A tour guide colleague of mine once took a group of kids to Abraham
Lincolns's home in Springfield, where she heard a studenty proudly say
"I farted where Abraham Lincoln farted!" 

Apropos of nothing I went to the Dickens house museum today, which held a
prize I'd always wanted to see: a custom-built podium Dickens used in
his live performances. His theatrical readings of his works were a
sensation, though one man stormed out of a New York show complaining that
Dickens had no idea what Sam Weller was supposed to sound like, and Mark
Twain complained that Dickens was too English ("He called Steerforth
Styawfuth.") It's easy enough to see parallels to a modern Bob Dylan
concert.

But except for written accounts, a fantastic tour manager's memoir, and
some sketches, these performances are now lost events, occurring about a
decade before recording even a portion of the audio was feasible, and a
generation before it would be plausible to film one. Compared to, say,
Shakespeare, this is a close enough cut-off to be tantalizing. Yet that
desk is about all that remains - even most of the theaters in which he
performed are long gone today. 

But, having communed with a podium, it was a day of Dylan gatherings that
began at noon and lasted right from noon until the concert. At the
Troubadour I traded horror stories of Milledgeville, Georgia, with Michael
Gray, chatted with Laura and Ray, caught up with False Propehet Michael,
and tried to make the most of an americano. At the Gloucester Arms Gray
seemed to be in a downright jovial mood. Some friends from Wolverhampton
made an appearance. Nearly everyone I'd hung around with in these past
two weeks of rambling seemed to be around tonight. 

Rumors were swirling that the recent piano-heavy arrangements were really
just preparing to break out "Murder Most Foul," and one source even
said that it had been rehearsed, but most of us knew not to get our hopes
up. Those rumors happen all the time. Surprises are nice, sure, but the
most important thing is always whether Dylan is simply "on" that
night. With binoculars I could just about read the cue sheet from choir
east, and it looked normal to me. 

My seat in the east choir happened to be right behind one of the
spotlights onstage, which completely blocked my view of the piano. I could
see if I stood up, but when I asked the people in the (much higher) row
behind me if they minded if I stood, and was informed that I had better
not even think of standing for so much as a second. This was trouble.

Dylan came out ready for business, and by putting my head in my
neighbor's lap I was able to see him playing a shorter guitar part on
"It Ain't Me Babe." The singing seemed strong (though the mix was a
mess for the first couple of songs). I tried to move to the aisle, and
security, noting that my view was blocked, thoughtfully led me to what
appeared to be a VIP box on the side of the stage, with some hint that I
might not be able to stay due to who was there. Nearby me was a guy who
looked like a young rock star who seemed to be giving me that "For the
love of all that's holy, don't try to talk to me" look, though I
didn't recognize him. Beside me was a woman who was dancing like no one
was watching and belching freely. It was awesome.  Security let me stay
with a smile ("Can't see it? Say it. Sorted.")

With nothing behind me but a wall and plenty of elbow room, I stood and
danced to the faster numbers myself, something that had never quite been
possible at a Rough and Rowdy Ways show. Now and then, I would look into
the venue and just be astounded. I was seeing Bob Dylan at the Royal
Albert Hall!  And he was giving a show for the ages. 

There would be no surprises tonight, no talk beyond a band intro, and no
new arrangements. What we got instead was a show that was perfectly
executed, skillfully done - the band was in good form, and Dylan was
putting his all into every song, with line-reads that seemed both
deliberate and effortlessly inventive. I would almost say that night 2,
when Dylan seemed distracted at times, seemed like it had been a rehearsal
for night 3, when everything seemed to be up on another level. 

After one song Dylan turned back to the east choir, put his hands
together, and bowed humbly at them in thanks. The choir seats made this
quite unlike any Dylan show on this tour. From my spot on the side I could
see his hands on the piano, the interactions with the band. Everyone
seemed happy tonight. 

After the curse of "The Black Rider" was broken (no screams or fights
in the audience), Dylan began the same nearly-solo piano arrangement of
"My Own Version of You" he debuted the night before. It had been
stunning to watch him introduce this arrangement, but last night there
were times when he seemed more focused on getting the melody right than on
what he was singing. Tonight was something else. He told the story with
every line, playing the character in the song like a master actor.  About
halfway through, I got the feeling that I was seeing a rendition that
would be famous soon. One wants to avoid those "best ever" ratings
that come with post-show euphoria, but this performance was an absolute
tour de force. A masterpiece of phrasing. The sort of thing that makes you
awfully glad to live in a world where performances can be preserved.  
Even Dylan seemed thrilled with how he'd done - in binoculars he had the
look of a man who was satisfied that everything was going according to
plan, and he laughed a bit as he began a swinging "To Be Alone With
You," complete with a swinging harp solo. A one-two punch for the books.

