I've planned many trips in these past few years of following Bob quite
around the globe. All of them proved worthy, meaningful and provided long
lasting memories, both up and down the stage. But, if forced to choose,
there was one trip I always felt I extracted too little from it, and that
was the West Coast in 2022. It's funny that, Bob aside (that 'Friend of
the Devil' in Oakland was truly unforgettable), the best bit of those days
was the wonderful day we spent in Yosemite between the triplets in Oakland
and Los Angeles. Strangely, San Francisco left me somehow unimpressed and
I always felt I barely scratched the gritty surface of LA. All in all, I
really felt I had unfinished business over the West. Last year I almost
joined the Outlaw train earlier than planned and went to the Hollywood
Bowl, but ultimately flight prices were too much and I prioritized the
beautiful idea of trekking to Hibbing from Chicago before seeing the
outlaws unfold before me on the last leg of last year's tour. This year,
however, despite having promised myself, and somehow fulfilled, to reduce
the amount of travelling, I couldn't resist the redux call of the West and
I planned the Outlaw adventure around the show in Los Angeles. The appeal
of the Grand Canyon and the first show in Phoenix (I'd have forever
regretted missing 'Mr. Tambourine Man' there...) were an easy call and
with the birthday show so close to that it was a perfect excuse to spend a
few more days to suck out all the angeline juice and then go up North to
wish Bob happy returns. The irresistible easiness of adding the Spokane
show (and what A show it was!) before that with it being most likely the
only Outlaw venue reachable walking 10 mins from downtown, where there is
also an IMAX theatre where we enjoyed the last 'Mission Impossible' the
day before the opening day was just the cherry on top.

With all that heavy bag in my mind, we reached the end of our West Coast
mission. It felt strange waking up in Portland and knowing not only that
it was Bob Dylan's birthday but that you would see him performing that
very night. I was genuinely sceptical about any setlist surprise or even
the show itself being special. I'm happy to say I was half wrong. Indeed,
it was the first Outlaw show in 2025 that saw no setlist changes compared
to the previous one, no guest appearances either; in 2024, when John
Mellencamp busted out 'All Along the Watchtower' in his Outlaw gig in
Cuyahoga Falls, Bob did one of his funniest recent moves opening his
following show with that same song, which he hadn't play since 2018. The
day Bob Dylan turned 84, Billy Strings ended his show with a great cover
of 'Drifter's Escape', which set the mood for Bob going meta again, but of
course he didn't. Apart from the little cheap Christmas tree appearing
again on top of Bob's silverado upright piano, as if some kind of birthday
cake, nothing much tangible on the stage showed that that was no ordinary
date.

To my surprise, Bob Dylan had only played on his birthday three times
before: Paris in '66, Dresden in '00 and St. John's in '08. So, as some
people pointed out, the Ridgefield show in 2025 would be his first time
playing in the US on that date. Some of us the usual suspects gathered
around for that show and, to each their own, planned or hoped for
something special to show Bob some loving. My good friend Peter brought a
couple of big, tacky, plush birthday hats and of course I couldn't resist
to wander around the venue with one of them on, sparking quite a lof of
unexpected "happy birthday!"s, which at first I tried to clarify that it
was Bob's, not mine, but after a while I just played along and ended up
possibly receiving more congratulations than ever before, even than on my
actual birthday.

A great moment was when a young woman in a corner approached us from
behind and quietly asked "it's for Bob, right?", to which we sneakily
smirked. Apparently, according to most people congratulating me, it was
not only Bob's birthday, but also Willie's and also most of those people's
addressing me. The 24th day of May, of all days. Bit by bit, a rumbling
buzz was slowly palpable in the air, which was only glowingly heightened
by another bobcat, Henry, when we met by chance before taking our seats
for the Billy Strings show, and he handed us and quite a nice amount of
people who asked "Happy birthday Bob!" signs that we agreed to raise once
Bob took the stage and during the first song. If when entering the venue
most people seemed unaware that that was not another ordinary day in the
life of Bob Dylan, by 6:20pm it looked that most people close to the stage
knew. Billy Strings performed maybe my favourite show of the four I saw,
with a more nuanced and tender mixture of bluegrass and borderline heavy
metal virtuosism than other nights, all of it capped off with a blistering
'Drifter's Escape' cover. The stage was set then, the tension growing up,
the little Christmas tree made its return for the first time since
Phoenix.

An 84yo Bob Dylan takes the stage for the first time, I can see Peter in
the distance, fairly closer to the stage, with his suit and his top hat,
me doing the proper thing with mine, quite a nice amount of people showing
our "happy birthday" signs during 'Gotta Serve Somebody' and shouting
accordingly, making for a nice contrast between the super subdued
rendition of the opener and our expansive attitude. This is what I'll
remember the most about that night: the invisible energy flowing back and
forth to and fro the stage, the performance itself seemingly being the
acknowledgement from the man of the good wishes directed at him. No
setlist news maybe was the way for Bob to give his all within the songs
and just allow himself to be in a place of content and the songs came like
something natural. 'To Ramona' felt like an amazing example of this:
started truly as a birthday song (the original version feels a bit like
that too) and, halfway through it, Bob picks up a funny rhythm to go
along, a precise, enunciative way of ousting each word and then it comes a
bridge. He stops, picks up the harp and starts a solo that ends a bit
abruptly, and then he picks again the harp and starts a second solo,
combined with a couple of piano notes at the end, before starting two
extra short harp solos that match with that tiny piano riff he has found
somewhere. 'To Ramona' is a song with extraordinary lyrics, complex words
that rhyme and sound incredibly well, too extraordinary I'd even say.
Among all them, the man that penned those lyrics six decades before that
night, seems to me as if he is not sure they can convey the true feeling
behind them, thus the four harp solos, to maybe make an statement, to
maybe concede that he "cannot explain that in lines". Later in the show,
an expanded and mindblowing version of quite the same will arrive.

