St. Paul
Excel Energy Center
October 30, 2002

[David Maeda], [Tim M.], [Jonathan Weere], [David Burton Morris], [Brian K.], [David Dobrin]

Review by David Maeda

For a history major I sure don't know much about famous dates and events.  I can't tell you when Aphrodite invaded Lebanon nor can I tell you when Cecil B. Demille served as the Vice President.  This gap in my education occurred to me the other day as I was standing in line to buy my morning extra large latte at Caribou Coffee.  The more annoying than most woman in line in front of me was holding all us others up as she was engaging the clerk in a not necessary conversation.
As I finally stepped to the register I heard her saying something about when the United States boycotted the Olympics.  She wasn't sure of the year so I chimed in, "1980."  The woman and the clerk both looked at me and thanked me for my trivia knowledge.  I really don't know much about anything important in history but just ask me what year Supertrain aired (and quickly derailed) on NBC and I'm most definitely your rare man.
Not knowing what I should about history perhaps the only justification I can give about the degree I hold (with my 3.3 grade point average) is that I truly love witnessing historic moments.  I chuckle and behold my fortune every time I participate in a first for humankind.  Such was a moment the other morning when getting ready for work I stepped on something that clearly wasn't carpet but rather was cold and slippery.  Since Max has had a increasing vomiting "issue" I just figured I as usual had lived up to my knack for stepping in the exact wrong spot at the wrong time.
So commonplace has this particular discomforting event occurred I didn't even think twice.  Yes it's gross and yes  a part of my heart drops to my ankles every time it happens but I've learned not to get upset and to go over to Max, pet him and reassure him and then eventually get around to cleaning up the mess.
This particular morning however I happened to finally turn on the light and look down and what I stepped on.  It wasn't kitty urpings but rather it was a penny.  I thus made history by saying something that likely has never been uttered by another soul in the history of civilization: "Hey Max, it's not vomit it's currency!"
History indeed.  When I heard Bob Dylan was playing at the Xcel Energy Center I quickly got on the computer and ordered me up two tickets.  There was little doubt in my mind who the person was that I wanted to attend the show with.  Having attended a Dylan show with just about everybody and anybody who is important enough in my life to share what I consider to be one of life's greatest pleasures I must admit some shame that none of those people has ever asked me to go to a second show with me.  I dragged my sister to a couple of Dylan shows, and she enjoyed them but she ain't exactly ever going to fly across the country to see the man perform like her eccentric brother would possibly consider doing.
Last year I went to a Dylan show with a new friend, an important friend who earned a double major in college (French and Mass Communications), along with a 3.95 grade point average, who is one of the writers and opinions I admire and trust most and who after seeing Bob for the first time actually mentioned some interest in seeing him again with me.
I love this friend's laugh.  That I have the ability at times to draw out this delightful sound from her will always mean the world to me.  That Mr. Max absolutely loves her too says as much to me as my favorite Bob Dylan song.  This friend came along in the recent past and she was the first friend I made after my Mother's death that made me feel like I may someday, somehow move forward just a little bit again.
"I'm forty miles from the mill/I'm dropping it into overdrive/Set my dial on the radio/I wish my mother was still alive ..."
Just like we did last year before the concert we had dinner at our favorite Japanese restaurant where we ate a delectable meal of sushi.  My friend, the soon to be Masters student ordered some warm sake with her meal.  I never cease to disappoint her with how not Japanese I truly am but I have never had that particular beverage.  She asked me if I wanted some but with the extra long work hours I've been putting in and the constant lack of sleep I figured if I partook and let the devil's drink touch my lips I would be rewarded by falling asleep right as Mr. Dylan pulled some obscure favorite out of his bag of tricks.  So I politely declined but was talked into it later in the meal.  Ummmm, warmed up rice wine (served in the most perfect little serving apparatus and cup).
Our seats in the arena were quite good- off to the left of the stage (guitarist Charlie Sexton's side) eight rows up.  When the band tore into Seeing The Real You at Last it was great fun from our wonderful vantage point to see the real Bob at last after having attended many a show where he looked about the size of a bobblehead doll.