A very strong "Desolation Row" followed, with some scattered cheers
from the crowd after the line about "expecting rain" (likely from
people who knew Karl Erik Andersen was in the audience tonight) and
another rapturous harp solo. 

"Key West," back in its minor key arrangement from last night, was
stripped even FURTHER down, to the point where large portions of it were
essentially a capella. The crowd was silent. If the woman beside me had
belched again the entire Royal Albert Hall would have probably heard it.
The performance rivalled "My Own Version of You."

After the five song run from "Black Rider" to "Key West,"
"Watching the River Flow" felt like a well-earned break - a bit of
levity before an all-timer reading of "It's All Over Now, Baby
Blue," which unfortunately lacked the harmonica work that had elevated
the night 1 performance, but stood on its own just fine. "Made Up My
Mind" and "Mother of Muses" were strong as ever, with perhaps a
little extra bit added on guitar on "Muses." "Jimmy Reed" had some
great lines but was otherwise the low point in a near-perfect set.  And
with a stellar "Every Grain of Sand," a harmonica solo, and a brief
formation, Bob Dylan closed out the Rough and Rowdy Ways era. 

It should have been bittersweet. I'd been at the first show of this tour
back in 2021, and watching it evolve has been a part of my life for just
over three years now. I've traveled to new cities, had great adventures,
and met so many new friends. Some were old friends by now, and others that
I just met when I got to the UK seemed like people I'd known for years.
I hadn't wanted this tour to end. But the bitter half of bittersweet
would come later - the mood right after the show was ebullient, as we
hugged outside the hall and raved about the show. I ran into Ian and
Duncan, two people who'd been at a party I threw in Indiana last year.
It bears repeating that this is a great hobby. 

The party moved back to Gloucester Arms down the road, where we drank,
compared favorite moments, and went over to the Queen's Gate Mews sign
to re-enact the "I want someone who will bathe my cigarette and sell my
dog" bit from 1966, which was filmed there. Some very large group photos
were taken, and the party went on until they kicked us out. Which, this
being London, was at 11:30. Nearly nothing in London is open past 11,
which I believe is a direct result of the lack of filter coffee in the
U.K. 

But several of us found an old hotel bar where the wall pictures a large
photo of the Rolling Stones in the room in 1967, and the decorative
turntable featured a Donovan LP. Nathan, my 90s britpop bandmade (which is
plausible now that time is running backwards in my country) remarked that
a decade or so ago, when he was a 17 year old getting into Dylan for the
first time, he never imagined he'd be at a place like this. I remember
being a 17 year old Dylan fan; this week I drank and cheered with people
whose names I know only as text on a usenet post or on the spine of a
book. It seems impossible that I've only known people like Nathan and
Maddy in person for a couple of weeks. At 17 I couldn't imagine that
Dylan would still be touring in 2024, let alone on year three of one of
his most unique, and strongest, tours of my lifetime, at least. 

It was here at Bar 190 that the melancholy mood began to hit me. This
trip went by in an instant, even though Liverpool seems so long ago.
Tomorrow I won't be going through the wrong door in some far-flung bar
with Nathan, Nightly Moth, and Maddy. I won't be having scotch with
Bennyboy, or joining Ian Gallon for a walk town through Edinburgh. I
won't be seeing Graham and Paul showing up unexpectedly, or getting
lessons in Irish lingo from Liam. There won't be a gathering with
Marielle and Gilly in front of wonderfully hideous wallpaper in
Wolverhampton. I won't hear Sergi's rapturous enthusiasm. Not until
the next tour, anyway. If I didn't have a Tulsa trip to look forward to
next month, it would have been a crushing ride back to my hotel when Bar
190 gave us the boot.  

Minus the news coming in from home (which prompted even Dylan to say
"Maybe we ain't going back" in Edinburgh, as the better tapes now
clear up), this was one of the greatest trips of my life. The train rides
themselves were pure magic. An incredible adventure where I made new
friends every night, saw towns I may never have visted otherwise but fell
in love with at once. I saw relics of Shakespeare and Dickens and the
Beatles, experienced some great drinks and some food so awful I'll be
able to stories of it for years. Thanks to everyone who searched out
strange bars with me, lost at video games with me, busted into wrong rooms
with me, cheered with me at great shows, and hugged me when the news was
bad. To everyone who helped me turn my back on the world for a while and
watch Bob Dylan continue to paint his masterpiece. Keep on keeping on.  

