July 23, 2009
Review by Stephen Goldberg
After 4 miserable hours of driving in the rain we made it to First
Energy Park and decided to wait out the rain during Willie's set. The
rain abated into a light drizzle and fine mist so we headed on in for
Mellencamp. Mellencamp essentially played the same set as at Bethel, with
the same between song patter. He was extremely loud, which had people
crowding into the Lakewood BlueClaws gift shop for a little sonic
relief. A fun set as always. After the set we wandered over to an area
overlooking Bob's tour buses, and saw the band tumble out of a bus
into a white van which then drove them the few hundred fet to the
stage. The band and Bob emerged, resplendent in white hat, and bounded
up the stairs to the stage. The sound was not as loud or as punishing
as for Mellencamp, Bob's voice and organ way up in the mix. Again,
Bob's voice was clear, anyone who says they couldn't understand a
word, and believe me there were plenty of those judging by the folks
making the early exodus, weren't even paying attention. Lucky for us,
he only repeated 6 songs from Bethel, so we were treated to 16
different songs over two nights. Not bad, anyone want to name an
artists who can match that Highlights, once again were the slower
tunes, Workingman's Blues and an awe inspiring Ain't Talking, sung
with the utmost care and wonderful instrumental backing. If Bob ever
puts out live album again, tonights performance of Aint Talking
should be on th short list. What would a rainy night be without Hard
Rain Another great performance with outstanding vocals. No upsinging
or barking tonight, though he came close on occassion. It was amusing
watching the crowd on the way out. Two comments, better make that
complaints,one from each sex, being shouted into cellphones for the
whole world to hear: "He has a 1000 songs to choose from but he
didn't plat anything I knew for the first twenty minutes", and "I
didn't recognize one fuckin' song!!!!!" Really Didn't know or
recognize Girl From The North Country, Rolling Stone, Watchtower,
Hard Rain, Highway 61 Where have you been my blue eyed son
Maybe Tweeter really was just a Jersey girl. Now for the next best part
of the night. Leaving New Jersey and making it home in an hour and a
half.
Review by Jim Rawbylaw
14 songs and you got more than your money's worth. Amazing how much
landscape Dylan was able to traverse with what would be, an unacceptable short
show from most anyone else. A couple of standouts, Workingman Blues #2 - I've
never cared for the recorded version, too stilted, an over formal recital. But,
last night, Dylan's vocal rendition was very moving. It alternated between
melancholy, yet not overwrought and determind, but not obstinate. Sometime
alternating between the two within the same line. And timing!! It was a
special treat, due to the way the stage was setup in the outfield, the way the
sound would echo off the grandstand behind homeplate. Standing slightly midway
between the two, you could hear Dylan's voice echoing off the granstand yeilding
the effect of emphasizing the end of each line. Especially on the slower,
quieter songs, such as Workingman, where it really was pronouced, to the
point, that it appeared Dylan was aware of it and was incorporating it into his
delivery to great dramatic effect, truly amazing to witness. Lonesome Day was a
steamshovel monster. Girl of the North Country wonderful. Chimes, a
mid-tempo unbeat version, with Dylan making short work of all those
words fitting within the bar. Even Honest With Me and Tweedle Dee were
enjoyable versions, each with refreshing updated musical motifs. By the time
Ain't Talking was played, Dylan had the echo off the grandstand working like a
high mountain marauder. Dylan's organ playing, and harp while standing at
the organ playing was melodic and inventive, incorporating repetition
judiciously, tastefully. This was most evident for the encores, solid organ
playing on LARS and Watchtower. Very glad we withstood the weather
and went. One last little Dylan moment: The folks near the stage were still
cheering for another encore, but Dylan was already walking along the outfield
warning track towards the tour bus parked in the rightfield corner. The GA
standing area was fenced in around centerfield some 150' from where Dylan was
slowly ambling. The house and outfield lights went up and a good portion of the
crowd recognized the figure in the cowboy hat carrying a cool-off towel making
his sure footed way through the muddy track dirt towards the bus. The crowd
gathered along the fence to cheer Bob for the remaing of his 40 someyard trek to
the bus. The crowd grew louder, and Dylan walked methodically right up until
the very end till, to just when he approached the back of the tour bus, with a
quick glance back toward the centerfield crowd, gave the towel he was
carrying one causal twirl and then disappeared. The man is too cool for words.
Comments by Craig Stolow
I won't bore the crowd.
Been to more than 50 shows since 1975. Through the ups, down, and in-betweens.
I was hopeful, even in the rain. Lakewood, a Hasidic Jewish Community - Bob had a
couple of days to settle in and re-connect. Rain - Bob always seems to give out more
in inclement weather. When he walked out, lavender/purple sportcoat, white brimmed
hat a la Rolling Thunder.
All I can say is this is Supper Club Revisited - rediscovered his passion for
performing.
Enjoy all those who catch him for the rest of the tour.
