A Few seconds after Bob Dylan started playing 'Mr. Tambourine Man' in 
Phoenix in 2025, almost 15 years after the last time, in Carcassonne, 
which was just a few days after the first time I saw him in concert in 
Barcelona (where he didn't play the song), I realized how lucky I was and 
how genuinely happy it made me to be there. The same morning we where due
to fly to the US, on Monday 12th of May, I almost called off the entire 
trip for personal and family issues going on back home and it was almost 
at the last minute that I decided to go, one more time. The first time 
Bob exhorted that "play a song for ME!", almost as if pleading it, I 
could see in the flesh how miserable I would've felt waking up in 
Barcelona to that setlist in Phoenix, I'm not joking when I say it 
could've had some nasty consequences in my most inner self, that's how 
important I realize, time after time, no matter the tally of shows or how
too fast each trip seems to come after another, that these songs are for
me.

'Mr. Tambourine Man' got a similar treatment to last year's Outlaw 'Hard 
Rain' or 'Baby Blue' since halfway through the Fall European Tour last 
year: stripped down, few piano inclinations here and there, and Bob's 
voice conveying each and every nuance it can be extracted from those 
wonderful and dreamy words. To me, this song has always been the ultimate
one about death, and without any gloomy or sad attitude, I say that 
listening an almost 84yo Bob Dylan singing "My senses have been stripped, 
My hands can't feel to grip, My toes too numb to step, Wait only for my 
boot heels to be wandering, I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to 
fade, Into my own parade" in such a meaningful fashion for the first 
time is a moment I'll cherish forever. It was probably out of that 
feeling of luck and happiness that I resolved to take my phone out and 
record a video of the last verse of the song, to have a tangible 
remembrance of the feeling whenever I should need it and, beyond that, 
to share it, not to post it, with family and friends that were not in 
Phoenix but that definitely were on my mind.

If I had to describe the overall feeling of that first, truly surprising 
and too full of highlights to go song by song, I'd say it can be helpful 
to talk about what we did the following day, when we went to the Grand 
Canyon. We took a tour to the Canyon from Phoenix and our guide prepared 
a procedure (he called it "the reveal") so we wouldn't see anything of 
the Grand Canyon until he instructed us to turn around and see it in full 
for the first time. To say that first vista was unforgettable would be a 
big, huge understatement: for a good couple of minutes, my mind couldn't 
process what I was seeing, period. My mother lately put it amazingly, 
conveying the feeling better than any picture: it's as if someone had 
taken a mold of a huge mountain range and turned it upside down. Something
is happening but you don't know what it is, indeed. Then, as when your 
eyes get used to darkness, you start processing the image and noticing 
colors, shapes, heights, distances... And yet, you go back to that first 
feeling of unfathomable impossibility.

With all the reasonable differences, the Phoenix show felt a bit that way,
too much to process it for real at the beginning, yet you could hang on 
to some moments, inflections, feelings and the picture started to became 
clearer. Moments like that first major setlist change when, after 'I'll 
Be Your Baby Tonight' and 'It Ain't Me Babe' made me fear we were in for 
just a shortened extension of the Spring setlist, an incredible rendition, 
thunderously start-stopping, of 'Forgetful Heart' kicked in and opened 
the prospect on a new experience. Or when, just after a few chords of 'To 
Ramona', before Bob starting singing, I grabbed my mom's arm and excitedly 
told her "I know what is coming!" and then lost it quite a bit (to the 
surprise of people around) when "Ramona come closer" exited Bob's mouth. 
Or when I looked at the big screens at I realized the purpose of the 
little lighted Christmas tree was completely obscuring Bob's face (advice: 
seats closer to the stage at the far right side may be the way to go) and 
felt is was equally evil and funny. Or the beautiful, really beautiful 
repetition of the last line of 'A Rainy Night in Soho' ("the measure of 
my dreams") with Bob's melodic vocal abilities flying highest in a moment 
to truly treasure. Or that spectacular new arrangement of 'All Along the 
Watchtower' that proved the purposefulness and seriousness with which Bob 
has attacked the Outlaw first leg this time, seeming incredibly that the 
last 'Rough & Rowdy Ways' show was literally three weeks ago.

I loved seeing myself tilting my head at the first chords of each song 
trying to guess what was coming up, trying to not get stuck in each 
novelty and keep the pace of the amount of new things that kept popping 
constantly. As it also happened at the Grand Canyon the following day, a 
Bob Dylan show keeps changing and evolving the longer you look into it, 
its echoes really reaching further and running longer after he leaves 
the stage.