So...mama, was this really going to be the end? There was definitely
something else in the air when going to the last concert of the European
tour of 2024, and what possibly also was the concluding performance of the
"Rough And Rowdy Tour 2024". After following him for 34 years, it did feel
strange to taste the possibility of it being his last show ever too. But
luckily, with Bob we never know. He might announce another tour very soon.
A lot of fans gathered earlier on the day for a Edlis-lunch in the
neighbourhood, once again lovely organised by "Ed Ricardo". There we
exchanged stories of concerts, tours, meetings and so on. We even go an
account of Dylans show at the Royal Festival Hall in London in 1964. But
the evening was of course what we all waited for. From row 8 in a packed
Royal Albert Hal I saw the band coming on stage and starting "All Along
The Watchtower", before Bob joined the after a minute or so on the piano.
No guitar tonight, but a strong opening performance indeed. He did pick up
the guitar when the started "It Ain't Me, Babe" though, the oldest song in
the set. Beautifully sung, a very early goose bump-moment. As expected, we
got "I Contain Multitudes" as song number three, with Dylan out on the
floor with the microphone in hand. He returned to the piano after a few
lines where he stood, hanging over it and both singing and playing the
keys. He returned to the back of the stage for "False Prophet" and quickly
returned to the piano once again. A very nice groove to this song, and I
must say what a drummer Jim Keltner is. He was sitting behind his kit with
sunglasses on, hammering away on the skins. It felt good with this bluesy
number. To the melody of "Istanbul, not Constantinople", Dyan was again
moving away from the piano for the beginning of the song. His vocals were
very good tonight and for the first time in the show, the harp was out.
Not for long, but a very good solo. It is of course fun to think that
Dylan and Jim Keltner recorded this song more than 53 years ago... Fast
forward to our one time again, and we got "Black Rider". Dylan stayed
behind the piano for the whole song. Tenderly sung and once again I
thought about how good he sings at this stage in his career. The vocals
were even better on " My Own Version Of You", which was close to a
solo-number from Dylan. The band was there of course, but hardly touching
their instruments. Tony Garnier held his stand up-bass more than playing
it. The Royal Albert Hall was quickly brought back to uptempo music again
when we once again travelled to a song from the early 1970s, "To Be Alone
With You". I really like this new arrangement of the song, making it so
jolly. The harp was brought out again too, and Dylan obviously enjoyed
playing it, so did the crowd. Thundering applause after the performance.
Dylan left the piano briefly again for the beginning of "Crossing The
Rubicon". Once again Jim Kelter hammered away on his drums before Dylan
started singing from the back of the stage. He had great fun on the piano
later on though. And even if one could argue that Dylan's piano playing at
times are a bit...curious, he seems to enjoy himself. And especially
tonight. One of my all time favourites were next, "Desolation Row". The
new drum heavy arrangement really works for me. It sets the tone so good,
but still leaves space for me to hear Dylan's vocals. This was another
great moment for Dylan to pick up the harp. As we had close to a solo
performance earlier in the show, we got another one with "Key West
(Philosopher Pirate). Dylan and the piano. And the band around him, mainly
holding thei instruments. It is a lovely ballad, no doubt. In March 1971,
Dylan and Keltner recorded "Watching The River Flow" in New York City.
That does sound like a completely different song today, but enjoyable
indeed. It fitted perfectly after the calm atmosphere on "Key West". A
proper Dylan-classic "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" followed, the last
early Dylan-song of the evening. Tony Garnier stood long ready with the
bow for the standup-bass, and eventually he joined in. The London-crowd
was ecstatic after the song. Bob mumbled something after the song which I
didn't catch, possible his first introduction of one of the band members.
Another lovely modern ballad was in the 14th spot, "I've Made Up My Mind
To Give Myself To You". Again Dylan takes the room completely, and I
forget about the band, only focusing on him, his vocals especially. After
the song he briefly introduced Tony Garnier before continuing on with
"Mother Of Muses, where Garnier again used the bow for his bass. The
arrangement of song, so stripped down, so beautiful - and Dylan's phrasing
when he sings...such a great. Jim Keltner got his introduction after the
song whilst Dylan walked to back of the stage and started the last blues
number of the evening, "Goodbye Jimmy Reed" - the ninth and final song
from "Rough And Rowdy Ways". Then in the 17th spot, most of us knew "Every
Grain Of Sand" would come. Dylan started the song at the back of the stage
again, longer this time than on the previous songs. He kept standing after
walking over to the piano and also picked up his harp. A stunning version
with a very focused Dylan and a very focused audience. A good effect of
not allowing mobile phones into the hall is that people concentrate better
on the performance. I wish the song could have gone on and on... But it
didn't. Everyone rose their feet and gave a huge applause to Dylan and his
band. When they walked off a lot of us were thinking about the rumours of
an encore tonight. We had guessed what it could be during our lunch. The
lights stayed off longer tonight than the previous two nights and we even
saw someone walking back on stage with a piece of paper. But sadly, it
wasn't  a new set of notes for the piano. I have no idea what it was,
because as soon as we had seen the bloke, the lights were switched on.
Everyone I spoke to were happy with the show. If this indeed was his last
show (do hope not), he delivered a great one. Most Dylan shows I've seen
here in London have been very good. And at the Royal Albert Hall,
particularly good. I do wonder what Dylan himself thought when he walked
off stage. Was he thinking that this was it? Or on when to come back? 

