alleged peers who could claim the ability to do something remotely similar.

…

As for Costello himself (I’m afraid I didn’t see Amos Lee’s set), he remains a dynamo of energy and soul, and was more than able to wow the crowd during his short solo set. Hearing him do Veronica was a reminder of how well he has mastered the pop-song form and how he can turn it successfully to such surprising ends. It’s a poignant song about his dementia-strickened grandmother that manages to break your heart and celebrate her spirit at the same time, all while staying within the pop-discipline. No small thing either.

He made the same political/anti-war remarks that have been reported from the other gigs, and what frankly surprised me was that he didn’t get more cheers for them than he did, considering it was an urban, north-east audience. The most full-throated ovations were for his powerful performances — it seemed to me — rather than for the political jibes.

What’s So Funny About Peace, Love and Understanding probably got the biggest response, and that’s because it’s a great song, and always a big crowd-pleaser, and Elvis played and sang the hell out of it. But Nick Lowe’s tune — when you think about it — is not as black and white as one that Elvis himself might have written. As Costello sang the questions …

So where are the strong?
And who are the trusted?
And where is the harmony, sweet harmony?

… I was thinking, yep, those are some great questions Nick Lowe asked. I just don’t happen to have the same answers to them that Elvis Costello seems to think that he has.

...................
Share this!

Posts which might be related to this one based on a mysterious algorithm:

• Dylan and Elvis
• Made to make you blue
• Elvis: politics as usual