Ain't No False Prophet
I go right to the edge, I go right to the end
I go right where all things lost are made good again (I Contain Multitudes, Bob Dylan)
On the quiet air of a family evening the songs from Rough and Rowdy Ways float free from the stereo. We sit gathered together in the absence of our son who has departed for London Town, the slumbering hound, the girl intent upon her puzzle and father and mother listening in silence while the music and lyrics envelop us. Given world enough and time, the depth of their meaning and the colours of their landscape appear. I slide away into recent dreams.
The sky smiled down on a beautiful evening as we joined the line outside of the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood. The sense of anticipation rode high in the air and my heart; the prospect of seeing Bob Dylan in concert after the silent horror of the last two years was almost too bewitching to be believed. Yet there it was, his name up in lights, and so we queued and chatted and just basked in that wonderful feeling. My husband had patiently humoured my driving need to arrive at the venue well before time in order to avoid a repeat of our last Bob concert in 2019.
We were early enough as it turned out, despite the longer entry time necessitated by the phone-free nature of this concert. Everyone’s device was placed inside a locked pouch upon entry only retrievable when exiting the venue. It was remarkable to spend time in the company of close to 3,000 other people, none of whom were able to use their phones at any point during the evening. The experience of watching Bob play was transformed; no more distracted viewers creating their own movies rather than engaging directly with the magic unfolding on stage.
There’s something particularly special about seeing Bob play in Los Angeles. The home crowd was happy and the welcome he received when he appeared with Tony Garnier and the rest of the band was rapturous. Dear Tony, his presence on stage as the anchor and director of Bob’s musical wishes is an emblem of steadfast longevity. As the opening chords of Watching the River Flow began, I shivered and felt those familiar goosebumps. Pinching myself I realised again that we were actually fortunate enough to be in the presence of Mr Dylan himself. And then the music took over and the Maestro stepped up to the microphone.
We had good seats and the accoustics at the Pantages are excellent. Even allowing for these favourable factors, Bob’s voice was the strongest I can remember hearing it for years. Several of the arrangements showcased this in fact. As anyone whose been following Bob’s recent tour dates will know, he’s now essentially playing the same set list at each concert. While this does remove the old days’ wonderful element of surprise, it allowed for some beautifully polished and rearranged versions.
From his back catalogue I was entranced by the reworked Most Likely You Go Your Way (and I’ll Go Mine). The overall tempo was heavier and rockier; the bridge was slowed down completely. The best part was the final line of each chorus: after ‘When you go you way’ Bob took a long pause, almost too long, as the music continued before rejoining with ‘and I go mine’ Just great! An artist in complete control, giving this classic song a very different flavour from the Blonde and Blonde version. There was a steely certainty and the voice of a man who has lived and seen; seen and lived. When I Paint My Masterpiece was another highlight. Bob played the harp introduction and each instrument sang in this arrangement. Here and in many other places, Bob’s protean approach to his lyrics remained as perfectly elusive as ever. One experiences the living power of his body of work at an event such as this; changes, swaps and Puckish sleights of hand were delightfully rife throughout.
The new album dominated the set list; nine out of seventeen songs. Each of these was simply excellent and deepened my appreciation for this latest accomplishment. False Prophet was delivered with authoritative force and power, I could all but see Mary Lou and Miss Pearl assume corporeal form on the stage beside him as he greeted them. If I had to choose, then my two favourites from Tuesday would be My Own Version of You and I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You. I’ve been waiting since Rough and Rowdy Ways was released to hear him sing the former in concert. It held the audience spellbound. When Bob reached the climactic lines in the last verse the band faded almost completely away, allowing him to chant with a power that lent the words the force of an incantation. The old master assuming the guise of the oracle indeed.
The intimacy and tender sadness of I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You were overwhelming and reduced me to tears I must confess. I love this song deeply. The opening bars alone transport me to a place where the world’s sorrowful beauty is all that I can see. Bob turned up the power a hundredfold with the uplift in his voice on the penultimate line of each verse. He held and elongated the note, imbuing the song with an air of wistful youthfulness. I was reminded, at times unbearably, of that line from My Back Pages, ‘I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.’
In today’s world and in our city of abandoned angels most of all, the culture of youth dominates the minds of most. Age and its venerable qualities are at best misunderstood; usually airbrushed out of existence. Tuesday evening was an education; a life lived in dedication to a craft can result in the kind of performance power which Bob brought to the stage. Playing a variety of roles throughout the show, he entertained us with authority and an untrammelled energy that often fizzed and crackled.
At times he became playful and interacted with the audience in a way that was utterly charming. With a section of the opening song completed on the guitar he disappeared, all except for the white hat, to stand, as is customary, behind the piano. However he began to reemerge after pretty much every song to stand centre stage for a little while, giving the audience his presence if you will. The house rose to their feet, cheering and applauding each time. A more honest expression of love between artist and audience I have yet to witness. It was quite simply a joy to be a part of.
It’s a miracle we still have him as one reviewer said and it’s a privilege to watch such a master of his craft at work. I was especially moved to be part of an audience which was drawn back into the discipline of engaging with him freed from the tyranny of the hand-held mind snatchers. Given where we are right about now it was the perfect way to hear those voices calling from the land far beyond.