Tonight, the last night of the R&RW tour, we got another big highlight; a
version of My Own Version Of You almost solo on the piano, with a strong,
clear vocal that filled the Albert Hall. It was quite something. Without
question, these shows have had some of the best single performances of the
last 20 or so years, or maybe more. My Own Version Of You (London 3), Key
West (Wolverhampton 1) and Baby Blue (London 1) in particular. In 2022, I
would have assumed Bob had played his last ever UK shows - now I'm not
so sure. A concert made up of the highlights of these shows would be quite
something to behold. 

IT'LL BE DONE WHEN IT'S DONE

An extremely controlled performance from Dylan tonight brought the
2021-2024 tour to a close, with a tender version of Every Grain of Sand,
featuring judicious harmonica, his final flourish.

My Own Version of You was splendid. He flicked a switch and had the room
entranced. Where did that come from?

Our daughter joined me for this one in the choir seats behind the stage.
We were right up close to the band, and our section received several
generous gesticulated acknowledgements. You can't turn your back on your
loyal fans and followers if they're directly behind you.

I was in Hibbing a few weeks ago, and it struck me that the house in which
Bob spent his formative years was at the centre of things. Close to his
school, main street, the synagogue, the catholic church. Fast forward
seventy years to a show by a man still at the nexus of literature, music,
and faith - and a sublime closing song that came "from somewhere else".

Fran Scott

I'd seen 4 or 5 Bob shows since the 90s and thought my pilgrimages were 
done. I hadn't taken in this Rough & Rowdy album, and Abdul-Jabbar 
couldn't make these ticket prices with a sky hook. Then about a month back, 
Key West (Philosopher Pirate) came on my magic phone by algorithm. Hit me 
like an opioid. Woozy and warm, like a heatwave mirage, I listened over 
and over. "Death is on the wall, say it to me, if you've got something to
confess...". Good lord. Hooked. I wanted to be in a room he sings this in.
After a quick keyboard investigation, I found you could get in the Gallery
at the Albert Hall for £50. Standing at a Dylan gig! No seat prison, with
the elbow banging, excuse me excuse me hokey cokey. Yes please. I'm in.
All my previous Dylan shows were accompanied with my Dad and older
brother, in Manchester, Liverpool or Blackpool, in a cross decades pack of
fandom, a beautiful thing, but so is going solo if you want to adroitly
absorb a scene in silence. 

Safe expectation and familiarity are acrid smells to flinch from for this
Bob Dylan guy. You can listen to YouTube clips from his show last night if
you want, that's still not what you're going to get tonight. Most likely
there's still, even in 2024, people here looking for that guy from 1963,
steely strummin Blowin in the Wind or Hard Rain, just like memory hears
it. Or that doped-eyed mop of curls in that film from Newcastle in 1966,
begging the Tambourine Man, blowing a solo into the blurred edge of
consciousness, somewhere so far away yet familiar it aches your guts and
moistens your eyes. Well, if that's your thing, read on.

Some might be here to see the legend, catch a piece, take a photo of a
walking artifact from the International Museum of Booksmarts and Cool.
Well, tough break, smart phones are locked up in zip bags at the door.
Scary for some no doubt, going cold turkey for two hours in just the
immediate environment without the content provider, the great social
intruder, those vindicator machines. It works, and should be mandatory for
any venue that can afford it. I had been tipped off by a local friend to
take binoculars. In the Gallery, it's true, its a quarter the price for
quarter of the view. But I don't want to count his wrinkles, as long as I
can hear the guy, I'm good. In any case, I can see that Chaplin
silhouette shuffling in where the last gig I saw a decade ago ended. All
Along The Watchtower. What a song. What is about? Genghis Khan? Four
Horsemen of the Apocalypse? The HS2 rail plan? Could be all of those
things. And it's clear this band are hot to trot. No musos, all feel. 
Black Rider sways with vampiric grace. Nick Cave comes to mind, and during
a few of these newer songs full of gothic gospel yearning, he'd probably
trade a photoshoot in a tracksuit to have written this.

When I Paint My Masterpiece has a new temporary accommodation in the
plucked melody of Putting On the Ritz throughout, turns it into a shoulder
shaker, and has a purpose the original, or even The Band's version,
didn't. The band is loose and popping, in and out of the shadows watching
Bob's hands with knowing eyes, this band has been on a long tour and it
tells, in a good way. 

