On The Road Again
by Glen Dundas

2001’s last show was in Boston on November 24th. It was my 200th Bob Dylan concert, something that I tell very few of my friends at home about, but nevertheless an occasion that prompted congratulatory handshakes from many in the entourage that had followed the tour’s last half dozen shows as it wound its way from Philadelphia up through the northeast coast of the United States. Peter Vincent, an old friend from England whom I had first encountered over a Manchester dinner 12 years previously, coincidentally attended his 200th Bob show that night as well, and celebratory refreshments flowed afterwards, the tone of the evening no doubt heightened by the knowledge that is was all over, for everyone, for one more season of touring. The late-night gathering in someone’s hotel room included at least four people who had seen even more shows than Peter and I had, and was consequently well rehearsed on this theme.

Because that’s become the principal reason why I still do it: the pre- and post-concert camaraderie, the travel, the stories, the friendships, etc. Dylan has become, over the years, the excuse for being there, not the ‘raison d’être’ anymore. Where Bob has visited, the people I know went as well, and so I did too. Nobel Prize-winning physicist Richard Fineman said it better than I can: ‘It’s the spirit of doing things, not the reason for doing them that is life’.

It has become increasingly difficult to utilize that excuse, however, and get out on the road for these past several years. The last major set of concerts that Madge and I undertook was in 1995 (if one ignores the British trek in 2000, for which the opportunity to explore the sights from the Isle of Skye through Portsmouth was the principal rationale). Dylan’s performance has generally improved during that period, but any collector will tell you that it is difficult to be very excited over most of that period’s set lists.

So when I heard that Dylan was recording last May, optimism took over, and I calculated that a new release could be effected by September, and a tour with the new songs engaged undertaken over the next two months. We planned our vacations that way, so we could hit the road for 10 days each in October and November, taking in our biggest batch of shows in several years, with the concerts themselves the main attraction.

But not before one last fling with the old songs. Dylan’s summer shows in the Midwest kicked off with a state fair appearance in Des Moines, Iowa on August 10th, a Friday, and since that was one of the few shows of 2001 within reasonable driving distance (20 hours round trip), and because my good friend Ken Keiran lives there and would also attend, and because Josh Nelson had proposed flying into Minneapolis from New York and would therefore share four hours of otherwise lonesome travel with me, I decided to go. Seems like a lot of non-Dylan reasoning involved there, but I guess that accurately reflects my state of mind.

This was one of the very few times I’ve sat in the audience and wondered why in the name of hell I’m doing this. Somewhat typically for a tour opener, Dylan was going through the motions (maybe he wonders why in the hell he’s starting another round of this incessant touring), the sound system sucked, the set list (except for ‘I Threw It All Away’) was typically mundane, and I couldn’t help but wonder how the people at the far reaches of the grandstand (across the racing track from the stage) could possibly see Dylan at all.

The next day I spent with Ken and his family, and that rescued the weekend by some, but the long drive back home on Sunday left me with doubts on the advisability of spending that much time and money on something that just maybe had lost its flavour. Josh attended the two subsequent shows and reported that both were much better in all respects, but lingering doubts remained.

An early copy of "Love And Theft" thankfully arrived here before the tickets went on sale. Despite the many accolades collected by Time Out Of Mind, I’ve not been particularly enamoured with it. Couple of great songs, much of the remainder improved upon in live performance, but not something I go back to very often. I loved this new CD from the first playing, however, and played it constantly for the 2-3 weeks preceding September 11th (ironically, the official release date), when other matters of the world consumed us all. But it was with increased anticipation that I returned to the Midwest, along with Madge, in late September.

From the tour’s very beginning, Dylan had woven in much of the new material. Four songs each the first two nights in Washington State, then five for the two Oregon shows confirmed Dylan’s interest in the new album.

(From Oregon, too, came the wire services’ story of Dylan, because of the added security now enforced at many venues, being denied admission to the theatre because the guard there didn’t recognize him. The stories painted a picture of a spiteful Dylan then demanding the guard’s dismissal. The tale seemed apocryphal, and I later talked with someone who witnessed the incident and who described a playful Bob, who joked through the entire seven seconds it took for the scene to unfold. The security person, a female, had just then been stationed at the entrance, and as Dylan did not have a backstage pass, she tried to block his passage. When asked if a nearby roadie could identify him, he smiled, saying ‘No, but my drummer could’. Simply moving on, he then remarked that the guard would probably ‘do a good job at the front door searching people’.)

St. Paul was first for us. Most venues offered general admission, standing on the floor, and this daunted me considerably. I’m short, so gaining a decent vantage point is always a problem, and I have little patience with talkers and screamers, so I am easily distracted on the floor. This first venue was the only one where I was so relegated (because of the lack of decent reserved seats), and it was pretty much a disaster. Two people simultaneously fainted beside us and cries of ‘Doctor, Doctor’ pretty well ruined ‘Summer Days’.

The area’s general pandemonium severely lessened my enjoyment of three of the other "Love And Theft" songs as well. Strangely, ‘Sugar Baby’ was the one song that shone through. I say ‘strangely’ because that’s my least favourite of the new selections played that evening, and because it demands the attention of the audience to be appreciated. For the song’s seven-minute duration, however, that’s exactly what happened, and the crowd’s silence was repeated in virtually every show thereafter – somewhat magically for a song virtually unknown to the rabble-rousers down front.

Two nights later ‘Mississippi’ made its first of what turned out to be (for me) six performances, and made the Chicago show worthwhile by itself. It’s a great Dylan song, and there wasn’t an unsatisfying execution among the six.