While I was recording the video of the last verse of 'Mr. Tambourine 
Man', Bob embarked on a really unique phrasing for a couple of lines 
before the last chorus, he did some kind of upping progression, word 
by word, during "with-all-the-memory-and-FATE, driven-deep-beneath-the-WAVES"
and, later, while checking the video, I could hear myself in it whispering 
a "yes..." when I noticed what he was doing, only that I thought that that 
"yes" didn't leave my mouth, except that it did, as if another side of me 
was saying it too.

Ten minutes after landing in Arizona, the trip became one I'd probably
always remember: I called an Uber to pick me and Michael Glover Smith up
from the airport, and the car arrived with no driver. It was one of those
new robot cars. An invisible driver steered us through the sort of
wasteland of strip malls and office parks one expects from an Outlaw show
town, past a legal weed dispensary, and past a sign that said "Penis
Man!!!" I felt like I was on Desolation Row.  The driver at least got us
to the hotel in one piece, and didn't get mad when I called him a
dipshit Claude Rains-looking motherfucker.  

Anyway. Going to Arizona in Spring didn't sound like a very appealing
trip to me, but there's just something about going to the first night of
a new tour, when no one can say with any confidence what the show will be
like. Milwaukee '21 was like that. Alpharetta '24 was like that. Though
there was always a chance this would be the same set as the last Outlaw
tour, this one felt unpredictable enough to find out if all this "but
it's a dry heat" shit was true.  

Our human driver to the venue had a mustache and a menorah air freshener,
but said he mostly just knew Christian music. He met his wife at a Kari
Lake rally and felt comfortable admitting this to strangers. At least I
was confident that the robot didn't actively wish me and my family harm.
 

The Amphitheatre was like other amphitheaters. Warm wind was blowing dusty
old dust all over. The weather cooled to a merciful level by the time
Billy Strings came on; he covered "Miss the Mississippi and You" amid a
strong set that mixed traditional bluegrass with space getaway music.  I
felt like I was in a car chase with the sheriff on Tattooine. It was
pretty cool.

Between sets, we noticed them rolling an upright piano onstage, a switch
from the recent grand piano. Then we noticed that this piano was hollowed
out and lined with silver. Then it lit up, and a little "bonsai tree" of
little lights was put on top of it.  Something was up. Now, I know better
than to assume I'm getting a new show because of something new onstage.
I repeated to Mike my prediction that the first two songs would be the
same as Spring, then we'd get the same outlaw show as last year.

I started out being right. Bob and the band came out did "I'll Be Your
Baby Tonight" and "It Ain't Me Babe" about like they did then last tour,
though they were such strong performances that I would have been perfectly
happy to risk my life with robots and magats to see be here.

But then, the third song was "Forgetful Heart." In a new arrangement with
crashing cascades of electric guitar. This set the tone for what was to
come: a whole new sound, with both Doug Lancio and Bob Britt on electric
guitars. The show had a nimble, smoky, vibe that matched the red lighting
and emphasized electric guitar far more than any recent iteration. (The
bonsai lights effectively blocked Bob's face on the Jumbotron - well
played, sir).  Mike and I had been at the stunning debut of the song in
2009, and now we got the debut of a new arrangement.  

Next up came a song that we assumed, because we didn't recognize it, was
a cover. It was a driving blues song. The penultimate line of each verse,
I think, was "you never can tell which way the axe is gonna fall."  One
verse ended by rhyming with "I may be here forever, I might not be here at
all."

Someone suggested a particular Chuck Berry song and I didn't trouble my
head more about it until later, when it turned out that these lines, and
variations on them, seemed not to come up on Google.

A stately, melodic "To Ramona" continued a string of surprises. It was
pretty true to the album version, much more "sung" than it was in the days
when it a common selection in the acoustic set. "Route 66" was also a
faithful rendition, a real raver.

Something else was becoming clear at this point: this new show was very
well rehearsed, even though the last tour ended just a few weeks ago. We
had two songs getting their first airing in 8-10 years, one unknown
presumed debut, and one he last played in 86. And none of them sounded
sloppy, like they were still working the kinks out, like many live debuts.
Bob sang them all like he'd really been working on them.  

For instance, it was a whole new version of "All Along the Watchtower,"
with a guitar riff that reminded me of "She's Not There" by The Zombies.
The melody even turned to a major key a couple of times! It was a very
different way of doing the song, and much more compelling than the
sometimes-sloppy jams on it last year.  