Desolation Row is chugging acoustic propulsion to Jim Keltner's Series of
Dreams about Peggy Sue drums. A mesmerising update of a catalogue classic,
but am I the only one hearing Les Dawson notes (UK reference)? They may be
intentional, rough n' rowdy style, hard to tell. He is a great piano
player, 60 years of recordings attest to that, but he also likes it a
little skewed for feel. Like that guitar on Queen Jane Approximately on
Highway 61, wonkiness is the only true fit. Nearly anyone with sense
respects Dylan as a writer, but some just don't get him as performer, the
nasal voice and harmonica being the usual bugaboos, but these are the
sweet spots to devotees. The ache of that harmonica takes me back to
teenage rooms listening to "As I Went Out One Morning" or "What Was it You
Wanted". Watching the vinyl or cassette reel spin, the mystery, only half
understanding, listening again, reaching and following in the dark. That's
what Dylan did for me, and I wonder how many others are feeling that in
this moment too. Back from my wandering mind, the band’s strut has a
gaggle of ladies dancing, literally, in the aisles in the upper circle, to
the annoyance of the 20 minute cycle bar visiting beer jugglers, who all
annoy the silver top seat settlers, all such drama almost avoided up here
in the standing Gallery, if it wasn't for two gangsters wife looking fur
coated gals sat against the back wall squeaking away oblivious, despite my
multiple requests for them to "shut it". These people are everywhere, and
getting free tickets. No matter, leaning forward against one of those
fake marble poles up in the arches, they are blocked from my right ear for
show highlight It's All Over Now, Baby Blue. Solo skeletal piano mostly,
more strident than reflective, Bob PROJECTING, its over for you, not Bob.
It's so buckle free beautiful that going straight into I've Made Up My
Mind to Give Myself to You, his latest wedding song hit, I feel a heat
behind the eyes and grip the handrail, some old folks in the rausing
circle are about to get dripped on. It's cocoon comfort melody is still in
my ear after the show and waltzes my footsteps right out of Kensington. It
ends with a crystalline Every Grain of Sand. His voice purer than even the
80s recordings. The clock has spun back off the wall. You could fool
yourself. Then the last line "I am hanging in the balance of the reality
of man. Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand". And that
harmonica again. Uh oh, gimme that handrail.  

I'd write about Key West, but there's only so much you can say.
No grand farewell gesture beyond a brief hand-on-hip, look upon me, "I am
the man, Thomas" pose. And away, but that guy is still here. He has earned
the right many times over to have his retirement, trotters up in the
Caribbean, but he's made up his mind to give himself to song and his
audience, through and through. Wouldn't bet against him coming back.
Protector of the free mind. The best of America.

A Systole and diastole concert beneath the Royal Albert Hall's dome

Last Thursday, the 14th of November I could get a relief from a burden I
had been carrying since 2012, when due to inflexibility as a workaholic I
transfered to friends the tickets I had got for a Bob Dylan's concert in
my home city Porto Alegre, just because "I could not" cancel participation
on an academic meeting I was chair at my University and which date was
postponed, as some guests from Argentina  had had logistic problems with
their flights. A double-side placid feeling took me on last week, as I
left behind such a past debt, and, principally, as it brought up the
opportunity to see one of the concerts of Bob Dylan's "Rough and Rowdy
Days Tour" at the Royal Albert Hall in London, one of the greatest halls
in Britain and the whole wide world, with its Roman style architectural
building, located on the cultural circuit of South Kensington. Bob Dylan
granted his audience with an hour and forty minutes of memorable moments.
My perception is the concert resembled a systole and diastole movement
from the beginning to the end, with an alternation between the compass of
country music "two-beat" songs and inside folk ballads, visiting as well
rhythm and blues songs as "Watching the River Flow", all of them performed
with a Bob Dylan standing on his piano, sometimes phrasing with the
harmonica, except one song when he played guitar riffs using a Gibson Les
Paul held on his knees. For his companion, an experimented band kept the
pace of the show, offering texture for Dylan to bright with his rough
voice and for him to execute the chords and soloing on the piano.
Notwithstanding a few piano notes could sometimes make some unintended
dissonance, even then there was another ingredient adding flavour to the
show. A beautiful spectacle that was enhanced, furthermore, by four late
1950's vintage-fashioned cannon lights placed around the stage, which
smooth temperature lights combined into the Royal Albert Hall red and
ambar inner colours. I saw the concert seated at the Grand Tier Sector,
third floor lateral, watching the stage from an angle in perspective and
not so distant, so that I could even see Dylan's expressions on his face.
Seated in the same row as mine's, an American fan who appeared being as
old as Bob Dylan, and whose hair was completely white, besides wearing a
plenty of  badges from Dylan's tours pinned onto his clothes, told us
while we awaited for the show to start that this was the sixth concert of
the idol he could attend so far. The man told me he had seen concerts such
as the iconic San Francisco 1979 show. However, as he put it, he had no
words to describe how he felt that night, in that place, in that
presentation, in that 2024 tour. Dylan came onto the stage playing "All
Along the Watchtower". As someone who has been very formal and hesitant to
express my emotions publicly, I shed relentless tears until the third
song. From then up to the end of the concert, I was captured by a complete
trance, until the last song, "Every grain of sand", when verse to verse
and chord to chord produced an everlasting delicious looping, only stopped
when the final chord came to announce the show had come to and end. An
applauding torrent reacted in praise of the artist, as if warm rainfalls
falled smoothly from the Royal Albert Halls's dome to caress that 83 year
old guy who for half a century and a decade has been compiling stories and
creating poetry and unique melodies to share them with the people. The
audience wished for a final encore, but Dylan thanked by moving his torso,
already curved by the marks an enduring road has made on him, and he
directly descended the stairs that lead to his backstage, as if conveying
that moment should be turned into eternity. And more tears are shed from
my face as I finish this story. Long live to Bob Dylan and that his road
keep pacing until his 90 anniversary and furthermore.

