Reviews

Going to a Bob Dylan concert these days is a little bit like going to church. 
Not that going to church is a bad thing. It's just that the experience - and 
I'm not talking about Dylan's performance here - has become so sedate,
and the audiences so blandly reverential, that  the enjoyment of rock 
concert participation is quashed.

I had good seats with great sight lines to the left of the stage, a few rows 
above the floor. But after awhile I left them because I didn't want to do        
anything to disturb people, like clapping too loudly. So I wandered a bit, 
ending     up standing behind the last row of the floor seats. I really was 
trying to be on my best behavior; I was trying to be quiet as a mouse.

Toward the end of the show, Bob and the boys launched into the eerie       
reverie of "Scarlet Town," and then I did a crazy thing: I exuberantly 
belted out "You fight 'em with whiskey, morphine and gin" when Dylan 
came to that line.  Every single head in the last three rows of the floor 
seats whipped around to gaze in shock and awe at the vocal miscreant to
which I felt compelled to issue a shouted apology.  I mean, really, when 
did going to a rock concert morph into going to a piano recital?  Listen to 
the energy and tumult of the Rolling Thunder, Newport and Birmingham 
records for comparison.  But, I guess, "Things Have Changed," to the 
point where the fiery, rollicking "High Water" lifts nary an ass glued to its 
seat.  Ditto, "Early Roman Kings" with its stop-time blues grit and mystical 
lyrics.  Likewise, even the mesmerizing storytelling of "Tangled Up in Blue"
failed to lift the mute and motionless crowd into song and dance.  "Pay in 
Blood" is a tour de force, albeit it was not rendered in the fierce, vindictive
tone that is heard on record. Instead, its contrapuntal shadings lent a 
mournful, elegiac air to this masterpiece.  "Visions of Johanna" is a gem for 
the ages, and here we experienced how the addition of Little Rhody's 
own Duke Robillard added multihued jazz textures to the performance.
"Thunder on the Mountain" could have been "Summer Days, what with 
its jaunty, Chuck Berryesque stylings. And Robillard's extended lead
jamming could have entranced forever. Still, no word on why no more 
than five people in the hall got up and shook their booties to this one.
The afore-mentioned "Scarlet Town" is a grim yet subtle portrait of small 
town life that only Dylan could limn so masterfully.  "All Along the 
Watchtower" combined rockin' firepower with Robillard's finesse-filled
swing to produced a swirling melange of beauty and grace.

Opener Dawes did their Laurel Canyon-CSNY influences proud by melding
shimmering country harmonies with hook-laden pop ditties.  Particularly 
poignant and heart-rendering were "That Western Skyline" and "A Little 
Bit of Everything." Vocalist/guitarist Taylor Goldsmith was almost laughably
humble, repeatedly spelling the band's name so the concert-goers would 
recall who they saw take the stage before Dylan's appearance.