‘High Water’, a great enough song on "Love And Theft", had seemed to me to offer promise to be even better live, and it did not disappoint at any show. The opening notes of Larry Campbell’s banjo kicked off what promised to be a rollicking five minutes, and that promise was fulfilled each and every night.

A couple of my close friends find ‘Summer Days’ to be the most annoying track on the release, one comparing it to Brian Setzer’s brand of big-band rock. The dominating bass-rift reeks of old-time boogie-woogie, of course, very similar to what Bill Haley was doing back in the mid-fifties. It’s less noticeable live, more pure rock ‘n’ roll, which Dylan used to fire things each night after the acoustic set.

Milwaukee on Sunday night was memorable for two reasons. ‘Lonesome Day Blues’ is a personal "Love And Theft" favourite and it was the fifth song that night. Dylan’s coarse vocals meld perfectly with the song’s blues riffing, and he marched through it enthusiastically most every night. We also had seats that were comfortable – first row on the side, about a third of the way back, just a foot or so above ground level – and where the sound system seemed to perform very well.

Sitting beside me were two ladies who leaned back, put their feet up on the boards in front, obviously loved the show and, best of all, never uttered a peep all evening. Appreciating their appreciation, I offered to send them a CD of the concert as a souvenir, as soon as I received a copy, if they would confirm their interest by writing to me. One did write, and the joy at the recording’s receipt that she later expressed by e-mail encouraged me to repeat the gesture at future concerts. Whenever I was allowed to remain undisturbed throughout a show by a neighbour’s politeness, they were rewarded, and both of us added a new friendship.

‘Cry A While’ made its first appearance for us in Green Bay. The song’s varied tempo and thinly veiled vindictiveness, with accompanying humour, make this another of the new album’s best offerings, no less so in concert. With so-so reserved seats, a friend’s offer to share space at the stage barrier was too good to refuse. I’m not sufficiently rewarded by a front row view to stand in line for hours beforehand, but it is worthwhile to see a concert every year or so from that vantage point.

I could see, from up close, how easy these shows seem to be for Dylan. A hundred shows, year after year, take away the nerves, so it must be more of a problem for him to overcome the boredom. Dancing maniacs and pretty girls in front help somewhat, I’d guess, but a new batch of great songs must also alleviate the repetitious nature of his occupation. He’s very workmanlike, with the new quickly blending in to form what is now a very professional stage show. I’m unsure how much I like that aspect, sometimes longing for some of the olden days’ slipshod spontaneity, but the bigger and more middle-of-the-road audiences surely appreciate it. Seeing 15-20,000 people on their feet cheering has to be extremely satisfying for the man, after some 25 years of lukewarm reviews and lessened idolatry.

At Madison, a reprise of ‘Mississippi’, bolstered by ‘Visions’, ‘This World Can’t Stand Long’ and my second listen to a live ‘Moonlight’ couldn’t save the night for me. First a pretty young screamer (the pretty ones are always the worst – no one ever tells the pretty ones to shut up), then four old friends who were so impressed with themselves, meeting up at a Bob Dylan show, that they talked about it (loudly) all evening.

We missed the next three weeks, picking up the tour in Philadelphia, where Dylan did what appeared to be a practice run-through of the concert he was scheduled to give two nights later in New York City. Very similar set list, very different (and indifferent) performance, maybe the worst of the fall shows that I saw.

As expected, Dylan was up for The City, and The City, in the wake of September 11th, was ready for him. Nothing unusual in the set list, except for the anticipated ‘Tom Thumb’s Blues’, but the renditions of both the new and old songs manifested the spirit the recovering citizenry both needed and wanted. Dylan spoke a few words, a rare event in 2001, noting that the vast majority of the songs played that night, including those from "Love And Theft", were either written or recorded in New York.

Tiny Uncasville gave Dylan, in the wake of the tour’s venue highlight, a chance to break from the established routine. He didn’t do any of the new selections until well into the set (‘Cry a While’), and did only four all night. Throwing in some of the more rarely heard songs of the fall, including a lovely ‘I Threw It All Away’, it seemed as though he was regrouping for the final three concerts of 2001.

Instead he seemed to go to sleep, as Manchester, NH rivalled Philadelphia for humdrum honours. But after the Thanksgiving Day break the energy rebounded again in Portland, Maine. He roared through the evening, and it was becoming more evident how well the "Love And Theft" offerings blended with the old and the not-so-old. My position in the Civic Arena was quite similar to where we sat in Milwaukee, except that we stood. We leaned on the hockey boards, slightly elevated for an enhanced view, and with the boards’ width giving a buffer between us and fans standing on the opposite side.

Three were immediately in front of us, and I noticed that they were very attentive, as were another couple beside me who, to my great pleasure, refused to let by any of the seemingly hundreds of people who tried to walk in front of us. I repeated my offer of souvenir CDs to both groups, and I later chatted by telephone with them. They were new to Dylan concerts and all were overwhelmed by what they had seen. Curiosity had brought them out, albeit with middling expectations, but the professionalism and energy of the show had clearly won Dylan new fans, although I’m sure that the "Love And Theft" songs impressed them no more than the others.

Boston’s performance was a fitting enough finale to the tour, and also an acceptable 200th, although unremarkable in performance or song choice. All in all, the 10 songs from this latest collection that I saw Dylan perform (‘I missed “Po’ Boy”’) surmounted the hassles and costs of the touring, making personal attendance worthwhile again. But things have changed, as for the first time since I began this nonsense back in 1989 I prefer the album cuts to the stage show, and still play them regularly on my car’s stereo, in preference to the usual concert CDs.