During the post-show meetup after London's night #2, a fellow bobcat who 
I just met in Berlin earlier this year but who I already appreciate a lot 
(man, I could hear his stories all day, as in fact I've told him!) warned 
me about our theoretically impeccable first row, East Choir seats, for the 
third and final night at the Royal Albert Hall: apparently, seats 16-17-18 
were the cursed ones, as the view was blocked by one of the two big oldie 
stage lights. Our seats (my partner's and mine) were 17 and 18. My friend 
advised me about some tactics as standing in the aisle from the beginning 
instead of remaining in our seats and the sort. I went back to my hotel 
room quite worried if all the enjoyment of the theoretical 'Rough and 
Rowdy Ways World Wide Tour' finale would be greatly hindered by a stage 
light preventing us from seeing the man...

The following day, before heading to the hotel to rest a bit prior to our 
last trek to the Royal Albert Hall, we visited the Tate Modern, where I 
was specially hit by the work of Helen Chadwick, more specifically her 
beautiful and disturbing photography series Meat Abstracts that show 
organs and raw offal of animals as if they were Dutch still life paintings, 
with luxurious fabrics and really crafted lightings. Lights and focus 
seemed to pursuit us. Leaving the Tate, night already upon the city, we 
about to cross the Millennium Bridge, I noticed a familiar shape at my 
right: unmistakeably that was The Globe Theatre! I wasn't aware it was 
there but, somehow, I had an intuition that something was off, so I 
googled if that was the actual theatre and, of course, it wasn't. That was 
a reconstruction opened in 1997 and the site where the actual Globe was 
located was a short walk from there. After crossing under the Southwark 
Bridge, a dark walk, a bit as if one was time travelling, we found the 
site. Nothing apart from some info plaques and a commemorative bronze 
plaque with Shakespeare's and old London's low relief stood there, but the 
feeling that it all started in that very place I almost discovered by 
chance, a few hours away from seeing Bob cap off the given three years' 
timeframe of his Globe Wide 'Rough and Rowdy Ways' Tour was quite powerful 
and wholesome, as if some wise old owl was telling me "you’re going the 
right way, kid".

Right or wrong, we eased our feet and feelings watching a Catalan soap 
opera and having a snack back at the hotel room and, with plenty of time 
to not be in my usual Bob rush, headed for the Royal Albert Hall. Arrived 
there about an hour before showtime, went in smoothly and headed to our 
dreaded seats; also wanted to show my other half the venue, it was his 
first night there and I honestly think it's a venue that requires to give 
it some proper attention, the majesty of it, its roundness, the damn 
enormous organ, how the stage in fact seems about to be crushed by the 
pressure of the whole place… Seat 18, at the right of 17, was quite ok, I 
felt I would be seeing Bob even when he was seating, 17 was a bit more of 
a problem but it was not easy to be sure about it until our man hit the 
stage. I headed for the loo just in case and on my way there I met almost 
everyone, we chatted a bit, familiar faces come and went, the buzz was 
clearly there but what I loved it's that it had nothing of a farewell 
atmosphere, it felt joyous if anything, eager and exciting. The loo line 
was damn long and I got back to our seats quite close to showtime in fact 
to find that next to us, in seat 16, a dear Chicagoan bobcat was there. 
Seat 16 was the truly cursed one, I'm glad he could move to a nearby box 
a couple of songs into the show because I think that seat was 100% 
obstructed view. On our side, lights went down, we crossed fingers and 
hoped for the best.