A strong version of the country standard "I'll Make it All Up To You"
followed, and then "It Takes a Lot to Laugh...," another song that
appeared in "A Complete Unknown." And it was great, but didn't prepare
me for what came next.

After a bit of piano noodling, I recognized a few notes. It was a new
arrangement, but unmistakably an arrangement of "Mr Tambourine Man!"
Similar to the other stripped down versions of older songs lately, or the
1995 arrangement, and gorgeously sung. I can't tell you how hard this
one hit me. First performance since 2010! Halfway through I was a wreck.
It was transcendent, and it's hard to make anyone feel any kind of
transcendence in a dusty amphitheater like this.  

As I babbled, the band cut into "Under the Red Sky," which kind of goes
against a theory of mine. In Tulsa last year I got to check out the drafts
of this song, and the first page had "Jon - Jack and Diane" and "Robert
Plant" written on the side, suggesting that maybe Bob thought of this song
as "Jack and Diane" if Robert Plant wrote it (which would really be a fine
way to describe it.) Had he pulled it out because Jon and Robert were on
the tour? Does him keeping it in the show negate that idea?

Well, in any case, it was back and it was lovely, with Doug playing the
electric guitar lines from the album in a ripping solo, and Bob closing it
with a fantastic harp solo.

"Scarlet Town" used more electric guitar than previous versions.  

I could point out here there had been a running theme of the day of
thinking of The Pogues. When we pulled into the Hampton in the robot car,
I hoped we were at the RIGHT one, and recalled the time I saw the Pogues
play and they started three hours late because Shane went to the wrong
venue. And when they human driver got us to the venue, there was a parking
attendant whose teeth I liked to Shane's in the 1980s.  

When Bob began another slow song, I wondered if it was too many of those
in a row, but when he began singing "Rainy Night in SoHo" I lost interest
in this and other such inconsequential questions. Bob Dylan was covering
the Pogues! And covering them beautifully, too. "Mr Tambourine Man"
already had left me feeling like a transcendent babbling idiot, and then
"Rainy Night in SoHo" spun me out into infinity and back again. But still
babbling. Obviously. That last line - "You are the measure of my dreams,
the measure of my dreams" simply crushed me.  

I'd expected a big rocker to close out the show, but that was it. The
lights came on and I stumbled off to find Sergei and process what I'd
witnessed.

I'm writing this now at the back of the lawn while Willie Nelson sings;
I couldn't let it sit. While Mike, Sergei and I were talking it became
apparent that the fourth song was not a Chuck Berry tune, and indeed no
one had googled it successfully. It was a mystery - potentially the first
live debut of an original since Toad's Place 1990!  Surely it couldn't
be. I don't have my hopes up. It'll turn out to be some cool blues
song. Right? In any case, it's fun to get involved when there's a
mystery to be solved. A few hours later it's still outstanding. I
remember how nuts we all went when Pagel posted an unknown song called "In
Search of His Grave." (It took until the next day to figure out that it
was "Searching for a Soldier's Grave," but these things were a lot
harder then) And of course, this reminds me of the recent times when Dylan
suddenly started posting original monologues from dead outlaws and stuff
on instagram and left us all to figure out the material was (apparently)
original.  

But whatever it turns out to be (and, edit to add, the official site
cleared it up in the morning as a Willie Dixon-penned tune whose lyrics
had escaped Google up until now), this show was beyond my wildest hopes
for it - a whole new show, nearly as surprising as Alpharetta, possibly
even moreso, and a far tighter performance than the "rehearsing onstage
like Toad's place" vibe of that set. This was a brand new Dylan concert
experience, carefully crafted, well rehearsed, and debuted the day word
spread about Chronicles 2 being ready to go. We just witnessed the birth
of a distinct new show with its own new sound. There was even a shiny new
piano. And now I'm writing while Willie Nelson sings. I stopped writing
to enjoy his rendition of "Last Leaf" again; I love how the crowds react
to the last verse.  

You know, I never regret these trips. Even when considering the robots.  

I'll be buzzing on this for some time.  

(Edit to add: I was, in fact, buzzing for some time. This tour may be the
most FUN tour in ages. I mean, there's a tape this morning of Chula Vista
with some guy loudly complaining that Bob isn't playing the hits, and then
the same guy sings along with "Garden Party" and doesn't even recognize
himself. I mean, come on. That's just glorious. Can't wait for the
midwestern legs next month!) 

Adam Selzer
adamchicago.com