Songs with self-referencing lines are greatly cheered and celebrated, and
possibly hollered with extra intention from the singer. "I ain't dead, my
bell still rings, I keep my fingers crossed, like the early roman kings"
gets the usual, deserved reaction but I'd say with an extra octane of
power in Ridgefield, people pumped up again to congratulate the man and,
him possibly watching some of us extra energized with hats in hand and
standing there, he cracks a big audible laugh by the end of the song.
Another tamer but equally powerful moment is in the new piercing 'Till I
Fell in Love With You' when he turns back the years and self-prophetizes
that he's "gonna win my way to wealth and fame" but, again, those who
know, know.

Just before 'All Along the Watchtower', a guy behind touches my right
shoulder. "Hey, I hate to be that person but someone a couple of rows
behind is complaining a lot that you're (I was not alone) standing, I love
seeing you enjoy but just so you know". The maneuver of standing in the
Outlaws is in a way a self-protecting one because, if you stand you
diminish a lot the impact of talkers nearby which, in this kind of shows,
can be too much and, also, precisely because the type of shows, is usually
accepted due to the laid back nature of them. If someone politely asks me
to sit, I have no problem at all. We sat down, and the woman right behind
us suddenly tells that "Oh, I'm fine with you standing, I don't like him
(pointing at Bob)"; foreseeing quarrel with two hardcore bobcats, the
husband tries to shush her but she suddenly exclaims "Ha, he doesn't like
him either!", which I find to be a truly funny mid-show exchange and,
thanks to my seat companion's guts, the perfect bulla to stand again. Her
attention caught up by the whole thing, the lady next to me asks me,
during the song, "What it is you like so much about him? (pointing at
Bob)" - "I'll tell you later!", I reply as the wind began to howl. As
presumed, after the show she didn't seem to want to know anymore.

The 'Desolation Row' - 'Love Sick' combo is as incredible as in Spokane,
to be able to stand and embrace those two, so opposed, masterpieces is
such a fulfilling feeling. I get thrilled specially when in 'Desolation
Row' Bob brings back the rare Einstein verse instead of Dr. Filth, with
again a (maybe involuntary) self-reflection when "you wouldn't believe, if
you looked at him, but he was famous long ago" that makes me feel so
fortunate to be there, celebrating the man and the art in his day. The
guitars let loose in 'Love Sick' are something to behold.

Possibly until the Spokane show, the first time I really listened to
'Blind Willie McTell' live since in LA I was mostly in shock during the
whole song that that was happening for real, I had never realized how
wise, deeply wise, this song is. The whole Spokane performance felt like
pure, arcane wisdom projected in my brain, can't explain exactly how or
why yet but it just felt that way, maybe it was the extreme confidence
mixed with the "God is in his heaven" part (un)balanced with the "I'm
gazing out the window" ending lines but unadultered wisdom is the best way
to describe it. The Ridgefield rendition falls into that territory, a
milestone for those of us who come to the shows to go with something
cherishable within. Since those Spokane-Ridgefield renditions, despite
'Blind Willie McTell' being possibly the biggest setlist shocker for me
ever (also can't exactly explain why but I had real conviction I would
never see it live), I didn't exactly understand why some considered it one
of Bob's greatest songs, but now maybe I know.

Seeing Bob Dylan, on his 84th birthday, closing a show with 'Don't Think
Twice', maybe another self-reflection song but this time more from the
individual point of view rather than the artist's, is an understandable
powerful thing in itself, but what was unexpected, at least to me, was how
the song, and thus the show, ended. "I can't hear you anymore", the same
as 'Mr. Tambourine Man' lyrics, doesn't convey the same things from a
youngster than from and old man, as it happens with "you just kind of
wated all of my precious time", or that tiny but touching lyric change
where, instead of "I just say fare thee well" he sings "I just wish you
well". After all, the closing harp solo: Bob kept blowing, but really
blowing, hard wind all the way, to the point it felt more a puff than a
blow, as if he was about to break the damn instrument, trying to reach a
place too good for a word and take us all along. In a way, he succeeded,
and funnily, the second he left the stage, a big part of the audience
broke into a cacophonic but heartfelt "happy birthday" with the aim of
bringing him back. For sure he heared us so, in a way, we suceeded.

I visited Taliesin West, I made it to the Grand Canyon, I held a real
Oscar, I was in the studio where 'Vertigo' was filmed, I paid my respects
to David Lynch, I touched the Pacific Ocean and I attended the best movie
projection of my life, Yasujiro Ozu's 'Floating Weeds' at the Egyptian
Theatre in Hollywood. I saw Bob Dylan playing songs for me, telling me to
not think about today until tomorrow. For an artist who doesn't look back,
I can't help but to do it and feel grateful, someday maybe I'll really
unpack my memories and will find something new within but until then I'll
keep printing the feelings.