10 November 2019

Last night I had one of the most profound experiences of my life.

I traveled alone to Akron to see Bob Dylan and his band on their current fall tour, another leg of the allegedly “Never-Ending Tour.” I got to the city in the late afternoon and parked directly across from the venue, just up the street from where Dylan’s tour buses were parked. Walking past those buses as I spilled coffee on the sleeve my new coat, wandering around to find my bearings and a place to eat, I felt like I was being watched, but never looked around to confirm. Eyes forward, as if no buses existed. Just blend in with the leafless trees, I thought. I ditched the coffee in a nearby trash can and walked a few blocks downhill to a restaurant where I drank a decent pilsner and listened to the four gentlemen at the table next to me. I turned and asked them if they were going to the show tonight and the one gentleman showed me his shirt that read simply: “Dylan For President.”

They told me about how they had already seen him on this tour a few times and were following him to Pennsylvania next. They each took turns telling me how many times they had seen him through the years and asked if I was going to the show as well and how many times had I seen him. “This is my first show,” I replied, and they told me with great awe and warmth that I was in for an excellent time and that I would not be disappointed. I pulled up a screenshot of the setlist from the Irvine, California show and one of the gentlemen confirmed that those were the songs Dylan would be playing, and that the last two songs were the encore songs. He also warned me: “He will start the show promptly at 8pm, so make sure you are in your seat, and no photos, either.” I confirmed that I knew the policy about photos, and he very sternly said Dylan would and had in the past ended the show early if there were too many people taking photos. We both cringed at each other and I said I would rather enjoy the show and be in the moment instead of taking blurry photos. I paused then, and the concept of being here now came fully formed into my mind. The reverie broke when the gentlemen invited me to their pre-show tailgate, where they were going to crack open a new bottle of Heaven’s Door whiskey and maybe smoke a joint or two before going to the venue. I told them that if I could find them, I would join them, but I never did until right before the show, when I was in line for merch. That’s probably for the best.

I finished my meal surrounded by an ever-growing chorus of people and noise and silently trekked uphill in the cold, back to my car to wait out the next hour before going inside the concert hall. Once I found my seat I took two pictures of the stage, empty of humans but populated with mannequins, bare lamps with lightbulbs in cages, and various instruments including an upright piano. Immediately after taking the photos, an usher reminded me that no cameras would be allowed during the show, and that anyone violating this would be removed from the venue. I put away my phone, and a woman and her husband sat next to me. We joked about the no photos policy and then she took a few pictures of the stage, the audience behind us, a selfie of her and her husband, a selfie of her and me. Later during the show, a young woman a couple rows up was quickly and quietly removed from the show for taking pictures. But in the anticipation before the show, it was a comedy to us, a release of tension. Not long after our conversation, the lights dimmed, and the show began…

I have no basis of comparison for seeing Bob Dylan in concert, only what other people have told me and what I’ve read online. I knew that he reworked his songs into different styles, so that if you didn’t know the lyrics, you wouldn’t immediately recognize them, which has been a source of disappointment for many of his fans. Having the confirmed setlist in advance was therefore helpful, and I’m glad I had saved it. That said, what he does with his songs is beautiful. He tears them down and then builds them up anew. His voice sounds as good as any of his recent recorded albums, so if you are familiar with those – a low, earthy growl that sometimes still soars – you will not be disappointed in his live show, at least not on this tour. Word is that this is the best he has sounded in concert in decades and maybe that’s the truth. I thought he sounded wonderful.

Dylan’s also 78 years old, and so he is showing his age. He entered the stage slowly, wearing a black suit limned in rhinestones, white collared shirt, and the ubiquitous bolo tie. Hair disheveled, he played guitar on the opening song, “Things Have Changed,” and again on the first encore song, “Ballad of a Thin Man,” something he apparently hasn’t done in several years of concerts. The rest of the time, he was sitting or standing behind the piano, or positioned in front of the band with microphone and harmonica in hand, upright in a power stance or doing little dance steps and gesturing to the audience. He sounds as good on his instruments as ever, maybe with a little less fire and intensity. He doesn’t talk to the audience or engage them between songs, but he does smile and smirk and give an occasional meaningful look to the crowd during the performances. The new renditions of his songs are brilliant and add deeper layers to what are already poetic melodies. They may now be ballads, or blues jams, or foot-stomping rockers when they weren’t before. What matters is what they are now in the moment he plays them for you. If you want to listen to how they sounded when he first recorded them, I say this with all sincerity: go listen to the original recordings. Don’t go to the live show. But if you are looking to see an artist who is willing to destroy and recreate his work because ultimately it is his and no one else’s, go see Dylan in concert, and on this tour if you can.

For myself, I spent most of the first part of the show with my hand to my mouth, in complete awe. By the end of the show, I realized my face hurt from both smiling and from holding back tears like a complete fool. I lost that particular battle during three songs: “Simple Twist of Fate,” “Lenny Bruce,” and “Not Dark Yet.” By the way, there’s an audio track of “Not Dark Yet” that’s on YouTube from this tour – if you want to know how Dylan sounds these days, it’s exactly that recording. I don’t know when I last cried at a concert. It didn’t seem foolish, though; it was transcendent. I never knew an artist could affect me at such a cellular level, not since I discovered George Harrison decades ago, and I’ve only recently gotten deep into Dylan’s work outside of the most popular tracks. I spent more for this show than on any other before, but I don’t regret it a bit. It was worth it to connect to strangers over love of an aging performer in a late-stage peak, to share a brief bond of knowing something special was happening that night. It was worth it to see up close the deep lines on Dylan’s face, his tired hands playing the guitar, the piano, to hear his graveled voice through the microphone.

This could be the last tour for Bob Dylan. If it is, I feel he’s going out on top.