I absolutely hate people who say so but can I say that it was clear from the first notes that the band was really cooking this evening?  Bob's keyboard playing seemed much more confident and aggressive from just a few weeks back when I saw him in Berkeley.  And his singing?  Just tell me this guy isn't one of our greatest.  He growled.  He snarled and most importantly he gave up the annoying habit he displayed earlier in the month when he would begin a line in his lowest register (his most effective register at this point) and end the line at the top of his range.  He did that a couple of times during the evening (most noticeably on "Girl from the North Country" and the annoying "Blowin' in the Wind") but most of the time he really seemed to make an effort to put some wasabi like bite into his singing.
A couple of weeks back in these pages our very own trainer extraordinaire Pat Wheeler wrote something kind about me being a "disciple" of Dylan.  I'm really not so sure if that term applies but I will admit there has been no other artist among the many artists that has tripped me up a time or two, that has reached me in such a profound way.  There are just certain times I need to hear a particular Bob song for its insight, its wisdom and wit and because it makes me smile while revealing something new over and over again.
The second song of this evening's performance completely ensured that it would be a night I will never forget (even if somewhere down the road that's what I wanna do).  The song was from my second or third (depending on the day and who I have spent time with) favorite Dylan CD 1981's Shot of Love.  The recorded version of "In the Summertime" has one of Bob's most moving harmonica solos ever.  This live treatment was an absolute ear to ear smiling rollicking delight. 
"Fools they made a mock of sin/Our loyalty they tried to win/But you were closer to me than my next of kin/When they didn't want to know or see..."
I looked next to me at my friend and it was one of those rare indescribable moments in life where it is just so clear, just so right that you can say without any uncertainty that you are in the right place with the right person (even if she or he wouldn't take a bullet for you the gray hat wearing worrying neurotic).  I could live to be seventy (a figure that doesn't seem quite realistic) and I don't think there would ever come a moment when I would have thought "In the Summertime" was a Dylan song I'd be fortunate enough to hear live.  It reminded me of my own past summer, and the discovery of a friendship with a blue eyed and kind intern that has made me think twice or a time or two about what I am doing and where I am going. 
"I was in your presence for an hour or so/Or was it a day? I truly don't know/Where the sun never set, where the trees hung low/By that soft and shining see/Did you respect me for what I did/Or for what I didn't do, or for keeping it hid?/Did I lose my mind when I tried to get rid/Of everything you see?"
It made the papers (coincidentally or not the very one my fellow Dylan show attendee is employed by) and created a buzz when Bob dedicated a song ("The Times They are A-Changing") to Sen. Paul Wellstone both when performed in Denver and Kansas City.  I was kind of amused by the media coverage of it all.  Yes Bob usually doesn't speak much during his performances (if ever a rock star's music says all that needs to be said...) but this ain't exactly Greta Garbo going from silent movies to talkies.  My friend and I made a bet whether or not Dylan would acknowledge Wellstone's tragic death during his St. Paul performance.  I said no, knowing Bob's stubborn trait of avoiding what is expected of him.  My friend answered "mu" and reluctantly took the dollar bet.  When the band broke into "Times...." my friend handed me a buck.  But the bet wasn't to be mine.  In the darkness he dedicated "High Water (For Charlie Patton)" for "my man who came to the end of the road in Eveleth."  It's bad out there... high water everywhere...""
I've never heard Dylan sing better particularly on "Love Minus Zero/No Limit" and a nice cover of Don Henley's "End of Innocence."  He made some noticeable lyrical flubs particularly on "Forever Young" and "It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)" but his ability to give a unique cadence to a line, to hold back the words and then spit them out all at once reinforced what a delightful singer he can truly be.  And the band?  They were a-smoking specifically on "Cold Irons Bound" and the last song of the encore "All Along the Watchtower."  And let me finish by how much I must smile at the way the band takes its bows.  Obviously under orders of the one who pays they bills the gentlemen stand at attention and dare not crack the smallest of smiles.  Any heights achieved during the current night's performan ce in the current city isn't to be acknowledged by the performers.  This is what they do.  This is what is expected.  It's time to move on.  How cool exactly is that?  I wish I could be that way.  And one day I'll try.