Bob trotted to the stage and, first surprise, the golden jacket was back! 
As from our point of view it was lighted from the back, for the first time 
I realised how golden it is in fact, and the guy looked gorgeous in it, 
amazing. I took our Choir seats the closest possible to the stalls as I 
rightly assumed that from there we would be looking more at Bob from a 
profile view than a back one and it felt great to be proven right, that if 
the stage light wasn't that much of an issue, our view would be really 
unforgettable. What I also realised was that we wouldn't be seeing Bob 
playing guitar regardless of the light as he was playing it facing more 
the West Choir so we could only see the guitar neck and not Bob's hands. 
No big deal. The mystery remained for a few minutes: when facing the 
piano, seating or standing, what would we get?

Another surprise was how much closer Bob was to the Choir than to the 
Arena's first row, there was an insane amount of distance between the 
piano and the audience, I'd say that more pronounced compared to other 
shows; in fact, when Bob went backwards to start some songs 'center' stage, 
he was almost on the signed walkway to enter and leave the stage, it was 
crazy how exaggerated it was. More surprises: the super nasty, muted, 
sound in the Choir until mid-Multitudes worried me that the real downside 
of our seats would be the sound (though I may claim that I heard the 
actual drums and even Bob's voice instead of through the speakers!) until 
someone plugged something and all was good. Finally, the bugging question, 
would we be seeing Bob Dylan perform on such a special night from such a 
close and vantage distance of a light too bright would be shining on us?

Between the excitement of the moment itself, the sound problems, the 
guitar minutes and that he was still finding his feet, I wasn't paying too 
much attention to the view itself, until Bob stood up to play 'I Contain 
Multitudes' from the piano. Then it was made evident: the gold stuffed 
jacket, the black pants with another golden vertical line and him, the 
fussy hair hero in all his glory, I could see him with no trouble at all. 
It made me so happy, the feeling that nothing was stopping either of us to 
set it in style and stone after so many roads in the past three years and 
to the many more to come yet, starting from that night itself. I quickly 
asked my partner if he was ok too and just when Bob was seating he was a 
bit blocked; afterwards he told me that about 80% of the time the view was 
perfect, yay.

The view was so rich in details, from Bob itself, who I could perfectly 
see staring at the piano keys sometimes as if pondering the right, slick 
and edgiest moment in which he should attack them and stir the musical 
vessel into either direction he wanted. Also Doug, who peeked crazily into 
Bob's hands to try to guess the intentions of the boss, and Jim's efforts, 
flamboyant and so on point all the night, and happily I felt that most of 
them we were still hearing the actual drums more than the speakers. Apart 
from Bob, the view was striking because of the perspective, which allowed 
me to do slow pans to my right side and look at what Bob was seeing: the 
crowd, a million faces at his/my feet and the overall feeling of warmth, 
gratitude and a 60+ years energy that had been driving him and all his 
fans to that point, one night after the other. He contains multitudes and 
we were all being put there in display, to meet, greet, laugh and love and 
at some points I did that move from looking at him to looking at his point
of view, I got a glimpse of what a feeling that might be: in front of him 
just the black end of the piano, then the canvass-like stage and, beyond 
that, the world, who will leave that place with something of yourself in 
them, and they will turn it into their own versions of you: "I saw Bob 
Dylan last night. We left early, it was unbearable…" / “I saw Bob Dylan 
last night. I've felt fundamentally changed." The golden jacket, the black 
piano, the white stage, the endless colours' crowd, it looked as he was 
having his day in court, and it looked as scary as fascinating and, more 
than anything, addictive. I don’t want to spoil anyone visiting Bob's 
house in Hibbing in the future (again, thank you Bill!) but there I saw a 
picture of a young Bob performing at the piano of his High School and his 
pose struck me because it's the same pose you can see in him today, the 
character above the persona that he shows on stage and seeing that pose 
again in London, from that unique perspective with the audience at our 
both feet was unforgettable and truly enlightening.

For a show that so many of us fear that could be it, my feeling within was 
that of pure fun, excitement and rhythmical pulse. I never got to see 
Little Richard or, of course, Elvis but the rocking and rolling rumble 
that got into me in the third London night was that kind of primitive, 
unstoppable feeling that I've felt listening to their records. In that 
regard, I can't provide the emotional details I fixated upon in Liverpool 
or other shows, just this overall "wow, what an incredible SHOW" and I 
highlight that last word because to me it was clear that Bob wanted to 
astonish us, to make us leave the place with a truly immanent feeling of 
impossibility that that kind of emotional obvious charge could come from 
an 83yo Bob Dylan. During 'False Prophet', due to being the first song in 
which Bob truly moved around, we had to do some seat gymnastics to have 
the best view each possible moment and we ended up both leaning on the 
rail, our arms crossed over it and head on them, like two kids peeking 
over the town's parading circus in utter disbelief that kind of magic is 
possible. If Bob’s piano stance is the one glued to my eyes and mind, my 
own is this one: my partner and I like two mesmerized boys watching the 
greatest magic trick ever under the moonlight, as if nobody around us, 
just us, Bob, His Band and, on the other side, the distant faces in the 
crowd. I honestly don't think this is it, nothing made me feel in my gut 
or my mind that RAH #3 was it but, if it was, I could have never imagined 
or ask for a better one, with Bob on our side.