Review by Howard Weiner
THE
VILLAGE BEAST, BLUE CLAWS, HARD RAIN AND WO-HOP Unable
to sleep at 4 AM on July 23 2009, I decided to officially count all the Dylan
shows I’ve seen. I discovered that later that night would be my 98th Dylan
show. I met my friend Stan, The Village Beast, at the
Blarney Stone by Grand Central. We hopped into his Infinity, put on the
Bluesville station and cracked open a couple of frosty ones. The rain kicked in
as we headed West cross town and through the Lincoln Tunnel. This took a while,
but everything about this day was timeless. I loaded a
Dylan show from Memphis 2006 into the CD player and the Village Beast sparked a
bone. We were on the road again, slicing through the swamps and industrial
wastelands of the Garden State. The precipitation escalated from a pesky drizzle
to a hardcore pour. We were prepared for a monsoon and prayed for a Hard Rain.
By the time we reached Lakewood, the parking lots were
filled and shuttle buses were offered from distant lots. This didn’t fit into
our plans, so we improvised a parking lot behind the business complex across the
ball yard. Stan produced two yellow rain coats from his trunk. I grabbed the
sleek looking Puma jacket, leaving Stan with a dirty mangy jacket, a suitable
look for a Village Beast. In the near distance, we heard Mellencamp on stage,
but we opted to stay in our makeshift lot and dance in the rain to Slow Train
and other Dylan sermons. Fifteen minutes before Dylan and His
Band took the centerfield stage, we entered First Energy Ballpark, home of the
Blue Claws. With the rain tailing off, the Cowboy Band strutted out in black
leather suits with matching black cowboy hats. But Dylan was the one with all
the beautiful clothes. He appeared center stage in a dazzling lavender suit with
a white top hat featuring a rather large brim. He looked like The Joker, as
played by Cesar Romero. Bob was crackling with fidgety energy, a tell tale sign
that we were in for a whopping good time. The outfield was muddy, and you know
how the Maestro loves to play in the slop. Dylan belted
out a rugged rendition of “Watching the River Flow,” immediately separating
himself from preconceived expectations of those who never seen him before,
although the crowd loved it. They adored Girl From the North Country even more -
a delightful surprise. Dylan loped into a lengthy version of Lonesome Day Blues.
My focus was distracted by an striking Jersey girl who was attracted to me. She
began rubbing, hugging and kissing me as Dylan broke into Chimes of Freedom. I
managed to enjoy both situations, but Chimes was the object of my desire.
Full attention was back on Dylan as he whipped up another
raucous Tweedle Dee in the fifth spot. I cut a rug with the Village Beast on the
right field grass, where the Blue Claws roam (local Minor League team). Then,
Dylan summoned A Hard Rains’ A Gonna Fall. Sweet destiny! The lavender bard
howled out the mystical words against a funky arrangement - all old things
become new again. Everything made sense. I couldn’t ask for more.
Honest With Me sizzled before we all sang a little bit of
the Workingman Blues with Bob. A monster of a ballad, Workingman Blues #2
mutates in majesty each time Dylan performs it. Luckily, it’s been my fate
to catch this of late. In between the visceral and tender crooning of verses,
Dylan breathed a fiery harp solo, and closed it out with another. The band
smoked, but this was a one-man show. Bob would grind his organ for most of the
solos down the stretch. Amazed by Dylan’s voice on Workingman’s Blues, Stan
placed his arm on my shoulder and said, “Hey Howie, I didn’t realize we were
seeing Pavarotti tonight.” Just like I’d seen it go
down in Allentown, Dylan closed the bash out swinging: Highway 61 Revisited,
Ain’t Talkin’, Thunder on the Mountain. Dylan boogie-woogied on the organ
American Bandstand style. Restless and animated, Dylan offered up amusing
gestures. Every now and then he swatted at his ear like he was trying to
eradicate an elusive mosquito. After plunking the final chord of Thunder, Dylan
turned his outstretched arms towards the skies, palms out, and looked out into
the crowd. How good am I? The master of illusion made all our worries disappear.
Satisfaction lingered in the air over Blue Claw field. The encores were solid.
The band sounded as porous as ever during a lengthy Rolling Stone instrumental
interlude. We stayed in the moment as long as possible
shuffling around in back of Stan’s car while digging on Dylan’s new CD. Joey
D, a bulky Jersey type of guy, joined us for a brew and a jig. His befuddled
date watched in horror. I turned it up a notch by popping in a Jerry Garcia Band
disc from the Roseland Theatre circa 1983. We were electrified for another hour.
The fourth part of the day was almost gone - the red cooler was emptied and Joey
D and his terrified date split. I headed to Wo Hop with the Village Beast. After
a ninety minute drive, Stan eased his black Infinity into a narrow spot by a
stack of garbage bags on Mott Street. The car clock said 3 AM. At 3:06, we were
scoffing down spare ribs, pork dumplings, steak har kew, and chicken ding with
almonds. Howard Weiner www.visionsofdylan.blogspot.com
Click Here to return to the Main Page |
page by Bill Pagel
billp61@execpc.com
Current Tour Guide |
Older Tour Guides |
Bob Links Page |
Songs Performed |
Set Lists by Date |
Set Lists by Location |
Cue Sheets |