Review by Tim M.

Everything was going just fine until my car blew up.  I was coming from
Grand Rapids, Michigan, and I was just outside of a town called Portage,
It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and I was making really good time. 
The car started to vibrate and rock, and smoke billowed out of the hood. 
I couldn't see.  I was in a construction zone, so I pulled off onto the
left shoulder.  When the car stopped smoking, I got out and opened the
hood.  I checked the oil.  There was no oil.  I had no extra oil in the
trunk.  I tried to start the car.  It would not start.  A County Road Crew
truck pulled up, and the man asked me what I was doing.  I told him my car
broke down.  He told me he would call a cop on his CB radio.  I said
"Okay."  An hour later, the cop showed up.  He looked exactly like Weird
Al Yankovic.  He asked me what I was doing.  I told him my car broke down,
and there was no oil in it.  He drove me to a Mobil gas station, and I
bought four quarts of oil, which left me with $35.00.  This was Wednesday,
and I didn't get paid until Thursday, Halloween.  I put the oil in my car,
and started it with the hood up.  The cop frantically motioned for me to
turn the car off.  "There's oil spurting out of there!  It got on my
shirt!"  He wiped at his shirt, looked at his fingers.  There was oil on
his fingers.  "I'm calling a tow truck!"  He went back into his car, and I
went back into mine.  Half an hour later, the tow truck arrived.  The cop
drove away.  The tow truck guy, Emory, he was totally bald and he had one
of those pointy, turned-up moustaches.  He got my car elevated enough to
tow, and we drove to the shop.  Blystone Towing And Radiator, Inc., in
Portage, Wisconsin.  They pulled around back, and all the mechanics
gathered around.  They put another quart of oil in and started it.  I
stepped back.  Oil spurted out, it got onto the mechanics.  They all
stepped back, and one of them said "Dude, you're fucked!"  I told him that
I was aware of that.  Emory pulled my car into the back lot, it looked
like a car graveyard.  Dozens of smashed up cars with stuff written on the
windows in soap.  I went into the building, and sat in the waiting room. 
I ate a sandwich.  After about a half hour, I said to the receptionist,
"How long do you think it will be until I can get my car fixed?"  She said
she'd ask Jeff. 
Jeff came out, he was a real prick.  "I don't think we'll get to it  today, 
maybe we can look at it tomorrow."  I explained to him that I live in
Michigan and I was attempting to get to St. Paul, Minnesota by 7:30 pm at
the latest.  Jeff didn't seem to care, he shrugged and walked away.  The
receptionist said I could take a Greyhound bus, the bus stopped in Portage
at 2:45, and Blystone‘s was the Greyhound station.  She gave me a bus
schedule.  I asked for a pen.  She gave me a pen.  I went outside to the
payphone and called my wife collect and told her what was happening.  She
told me to call my father, perhaps he'd have some idea what to do.  So I
called their house, and I got my mother.  She was angry at me for "going
all the to Minnesota for a stupid Bob Dylan concert."  I told her that I
hadn't actually gone to Minnesota.  She told me that she didn't know what
I should do, but she sure wasn't going to give me any money if that's what
I wanted.  We argued for a while, then I hung up.  I called my wife back,
and she told me to call my friend Allan.  He's a renowned Dylan bootleg
trader, and a swell guy.  I was going to meet him when I arrived in St.
Paul, and we were going to the concert together.  He had a spare ticket,
which is why I was driving all that way.  My wife had, while I was dealing
with my mother, emailed him, and he emailed her back with his phone
number.  So I called Allan.  There was a rash of phone calls then.  He
said I should rent a car.  I only had $35.00 cash, and my debit/credit
card wouldn't work until the next day.  He said he'd rent me a car.  The
car rental place said I had to have the credit card physically there, they