As for the songs, I was not in the mood to scrutinize each and every of 
them, I was really having so much fun, but of course some of them stand 
out, and a couple as possibly the greatest renditions in the whole tour. I 
could have never predicted that, of all songs, 'My Own Version of You' 
would get the stripped down surgery and, when voided of all flourish and 
furniture and added just a tiny melodic approach at the end of some lines, 
turned into a beautiful and heartfelt romantic prayer. Before the Pacino 
and Brando lines being sung in a way that emphasized not the wittiness in 
them but the sad fact that so many decades have passed since those 
characters were born and made icons, Bob of course sang this:

It must be the winter of my discontent

I wish you'd taken me with you wherever you went

They talk all night - they talk all day

Not for a second do I believe a word they say

I want to bring someone to life - someone I've never seen

You know what I mean - you know exactly what I mean

And it made me cry, literally cry, because it felt like a romantic plea, 
an old man stranded alone in the graveyard of his mind, with only decay 
and forgetfulness in the horizon. It was so unexpectedly moving and I 
still can't get over the fact it happened for real, that the song that for 
three years was this either mysterious or carefree piece of ironic History 
had been turned into a song of love and betrayal.

The other song that also peaked on London's third night was 'Key West'. 
After being either eastbound or westbound, left in the open air to freeze 
and become a precious ice sculpture, then back again warmed up with the 
band, Bob took it one step further and chopped all the insignificant 
details to basically let himself ramble and roam through his own words, 
punctuate them with some piano and guitar notes here and there to also 
find emotional support points or guides for the words to march, process 
and progress. What resulted was as much as the end for a song as its 
beginning, a beautiful feeling that the simplicity achieved was only 
possible and meaningful in that specific moment, in that perfect balance 
devoid of past and future, only the perfect finished present. I remember 
leaning on the rail for the full duration of the song, not even moving, 
some tears popping throughout and a hazy feeling of incredulity mixed with 
some proud that all that had happened to me for real, that I was really 
there in this time and place. I remember also a feeling of untimeliness, 
which is ironically pertinent and I specially remember at the end of the 
song, when Bob sang/said "Key West is...", he stopped, looked down at the 
keys for some se". In a way, it made perfect sense and it felt just like 
that too.

From there, the whole show was dreamlike stuff, with an specially 
incredible and moving 'Baby Blue', featuring a piano solo that made some 
of us cheer and applaud just to thank for the art it conveyed, and also 
with Bob putting so much effort and emotion in the phrasing throughout the 
whole song, as if those crazy patterns on the sheets were being followed 
by his voice trying to draw that strangeness of an all over new start. Bob 
sang ;Made Up My Mind' with an extreme amount of tenderness and gusto, 
making us truly feel the evocative movements of the song and again ending 
with us in our own private Idaho leaning on the rail, dreaming awake, and 
I specially remember the strength of "I don’t think I could bear to live 
my life alone" and not only because the meaning it has for me but more so 
because of the meaning it seemed to have for Bob himself, his voice 
seeming to reach out to the crowd in front, breaking down the distance 
down the stage and saying, too, that it's not dark yet.

I finally had the super fun 'Goodbye Jimmy Reed' I somehow needed the 
whole tour, the primitive rock take indeed, Bob bending his knee and I 
could clearly see his foot tapping super-fast and the rhythm, and I closed 
my eyes during one of the sudden fast breaks and felt so great to be there, 
to disregard even all emotions, to just wave free either forward or 
backwards and to see it on the fury of the moment. Speaking of which, 
seldom I've felt so focused in 'Every Grain of Sand' word by word to the 
point that, when the temptation's part arrive, I analysed my rights or 
wrongs and got really distracted by them calling out my name to then be 
brought back by Bob's stating that "there's someone there" and then those 
one by two closing harp solos, the second one raising the spirits, getting 
into us all, cheers and tears and, yes, the show ended. Bob turned around 
to both choirs and he folded his hands towards us the East bobcats, all 
thanking him crazily, in one last image to burn in me before he trotted 
away. He did a very rock star gesture towards the stalls at the other side 
before going off stage.

Familiar faces started to pop up, we took some pictures with the stage and 
the venue, we celebrated what an incredible show that one had just been 
and we headed towards a nearby pub. We had such a beautiful post-show 
gathering, really had such an insane amount of fun and laughs and let me 
say just one thing: we'll be having more in 2025, it just felt that way.