Dylan Rocks Pittsfield
Not Quite Like a Rolling Stone
By: Charles Giuliano - Aug 30, 2006
Lightning never strikes twice in the same spot, but, whatever, the Bob Dylan Endless Tour returned to the ancient little ball field just behind the hospital in downtown
Our friend Steve grabbed a bunch of tickets when they went on sale through Dylan's site prior to being offered for general sale. This entailed special marking on the ducats that allowed for early admission to the event and the chance to stake out a prime blanket spot in the infield in front of the stage. Somehow, the timing of all that just escaped me. Memory just ain't what it used to be. So we did chores and went swimming arriving home at 4 with a message from Steve, left at 2, to meet in
Arriving at the field just after five, I comprehended Steve's anxious haste. There was a line at the gate turning the corner and running as far away as the eye could see. Folks at the front of the line had arrived mid morning and gave us nasty looks as we were waved on with our special tickets. Jan and Nate went ahead and got a good spot.
But I made a fatal error purchasing a burger and dog outside only to discover a busy vendor inside serving up what looked like tasty Pad Thai and other treats. I downed the burger and washed it back with a tasty Berkshire Steel Rail Ale. At least I wasn't dumb enough to spring for the Bud Light. Less filling, taste sucks.
We scored a great spot. It sure paid off to come before general admission (5:30). Steve had scoped it our earlier in the day and conveyed the bad news that no folding chairs or umbrellas were allowed, a hassle about cameras, and that we would be strip searched for weapons of mass destruction or contraband food. A bottle of water cost Astrid three bucks. I mentioned to her that she could have had a decent pint of beer for five. But she doeen't drink.
By now at best it was pushing six. Rather like loading up on snacks in the movies that you have finished before they get through the twenty. Then what? The first of three warm up acts, a chick fiddler, came on at 6:30. She was pretty good I guess and it gave you something to do. But I tried to just lie down and kinda meditate. Getting up and down a lot, under the best of circumstances, is tough on my bones. To break up the monotony I wandered off to take prophylactic p's at the line of saniflushes. The wait got longer with each return visit but as I confined myself to that single beer there was no great crisis. But I wondered about the guy, evidently sloshed, who went into the plastic head with a full beer in each hand. I quipped to however would listen that he would be best advised to just stay in and finish the brewskies. Then I cruised by the concession stands to kill some time. There I found Leslie Taft and then Rick Robbins both
You are probably wondering just what all this has to do with Dylan. Not much actually but I am trying to recapture the ambiance of the experience, which, unless you were downing endless pints of Berkshire Brewing's excellent beer, was like watching paint dry. All around were folks swapping tales of the last twenty Dylan concerts that they had attended and what to anticipate tonight. In the Globe the day before Steve Morse was recounting the ten best Dylan concerts of the more than twenty he had covered. Fact is I had seen more than a few myself in the line of duty as a rock critic but the last one must have been twenty years ago in a tent at
In a lot of ways Astrid was more excited about all this than I was. Lifetime, it was like her second or third rock show. Years ago Baez, of all things, not exactly a rock show. And I reminded her that we saw Dr. John at Mass MoCA which was kindah a rock show. She was dancing and titubating about and just having the old time of her life. Last few years I have been listening to Dylan a lot. Mostly the old stuff like "Another Side of" Blond on Blond" "Highway 61" "Nashville Skyline" all on CD. I have a ton of the old LPs and boots. Dylan was always good for trippin. Masters of War man, far out. Or "Hurricane" and "John Wesley" stuff like that. Also fun in the studio to make stuff with something in the background. Sometimes I blow a Dylan riff by my students just to spook them. What I mean to say, man, if you know what I mean man, is like, Dylan and stuff is like man, you know man, cool and meaningful and stuff man, if you know what I'm saying man and stuff. Or epic. That's for you Mr. Rendo.
The hours and acts dragged on. Junior Brown who plays a contraption mounted on s stand with two guitars. Like Cheap Trick but not really. Can't sing much. Which was also true for Jimmie Vaughan who is the guitar licking brother of Stevie Ray who is like dead and stuff. I saw Stevie lots back in the day.
Finally at precisely 9 pm (we had been hanging out for three and a half hours by then) a scrim dropped the Dylan logo, an Egyptian eye with flames under an ersatz crown. You could get the emblazoned t-shirt at the concession stand for a mere $40. There was a symphonic fanfare, the lights dimmed and then came on again. Crap man, there was Dylan. For real. At last. And a band of dudes all dressed alike in red suits and derbies. Dylan had some kind of black cutaway formal attire with a satin band on the seam of his pants. He was hunkered over an inaudible keyboard sideways to the audience. Everyone howled in excitement and surged toward the stage. The crowd of 6,000 (a disappointing turnout) went wild.
During the first song a dangerous drunk grabbed my arm and insisted that I identify the tune. It wasn't familiar but seemed to contain the repeated word "Casanova." Which didn't make much sense. It was the only word I could identify as Dylan's voice is shot, gonzo, cooked, finished, embalmed, mummified. He just shouts to the rhythm. I tried to move away from the drunk and his intoxicated clutch of buddies who seemed to be partying to the max. Then some sloppy chick slammed into my face and knocked out my contact which I managed to retrieve and reinsert. Everyone asked if I was OK. Hey man, rock 'n'roll.
Listening hard I picked out "Just Like a Woman" "Desolation Row" and "Stuck Inside of Mobile with Those Memphis Blues Again." The fun of a Dylan concert is, apparently, how he fucks over a familiar anthem on any given night. But the aficionados insist that there are soaring, incredible wonderful nights and others when he sucks big time. Depends upon his mood.
What about this night perhaps you want to know? Well, mixed. Always a pleasure to be in the presence of rock royalty. It brings on those acid flashbacks. But also the reality of the present. For whatever reason, Bob likes to perform just about every night somewhere or other. Why not
The entire set was delivered at one tempo, full tilt boogie. Every song was delivered exactly the same. If you knew the tunes you may have enjoyed the variations but Dylan "sings" with zilch for range. That's not true on the classic records where the voice is limited but nuanced. Dylan has evolved into a rap artist. It was hard to tell just what he feels today about those vintage lyrics that moved and motivated a generation (mine). Yes, the voice is gone, but older fans might ask "what voice?" That was then but what about now? Dylan is not the first to have lost his chops only to grasp something different and arguably even more powerful and poignant as his delivery resonates with life experience. Like hearing the late phase of a Sinatra or Billie Holiday. The voice isn't there any more but replaced by something else. Phrasing and feeling. Dylan, arguably has that on any given night. I just wondered and agonize over whether this was one of those great, cathartic nights. Maybe. Perhaps not. To adequately answer that I would have to attend about twenty more performances.
At precisely 10:30 he was off. A minute or two passed when a guy next to me said "What do you want to bet he'll come back with 'Like a Rolling Stone.'" Well, you guessed it. But so different man. Wiggy. Followed by "Everyone Must Get Stoned." By then, actually, everyone was stoned. More or less. At 10:45, precisely, the encores were over. A ninety minute set and fifteen minutes of encores. You could set your clock by it. Good heavens. He faced the audience. Just stood there looking at us. The crowd went wild.