wouldn't bill his card over the phone.  They wouldn't accept cash via
Western Union, either.  Now, not only is Blystone's the local tow truck
service, car repair center, and Greyhound station, they also rent
U-Haul's.  So I went inside and asked the receptionist if I could rent a
U-Haul.  She said "No."  I said "Why not?"  She said "They're all
reserved."  I asked her if they had any rental or loaner cars.  She said
they had one, but it broke down the day before.  She told me to call
Greyhound.  I called them, and they had a bus to Minneapolis that left
Portage at 2:35 and arrived in Minneapolis at 8:45, and it was $46.00.  It
was too expensive, and it got there too late, so that was no good.  So,
after more telephone calls, I decided to hitchhike to St. Paul.  The
receptionist told me to take a taxicab to the gas station, there would be
truckers there.  The taxicab would be $7.50.  I said "Fine, call them." 
After a half hour, the taxicab wasn't there yet.  A man came in, he was
huge, tall and wide, a massive fellow, but not at all fat, and he had one
of those pointy, turned-up moustaches (it must be a Wisconsin thing).  He
smelled very strongly of cologne, and he was dressed in fancy motorcycle
gear.  He looked like one of the Village People.  He asked me if I was
waiting for the bus, it was just about time for the bus to arrive.  I told
him my whole story, and he said he'd drive me to the gas station.  He had
an old Bonneville.  Visions of backwoods anal rape danced through my head.
But he turned out to be a good guy, and he took me to the gas station and
dropped me off.  There were no truckers at the gas station, a BP station. 
I walked around asking all the people there for a ride to St. Paul.  They
all said "No."  They seemed scared, and I don't blame them.  I probably
wouldn't have picked me up.  I went inside and asked the girl cashier if
there was another truck stop around.  She said there was one four miles up
the road.  I walked the four miles, eating a sandwich.  This was the Mobil
station that I bought the oil at before.  There were no trucks there. 
There was a Winnebago with Minnesota plates, but they said they had just
left Minnesota and weren't going back for several weeks.  I pestered
everybody, and used the payphone a little.  I talked to the cashier, an
old lady, and she said there was a huge truck stop a few miles up the
interstate.  So I walked around pestering people to drive me there. 
Finally, a lady drove me there.  She was very nice.  I walked around the
Petro truck stop, and I asked the truckers filling up with gas if they
were going near St. Paul, Minnesota.  Eventually, I found one.  He said he
was going THROUGH St. Paul.  I asked him if he would let me tag along.  He
said he had to eat dinner first.  I told him that was fine with me, and
I'd meet him inside.  So I went into the truck stop, watched the men play
the video games, and turn in their towels from taking a shower.  I looked
at the cheese-shaped hats and the books on tape, the Jeff Foxworthy cd's,
the dirty greeting cards, the hand-held video games.  All that crap.  I
sat and I ate my last sandwich, I went to the bathroom.  Finally, my ride
came out of the restaurant area, he was done eating.  We got into his
truck and onto the road.  His name was Dave.  Dave was a fine fellow.  He
just doesn't like Arabs or Mexicans very much.  He used to run cocaine in
trucks in the 70's, but he doesn't do that anymore, “That's a young
man's game.”  He said most illegal drugs are run around the States in
big trucks.  Only one in ten trucks gets caught.  Dave lives in Las Vegas
with his girlfriend, and his 13-year-old daughter lives in Arizona with
his ex-wife.  Dave is originally from Tennessee.  His father is also a
trucker.  Dave owns his truck and several others, which he leases out to
other drivers.  He makes $15,000.00 a month, on average.  Dave said that
the Government is cloning humans.  "You know how they say 'everybody has a
