My Own Version Of Dylan

Photo by Jerry Schatzberg

"Bob Dylan in Wolverhampton?  Really?"  That was most people's reaction to the news that Dylan's Rough and Rowdy Ways tour was coming to the Black Country.  But, as my window of opportunity suddenly appeared in the ticket queue and the seating plan spots before my eyes started rapidly disappearing, it all became very real.  This was definitely one of those never to be repeated gigs.  I hurriedly clicked on a random two seats and held my breath.  Within a heartbeat, they were mine.

Before I go any further, we all know that Bob Dylan is like marmite.  People either love his uncompromising attitude, his unique vocal style and are willing to devote the time into appreciating and deciphering his lyrical content, or they think he sounds like a strangled cat and is way too pleased with himself.  But there's no disputing he's a cultural icon.  His protest songs formed part of a social movement and are probably more relevant than ever right now.  One of my favourite lines from Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues is "Don't follow leaders and watch your parking meters!"  Sound advice.  I'd love to know what he makes of the world right now.  

Still, I knew as soon as those tickets appeared on my phone, that I would learn very little about the man himself and my excitement was tempered by all of the stories I've heard over the years.  His concert reviews have always been a big old mixed bag to put it mildly.  His timekeeping has been questionable, for example, and he rarely gives the audience what they want.  Those expecting wall to wall greatest hits are usually disappointed.  He's not a big talker on stage and there are those who claim he lost what voice he had in the nineties.  

In short, I was already conditioned to expect the unexpected.  Friends of mine told me in no uncertain terms that they would rather listen to cover versions of his songs or look at his artwork than pay good money to see the real deal.  But, and it's a big but - because I paid more for these concert tickets than I have ever paid before, though still not as much as most people are paying to see our generation's Status Quo, sorry, Oasis - but he's Bob Dylan!  There's not enough space here to list his achievements and just how important and far reaching they are.  He remains an enigma to this day.  He took the essence of Woody Guthrie and infused it with his own stream of consciousness, raw talent, self belief and fuck you attitude, continues to inspire countless artists and has been the subject of numerous award winning films and documentaries. 

So let's get to the gig.  The temperature was hovering around 7 degrees.  We could see our breath in the air or was it post Bonfire Night smoke?  Either way, as you can see from this photo, taken upon leaving our pre-gig drinking haunt - The Lych Gate Tavern - it's safe to say it was atmospheric.

I have myself been known to be late to important events.  I've done the whole bursting into the registry office venue of a friend's wedding at the point those gathered were asked the "if anyone knows of any lawful impediment" part.  Why break the habit of a lifetime?  For this one, I'm blaming my friend Guy, who won the doors open/start time debate.  As we were shuffling past numerous disgruntled Dylan fans to get to our seats halfway through the first song, I think I saw Bob's eyes flick upwards.  I'd like to think he would approve.

Dylan has banned mobile phones from his gigs.  We got to keep them, but they were securely sealed inside reusable pouches and released afterwards outside the venue.  No one complained about this.  In fact, we embraced the fact that we were all grounded and present in the moment and it was totally refreshing to watch a performance without trying to see through hundreds of people mindlessly holding their arms aloft and taking videos that they will never watch again.  We're all guilty as charged.  

As I'd read in other reviews, the lighting was elegant and understated; a couple of retro spot lights and what appeared to be tea lights on the piano.  Dressed entirely in black, the man himself was seated at the piano with only his signature shock of curly hair initially visible.  However, curiosity soon got the better of him and he started to stand - back to the audience - straighten and move gingerly towards the back of the stage before coming forward and singing, hand on hip for a few moments.  Then, he would rest one elbow defiantly on the piano, chin in hand, which to me looked like a killer rebel pose for a man of his years, before returning to his seat.  This sequence of movements was repeated throughout.

As for losing his voice in the nineties, well I can't comment on that, but let me tell you, that man was in fine voice.  He had all of the instantly recognisable enunciation, power shifts and gruffness you might expect and he definitely sings to his own rhythm (as evidenced by I've Made Up My Mind To Give Myself to You), but he is also capable of nuanced, melodic vocals.  On multiple occasions, the audience were on their feet, applauding.  

We were told not to expect him to play the harmonica.  He played the harmonica.  We were told not to expect him to sing any old hits.  He delivered Desolation Row, It's All Over Now Baby Blue, Watching The River Flow, It Ain't Me Babe.  We were told he wouldn't address the audience.  Well, he certainly introduced at least one of his band members and I did hear him speak briefly here and there, but sadly those words were lost to the ether, drowned out by the cheers and applause of the audience.  The band was incredible; a beautiful well oiled machine working intuitively with Dylan.  They included the legendary session drummer Jim Keltner, who has played with three of the four Beatles, on Lennon's Imagine album and first worked with Dylan on Watching The River Flow.  

Jim Keltner, Photo by Bob Gruen

All too soon (after around 90 minutes or so), it became apparent that we had just been treated to the closing song.  Is it awful to say that I can't actually remember what that last song was?  I was just swept along on a tide of pinch me moments and suddenly the band members were forming a line with Dylan and the lights went down.  There were no parting words.  For a few moments, I overheard some fans asking each other if they thought he would come back on, but I was already reaching for my coat and when the venue lights came on, their hopes of an encore were extinguished.  Disappointing?  Nah.  He's Bob Dylan.  He dances to his own tune.  

Yes I bought a tshirt.

Outside, the music played on into the night.

Bob Dylan Tribute, Wolverhampton, November 2024.

You might think these are the words of a die hard fan.  That may be true, but it wasn't always the case.  I grew up in a  household where his music was played frequently.  I had a love hate relationship with some of it.  Because it was my parents music, I took against it for the longest time, although secretly, I couldn't deny the man's genius and always loved a rebel.  My sixth form tutor got me back on board.  He was one of those inspiring tutors who treated his students as friends and would discuss music during lesson breaks and brought me mix tapes.  Put quite simply, Bob Dylan has just always been there, working, prolifically writing and just creating throughout my life.  He's Bob Dylan. He's contrary, complex, icon, muse.  And last night, with 3,000 other people, I finally got to see what all the fuss is about.