For the first time in four months, Los Angeles was under a steady rain. And, for the first time in three years, Bob Dylan, who has written such rain-themed songs as "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall," "Buckets of Rain," and "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35," brought his traveling tour to L.A. Wednesday’s concert was at the Palladium Theatre, which hasn't sorted out its sound system since re-opening last year. This didn't bode well for Dylan's raspy voice, a long-lost casualty in the war against age and cigarettes (recent concert footage had commentators comparing the 68-year-old legend's voice to Cookie Monster), and my negativity rolled in with the clouds.
Honestly, I was worried. I was worried it was going to be a seated show to placate Dylan's ever-aging fan base. I was worried about Dylan's recent material, some of which could have been co-written by Andy Rooney ("Nettie Moore," has the famed protest singer complaining about paperwork and fretting about ripping his pants). And like everyone born after his great live shows (Royal Albert Hall in 1966; Fort Collins in 1976), I was worried about Dylan—you know, the Dylan that appears when all of us think of Dylan is the Dylan of old, cupping his hands around the microphone, bouncing around the stage with The Band and making girls faint. That Dylan has been replaced by Old Dylan, the Dylan of regrettable Victoria Secret commercials and near spoken-word albums. These days, Hamilton Leithauser of The Walkmen sounds more like Dylan than Old Dylan does. Cate Blanchette looks more like him. Old Dylan was picked up by the cops in New Jersey just two months ago, confused and unrecognizable wandering around suburban lawns until a frightened homeowner dialed 911. It was raining that night, too.
I grabbed my coat and prepared for an evening of disappointment.
Bob Dylan arrived onstage with as little fanfare, appearing behind his electric organ when the lights came on. Then, as if he was holding the secret to some mischievous surprise, he proceeded to prove me thoroughly wrong.
First: his voice. Young Dylan would have given his soul to have a voice like Old Dylan has now; it bears the weight of years of service. Its tone may be different than that trademark whine, and it can seem that Dylan is covering his own work, but heard live it packs an unexpected punch.
"Don't Think Twice It's Alright," caused the crowd to explode even though its opening notes were almost unrecognizable. Coming from Old Dylan, the line admonishing the nameless girl for wasting his precious time gained new meaning. He rumbled through a version of "Stuck Inside of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again" but refreshed the melody so it was a sort of Dylan Dylan remix. Even songs I don't care for were given new life. "Ballad of a Think Man" was too sinister for words, and "Nettie Moore," whose lyrics I just scoffed at, sat perfectly in the set, smoking with a beautiful longing for long-lost love. When Dylan sang the lines, "Getting' light outside, the temperature dropped / I think the rain has stopped," the crowd went nuts.
Dylan's band, though not The Band, provided solid backup. Charlie Sexton's guitar foiled Dylan's lyrics perfectly, adding color without out-staging the main attraction . And, you know what? Every note from the guitar, organ, bass, and drum came through the Palladium’s system clean and clear.
In the end, Dylan's performance was a statement of purpose, a closing argument in the debate between those worried about the Dylan of old and those who believe that once attained, legendary status doesn't fade. He arrived on stage a man with as much power over his audience as he did half a century ago.
As if I hadn’t proof enough, the young girl standing next to me actually fainted as Dylan tore into "Cold Irons Bound." Her eyes were wide and serene and her umbrella still clutched in her hand as she hit the ground, another rainy day woman who wanted to get stoned.
Originally in Los Angeles Magazine at: http://www.lamag.com/do/blog.aspx?dt=10/15/2009
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