twin?'  That's because they're cloning us."  When we got into St. Paul,
Dave gave me his cell phone and told me to call Allan and find out where
to drop me off.  We decided on the Marion Street exit, and Dave dropped me
off under the sign.  Dave was a great guy, I told him "Thank you" about
fifty times.  So walked up the interstate, around a great long curve,
expecting to see an exit ramp that I could walk up.  After about a mile, I
started to worry.  There was no ramp.  I thought "Maybe I missed
something," so I walked back to look at the sign.  It said "Marion St,"
and there was an arrow pointing ahead.  So I ran back towards the arrow. 
Eventually, I could see the ramp in the distance.  It was a mile or two
ahead.  I swore, well, actually I screamed profanity as loud as I could,
all the worst profanity I could think of.  It was 7:45 pm, the show
started at 7:30.  A pick-up trucked screeched past, brake lights flashing,
and pulled off the road.  I thought "This must be Allan."  It wasn't, it
was a crazy woman talking a mile-a-minute, "Fucking Bob Dylan, fucking
tonight, oh my fucking god, I have to get a fucking ticket, do you have an
extra fucking ticket, where should I fucking drop you off?"  Anyway, we
got to the top of the ramp, but she went through and turned down some
street and into an apartment complex.  Then she went down Marion Street,
to the ramp on the other side.  There was a man standing on the corner.  I
thought "This must be Allan."  She pulled up over the curb, over the
sidewalk, and onto the grass.  I gave her a tape I had with me, "The
Minnesota Hotel Tape," and I got out.  She sped off.  I walked over to the
man and said "Are you Allan?"  He said "What?"  Upon closer inspection, I
noticed his "Will Work For Food" sign and t he wet spot on the front of
his pants.  He said "Do you have any money?"  I said "What?"  I stood next
to him and looked around for a minute.  It was 7:50.  I didn't see anybody
else around, so I asked the bum "Where is the Excel Center?"  He told me
that it was four blocks up the street, so I ran three blocks and walked
one.  I went into the first door.  I could hear Bob Dylan.  I said to the
security guard "I have a ticket at the will-call window, where is that?" 
He told me to go outside and walk around the building to Entrance A.  I
did so.  I could hear Bob Dylan.  I got my ticket. 
The security guard at Entrance A told me I couldn't bring my backpack into 
the concert, "You'll have to go put that in your car."  I could have
murdered the son of a bitch.  I told him my car is in Wisconsin.  I could
hear Bob Dylan, he was doing "Brown Sugar."  The security guard opened my
backpack and went through all my things.  I had no drugs, weapons, or
recording equipment. 
He escorted me to the main security desk, I wrote my name on a post-it
note, they put the post-it note on my backpack and put it all behind the
counter.  I went into the concert.  Bob was singing "Forever Young." 
Personally, I just wanted to be several hours younger.  I made my way to
my seat, and they were the best seats ever, I was RIGHT THERE.  Bob was
RIGHT THERE.  I sat down between a man and a woman, I had seat eleven.  I
thought "This must be Allan."  It wasn't.  The lady leaned over to me and
said "Is there someone else in your party, because we moved over one
seat."  I told her yes, to please move down.  Then I felt terrible,
because Allen was out looking for me and here I was enjoying the ticket he
paid for, the beautiful seats, Bob Dylan.  About thirty seconds later, the
people stood up for somebody coming down the aisle, this was Allan!  I was
never as glad to see somebody as I was to see him.  Not even Bob Dylan. 
So I finally relaxed and watched the show.  I was wide open for whatever
Bob had to say, and he said quite a lot.  He danced around, he played
chords on the piano, the whole thing was wonderful.  Bob and the band were
ON that night.  I've never been to a better Dylan show, a better ANYBODY
show.  And I missed 1/3 of it.  But it was all worth it.


