July 15, 2011
Review by Steven Thwaits
Last night in Costa Mesa Bob Dylan and his band performed a solid, if
somewhat erratic set of the artist's classics, new and old. I don't know
if was the sound in the amphitheater, or my own ears, but this show lacked
the clarity and cohesion of the previous night's performance in Santa
Barbara. One song might be brilliantly focussed and tight, the next
shambling and loose to the point of falling into pieces. Vocals moved from
ragged and nearly careless, to nuanced and sublime, and on some tunes,
like the current stand-out "Ballad of a Thin Man," immensely powerful.
What a surprise, eh? The bandleader does it his way, and sometimes it
doesn't quite work. Songs that featured stellar interplay between the
musicians in Santa Barbara lacked the same chemistry and magic in Costa
Mesa. Sometimes Bob leads the guys into marvels with the keyboard, other
times up the creek. And then Dylan straps on the guitar and they blaze
through a super hot "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'." That one put me in mind of
the glory years of Dylan, Sexton And Campbell, standing in one line with
guitars, smokin' through the rockers. Of course, back then they didn't
have that particular great song to work with.
Then straight into a less than inspired version of "High Water," certainly
a far cry from the controlled frenzy of the night before.
"Tangled Up in Blue" was appreciated by the crowd for it's place in their
heart, but also uninspired to my ears. "Forgetful Heart" was gorgeous,
again. Being a fairgrounds show, a size-able share of drunks and casual
fans (or less) were on on hand, which never adds to the ambiance. People
blabbered through the quiet songs and left for the bathroom. Some of the
older folks in the audience are aging gracefully, like Dylan; others act
like fools. Some are lame, and Bob must be an inspiration of vitality for
them, kicking his legs at the keyboard and going into a deep lean on the
harp solos. Not to mention the life that is undiminished in the music.
Although things have certainly changed. The younger set who meant to be
there were adoring, the ones who were pulled in by forces beyond their
control appeared bored and confused.
It might sound like I didn't enjoy this show but really I had a blast.
Before taking my seat I found myself looking down over the loading zone
ramp for the venue. And here comes Tony Garnier walking in: "hey Tony," I
shout. He looks at me and I give him a big thumbs up, which he returns
with a smile. A couple minutes later, Donny Heron rambles down, grey
jacket in hand: "hey Donny!" He looks wildly around before he sees me
grinning at him. I give him the thumbs up again and he returns it with a
big smile, and says, "hey man, how are you doing?" "I'm great man, but you
rock!" Okay, sort of lame, but I meant it. Another big smile. Well, I'm
already satisfied but a few minutes later here comes George Recile,
looking a little drowsy or irritated, walking down the ramp. I don't want
to bug him but hey, the drummer needs to be appreciated, too. Softly this
time, "hi George." I give him the positive force and get a little smile
out of him, and the thumbs up back.
Well, I know Bob isn't coming down that ramp, but what do you know, there
goes Charlie Sexton back up it, carrying something bizarre, looks like a
water ballon or an udder, wrapped in a piece of cloth. It looks heavy and
wet and it seems to be troubling him. Jeez, I don't know what it was.
Five minutes later he comes back down, tucking in his dress shirt, smoking
a ciggie, looking all disheveled. By this time I am well into my rock star
appreciation cadence: "Hey Charlie!" He smiles up. "You rock, man!"
(creative as ever, I know). But he smiles again, appreciative. I say,
"hey, ask Bob to play "I and I!" At this his smile grows bigger: "Yah,
right," he says, shaking his head and still grinning. I knew it was a
crazy impossible request, hasn't been played in over a decade, but the
song was on my mind. I doubt Bob takes requests, even from his lead
guitarist. I guess I was thinking if they did play it, I would know it was
at my suggestion! No such luck. But it was fun seeing those guys and I
felt like they were happy at the acknowledgment, instead of bothered.
Have a good time at the shows everyone. Might be a while before I catch
another, back home in the Great Northwest.
Comments by Roderick Smith
I watch him now, from afar. A lead soldier toy figure in a glass dome.
He topples onto the stage. Frames of motion missing. His face pale and
timeless. Sudden gestures in the dark. The grey coated band colorless
and hammered. They huddle the night long ripping the fretboard. Watching.
The strange apparition recites more than sings his poetic songs in barking
staccato. The keyboard lit up. Animated and demanding. Little boy cowboy
putting up his dukes against that Charlie fast draw. Calling him out. He
teeters on one leg then the other hunched and balanced between chords that
roar a carnival of sound. Its medicine man lounge show on thunder alley.
The midway is lit like a barn fire. The spinning ferris wheel mandala
blurs the night sky. The calliope cowboy rides the edge of the furious
sound. He runs the band and they look weary. But they pour it on. There
are glints of deep blue sky in some of the songs. Some recognizable nuance
of remembered meaning. Barely. Its a sideshow of cosmic proportions.
Perfect for the fair ground. The voice harsh. Gun powder volleys.
Somewhere nearby a child tosses a ring upon a bottle. A strong man
hammers the monkey bell. A couple is pretending to be lost in a maze of
mirrors. A woman takes aim with an air rifle. Everything is calling from
the midway and beyond here lies nothing.
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