Review by Preston Jones
Bob Dylan Brings It All Back to Dallas With Hypnotic Fair Park Performance
The Nobel-winning wordsmith musician still has the spark he's carried
since his old days in the Village.
In concert, as in most any other public, visible aspect of his life, Bob
Dylan is resolutely inscrutable.
The pride of Hibbing, Minnesota, is almost more mirror than man at this
point - or maybe he always was. On the cusp of turning 83 (on May 24), the
iconic singer-songwriter - listing his innumerable accolades, from Grammys
to the Nobel Prize, and detailing his vast, enduring influence would be a
novella unto itself - has long served as something of a reflective surface
for casual and obsessive fans alike.
You see, hear and feel what you want; you take from him whatever meaning
you're meant to glean. His eclectic, enthralling music, embedded in
multiple generations of listeners, remains stubbornly eternal - the
visceral snare drum snap, followed by the low punch of kick drum launching
"Like a Rolling Stone," for instance, quickens the heart as easily in the
TikTok era as it did the age of rotary phones - and, even half a century
later, is as woolly and indefinable as it is moving and important.
To understand that Dylan is one of the indisputable architects of modern
popular music makes it no less overwhelming to watch him, alive and in
front of you, continue to chase his muse down whatever paths it leads him.
Dylan returned to North Texas and the Music Hall at Fair Park Thursday
night, as his Rough and Rowdy Ways tour, ongoing since late 2021,
approached its terminus. He'll wrap this two-and-a-half year, eight-leg
stint with a two-night stand in Austin on Friday and Saturday.
He was back in town relatively soon after his last trip through the area,
which was also part of the Rough and Rowdy Ways tour, having performed at
Irving's Pavilion at Toyota Music Factory in March 2022. (Thursday's
appearance in Fair Park was Dylan's first at the venue in almost 34 years,
the last coming on Sept. 6, 1990, just five days before the release of
Under the Red Sky.)
The lengthy excursion was launched in support of his 2020 LP Rough and
Rowdy Ways, a sharp, sprawling late-career masterwork that served as the
foundation for Thursday's roughly 105-minute performance. Attendees were
required to seal their devices inside provided Yondr pouches prior to the
performance, ensuring the focus was on the stage, not their palms.
Backed by a razor-sharp quintet - guitarists Bob Britt and Doug Lancio,
bassist Tony Garnier, drummer Jerry Pentecost and multi-instrumentalist
Donnie Herron - Dylan appeared on stage at 8:04 p.m., dressed all in
black, and took his seat behind what looked like a baby grand piano.
The Music Hall stage was simply dressed and perfunctorily lighted, with
some sheer curtains serving as a backdrop on all sides and some
spotlights on stands scattered about the musicians, who formed a loose
semicircle behind Dylan.
It gave the odd sensation of watching a band working through a rehearsal,
rather than a performance, as the musicians often seemed laser-focused on
Dylan's hands as they jumped across the piano keys, and tried to hang
with the mercurial shifts in tempo, tone and phrasing.
That the evening occasionally rose above a steady simmer to approach a
rolling boil - "False Prophet" built up a lovely head of steam, full of
bluesy menace and bite; "To Be Alone with You" was one of several moments
Dylan added a filigree of impassioned harmonica, even engendering some
audience participation - was a testament to the prodigious skill of his
collaborators.
It cannot be easy, even after all these nights, to step out onto a high
wire and hope for magic to materialize. (The geographically specific
covers he's been doling out on the tour didn't pan out for Dallas: the
setlist slot typically devoted to each night's surprise was given over to
Johnny Cash's "Big River" Thursday.)
Dylan said little more than "Thank you" to those assembled. The room was
nearly sold out, but scattered pockets of open seats were visible here
and there. His indifference to the occasional standing ovations did
little to deter the vocal appreciation he was shown from the moment he
stepped on stage.
To step inside a late-period Dylan performance is to confront a handful
of truths, which even despite the man's fondness for the slipperiness of
perception and sleight of hand, cannot be denied or ignored.
The most pressing and obvious truth is no matter how invigorated or
inspired Dylan may seem when he's on stage - this time around, largely
parked on a piano bench for the duration - the master is much closer to
the end of his days than the beginning. As the man once sang, it's not
dark yet, but it's getting there.
Thus, an air of fragility and inevitability haunts the proceedings,
giving the evening a heft and depth far beyond a simple Thursday night
rock concert. Mortality lingers in the margins of all our lives, artist
or no, promising nothing and capable of taking everything in a blink. Is
this the last time for him, for us? We just don't know.
Another truth is Dylan, quite simply, isn't here to please any of the
paying customers. Satisfaction is his alone, and hoping for anything
otherwise is a fool's errand. His records are the starting point for him,
a moment in time preserved, and not the model for how he approaches a
song of any vintage in his catalog, whether it was cut during the Nixon
administration or during Obama's.
Tangled Up in Bob
Show up expecting to hear, say, "All Along the Watchtower," "It's All
Over Now, Baby Blue" or "Visions of Johanna" rendered as they were upon
first release, and you will be mightily disappointed. He is as
indifferent to the known structures, tempos and melodies of songs
released less than five years ago as he is those ingrained in the
American cultural subconscious.
While the privilege of being in the room and watching him work in
relative proximity should tide most folks over, it's amusing to see
fans so frothed in comment sections with indignation and entitlement
that Dylan won't give them what they paid for, dammit.
It is also true there is simply no one else like Bob Dylan. To have so
thoroughly shifted the planet's axis, assimilating inspiration from all
corners of the American musical diaspora and turning popular music into
something of equal weight, force and import, on par with literature or
visual art or theater, is a feat no other recording artist can feasibly
lay claim to doing.
That Dylan also wears the weight of such accomplishment so lightly -
arguably even taking some considerable pleasure in confounding the
lofty, impossible expectations befitting an artist of such consequence -
is no less of an impressive feat. Where he's been isn't where he's going,
and the journey, from his earliest days eking out a living in New York
City folk clubs to his twilight, holding court in enormous and intimate
venues alike, is of far more importance than any destination.
Holding all those unassailable truths in your mind as you watch the
82-year-old musician move through his set is crucial, as taking the
performance on face value can be a gamble.
Sure, his voice has thickened and slurred and pinched and wobbled as the
years accumulated - the "thin, wild mercury sound" of his nervy early
work is a distant memory now - and, unlike most assiduously polished pop
ephemera of the last 50 years, Dylan's high baritone was and remains an
acquired taste.
It is a distinctive instrument built to convey the meaning and mood of
the songs at hand, heard and considered. Dylan's singing, however
pleasant or abrasive, yearning or dismissive, was never something that
went down as smoothly as the pop and jazz crooners whom he fervently
admired.
Shockingly, however, he sounded clear (well, as clear as Dylan gets,
anyway) and strong Thursday, as the venue's sound mix was superb,
providing clarity and separation of the instruments and vocals. It was
arguably the biggest surprise of the night: an easily heard live
performance.
The night was, on balance, an unassuming one, albeit occasionally
hypnotic and frequently riveting. Dylan does care, even if it often
seems like everything is treated with a diffident shrug. Watching him
rise off the piano bench, cupping a harmonica, or leaning into the
microphone to enunciate a particular line was to understand how he's
guarded that flame for so very long.
He hasn't lost the spark. While so much else about Bob Dylan might be
a mystery, that much was evident to anyone who cared to look Thursday
night.
Preston Jones' review in the Dallas Observer of Bob’s show in Dallas on April 4, 2024
https://www.dallasobserver.com/music/bob-dylan-brings-it-all-back-to-dallas-with-hypnotic-concert-19047622
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