Review by Jonathan Werre

A funny thing happened in line for the show. Some
rabid politicker started spewing her mantra and
shoving a Wellstone sticker on me. I liked Wellstone
alright, but I was sickened by the way people behaved
at the Wellstone "memorial" the day before by booing
the Governer and screaming that the only way to
properly remember Wellstone is to vote for Mondale
next week. Anyhow, after telling her how self-serving
I think politicians are, and trying to explain that
real change can only come from within (its a J
Krishnamurti thing, I gave up and told
her "I don't follow leaders and I watch for pawkin'
meters" and then some tall bearded guy behine me says
"yeah, you don't need a weatherman to know which way
the wind blows." She was stunned. We left the whole
line laughing though. Especially me, but then I crack
myself up sometimes.

Anyways, the show: Bob started about 20 minutes late
which was fine because most people weren't in thier
seats at 7:30. Bob had on a black suit with a red
stripes and matching black and red cowboy boots. He
opened on piano with "Seeing The Real You At Last". I
loved it because Empire Burlesque was the first
Dylan CD I ever owned, and unlike the critics, I
really liked it. The song rocked and was a nice
departure from the gospel covers he's been opening

Next was "In The Summertime", with Bob still on piano.
Great melody and the harmonies have gotten stronger
since the last few times I've heard them. Up next:
Tombstone Blues. Always a favorite of mine. I love
when he says, "is there a hole for me to get sick in".
Great song. Next was "The End Of The Innocence" by Don
Henley. Huh? I thought the innocence ended a long time
ago with Eve or something. Whatever. Bob will always
keep me guessing and make me wonder. Thats one of the
things I love about him.

"Watching The River Flow" with Bob on piano rocked as
did the next tune, "Brown Sugar". Bob didn't sound or 
move like Mick, but he did a decent job on a song I
think belongs in a bar band's set.  It was interesting
though. Next was the classic "Forever Young". Not the
best I've heard by far, but great nonetheless.

It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) had a cool 12 bar
blues feel to it, but Bob forgot the words and
started mumbling until he came out with "but hatred".
It was cool, but I was wondering where his mind was.
The Times They Are A-Changin' was great. Loved it. He
later dedicated it to "my man who died in Evelyth"
which sounded more like "my man who took a dive in
Evelyth", but I don't think he would say that.
Anyways, interesting that he didn't say "Wellstone"
and that he waited two songs before dedicating it.
Must have forgot.

About this time, that eye logo thing he had on his
backdrop moved away and it looked like the heavens
were opening or something. The new backdrop looked
like silver clouds. By this time Bob was on guitar.
Cold Irons Bound is always a rocker and really has
developed from the TOOM release. Girl Of The North
Country was beautiful and tender. Old Man was a big
hit with the crowd. Honest With Me was when the crowd
started moving. I could see the floor from my seat and
it looked like a still photo until this song. I think
Old Man lit 'em up. Love Minus Zero/No Limit Sounded
good, but why would he change that melody?!? Its
delicious. High Water (For Charley Patton) was great
but Bob got back on that dang piano. Mutineer, Bye And
Bye and Summer Days sort of passed by like a blur, but
the crowd really started moving on Summer Days.

The encore was Blowin' In The Wind and All Along The
Watchtower. Then, damn, it was over.

Now about the piano. When I heard he was playing piano
on this tour, I imagined a grand piano. The thing he
had looked like a Radio Shack Casio. I didn't think he
looked all that comfortable at times either. I like
how he moves his left foot though. I think over half
of his energy comes out through that left knee and
foot movement he does. I'm trying to get it down

This is about the 12th show I've seen since 1988, and
I'd probably have to rank it towards the bottom 25%. A
lot had to do with the Excel Energy center, sort of a
sterile environment, but what do you expect from a
hockey area? At least no one started fighting. I had
reserved seating for only the second time at a 
Dylan show. I forget how short 5'9" is until I'm on
the floor (which was packed). I think ticket prices
should be charged by how tall you are and shorter
people should get to stand in front. But who's gonna
stick up for "the little guy" now that Wellstone's
gone? Maybe I will vote for Mondale, but not just
because Wellstone died. Everyone dies.


Review by David Burton Morris

Seeing Bob dating back to the 60's I'd have to consider  last night's show
one of the worst I've seen.  Microphone problems, his voice more ragged
than normal, the best songs he did and the most enthusiastically received,
were the ones he didn't write. For a performer who is less than engaging,
this latest tour with Bob playing the Yahama piano most of the night and
not a single harp solo, made his performance even less engaging than
usual.  I've also grown tired of guessing what song he's doing, like some
sort of musical game show.  I thought his performance at the EXCEL last
year was FAR superior to last night's endeavor.  When he comes back to his
home state next year on his Endless Tour I'm gonna take a pass.  Having
seen The Who, Bruce and Bob  within a month at the same venue, I'm tired
of being bored by an indifferent artist.  Icon or not. Things have changed
indeed. Me. I guess I expect more for my money now and have grown tired of
the 'Bob is Bob' excuse.

David Burton Morris


Review by Brian K.

Tonight we saw the real Bob at last!

Some random thoughts on an evening spent with Mr. Dylan and his traveling
show in St. Paul. Bob hit the stage at 7:45, sometimes pounding and
sometimes caressing the keyboard, sounding like a bar cover band, and
wasn't done until 9:45. This show was further testament to Bob's ability
to continually keep creating new arrangements, new sounds, new styles, new
melodies, year after year. I know legends like McCartney, the Who,
Springsteen etc. have all appeared in St. Paul recently, but honestly who
on earth can compare to Bob in terms of the ever-evolving variety of
musical approaches year after year at age 61? And with no special lights,
video screens, pyrotechnics like the other big names...Bob just presents
his material in a straightforward fashion and that's how I prefer it. And
how's this for variety: this was my 11th Dylan show, and there were about
10 songs I had not heard live before!

What I liked best this time around was instead of getting six acoustic
songs, then six electric songs, etc like in the past, Bob mixed up the
instrumentation and the tempos more, so the musical mood was always
changing. The show flowed nicely between familiar standbys (Blowin',
Times, Forever Young); totally revamped arrangements (Tombstone Blues,
High Water, Its Alright Ma); faithful versions of End of the Innocence,
Brown Sugar, and Old Man; laid-back medium tempo numbers (In the
Summertime, Love Minus Zero); Broadway shuffle (Bye and Bye); and
blow-away, blazing rockers (Watchtower, Honest With Me, Cold Irons). Then
there was Summer Days. Bob and band raised the bar even further on this
one, as I was astounded how the song kept building, building, BUILDING,
wondering how each instrumental verse could be bigger than the one before
it. Indescribable. Maybe the most rocking number I've heard Bob do live.
Got to hear it again! Hard to figure how most of our section were sitting
like a statue during this one.

Only spoken words of the night were brief band introductions, and before
High Water a mention of "my man who met the end of the road in Eveleth".
Unfortunately no harmonica action tonight, but that's Bob, he's going to
have a different sound every time. Absolutely tremendous, enjoyable show;
my personal highlights were Summer Days, Brown Sugar (I liked when Tony
came out of his position to join in the "yeah,yeah,whoo" ending), and
maybe Real You. Finally, being a pianist myself I thought Bob's keyboard
playing was kinda funky! And how, despite having both hands occupied with
the keyboard he can still do his little leg wiggles. We're not going to
experience an evening quite like we heard tonight. Thanks Bob, Larry,
Tony, Charlie, George!

Brian K.


Review by David Dobrin

I knew going into this show that there was going to be some changes from
before.  I read on the website that he was playing a lot of covers, and i
welcomed the changes as i do with every one of Dylan's.

I raced to the stage when they opened the gates.  I've been to 12 Dylan
shows before and tonight I wanted to be really close.  He opened with
"Seeing the Real You At Last".  A classic 80's track off of Empire
Burlesque which i've never seen him perform before.  It was quite a change
for an opener since all previous shows i've been to he's opened with a
cover.  Then came another 80's song:  "In The Summertime".  A more obscure
number from "Shot of Love."  Not surprising it was performed differently
than the recorded version and with perfection from the perfect band.

The crowd seemed to go the most nuts for the "Brown Sugar" and "Old Man." 
Possibly not because they were the best songs, but rather, very cool that
Dylan and Band were performing them.  They DID rock on those!!  

I recognized all the songs, but some people around me did not recognize
Warren Zevon's "Mutineer" and unfortunately, "Bye and Bye".  I just wanted
to turn to them and say "BUY 'LOVE AND THEFT'!"  Oh well, as long as i can
appreciate the old and the new.

The other songs of the evening were standard numbers in my opinion, but
it's always fun to see what Bob decides to play.  

I loved the show.  I hope he comes back to Minnesota again soon.

-David Dobrin


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