Bob Dylan at the O2 Arena and the Roundhouse
Bob Dylan And His Band
O2 Arena, 25 April 2009
Roundhouse, 26 April 2009
Years ago, in the mid 90s, I saw Bob Dylan for the first time playing Hyde Park. Backed with a ramshackle group of musicians (mostly dressed in blue I remember) including Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood, it was a decidedly disappointing experience despite a set list that included Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues, Positively Fourth Street, Highway 61 Revisited and Don't Think Twice It's Alright, due to a rather unenthusiastic performance by the man himself, where his voice turned almost to caricature. Although I love his music I thought it was probably best to leave his live shows for the hardcore devotees in the future.
Over the past few years though I began hearing fantastic things about his live shows of late: yes, his voice is almost gone but his band is unbelievably tight and he changes up his set list every night, so you never know what you're going to get. This sounded a far more promising prospect and when Mr Dylan and his band announced a show at the O2 arena it sounded good so I jumped on a ticket but things got even better a couple of months later when I, through pure fluke, managed to get tickets to a much, much smaller, more intimate show at the Roundhouse.
I was in for a weekend full of Dylan fun.
Obviously having secured the Roundhouse tickets suddenly the promise of the 20,000 seater show at the O2 became less exciting but I figured it's fairly close to where I live and I get to sit happily through the show like the old lady I'm becoming. I've had better seats at the O2 but my seat for Bob Dylan wasn't too bad. Half way up the lower tier, I was fairly near the front, not close enough to see any of the band's expressions clearly but good enough to tell it was really him, the icon, the legend, the "poet laureate of rock" himself.
The band started promptly at 8.15pm with a familiar tune, a long, grooving version of Maggie's Farm: a really fun way to start the show. I have to admit, having not followed the world of Dylan shows in recent years I was surprised to learn that he no longer plays guitar (there are rumours it's due to arthritis, which could be true, but I imagine it's also down to love of defying expectations) and instead stood side-stage partly hidden behind his Hammond organ and a huge hat that shadowed his face (dressed all in white, he looked like a rock n' roll Rhett Butler). He barely spoke aside from introducing his band at the very end, barely acknowledging the audience all night. These days, it seems, that old Bob doesn't have to rely on any kind of charisma, he has become such a towering icon that merely his presence is enough to strike awe and capture the audience's attention. That said, in some ways it's also a refreshing change from the theatrics and spectacle that dominates so many arena shows: here was Dylan and his band, concentrating on the music and playing as if they were in a far more intimate setting. This sometimes worked beautifully, other times the magic was completely lost in the vastness of the arena.
In fact, this approach was completely lost on a good deal of those in attendance: maybe expecting a light show, witty banter and the songs exactly how they remember hearing them on the radio (Bob certainly didn't deliver on that count), many seemed far more interested in renewing their beer supply and even though the show ended two hours later on the dot the amount of people going in and out of the arena was not only rude and disappointing, it was hugely disruptive and for those who were enjoying the show, managed to break the spell and the mood every time they shuffled past. In my history of concert going, and I've been to a quite a few arena shows during that time, it really has to be one of the worst, most disrespectful crowds I've ever encountered. The people beside me even left 40 minutes before the show had ended and missed out on some of his best songs. Oh well.
As for the set, the one surprise was that it contained none of the new album, Together Through Life, which came out today. I just imagined Bob getting a thrill out of trying untested material on a huge crowd but instead he concentrated on material from his last album, the critically lauded Modern Times (Spirit On The Water, Rollin' And Tumblin', Workingman's Blues #2, Thunder On The Mountain - particularly good) with a lot of re-worked, often unrecognisable versions of his biggest hits (The Times They Are A-Changin', The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll , a surprisingly faithful Like A Rolling Stone, All Along The Watchtower, Blowin' In The Wind) although on the whole they sounded pretty good, in a shuffling, boogie-eque, jamming kind of way. Despite the lack-lustre audience and disinterest from Bob himself, a fairly enjoyable if unspectacular show, but tomorrow will be so much better, I thought.
When we arrived in Camden at just after 2.30pm to pick up the tickets and our wristbands (a fantastic anti-tout measure, where the credit card holder who bought the tickets and their guest were wristbanded upon picking up the tickets) there was already a huge queue of people waiting to get in, hoping to get to the front. It was, afterall, one of the few if only times most people here would ever get the chance to get so close to their idol, especially such a private, elusive one such as Dylan. We opted instead to wait it out in the pub opposite and only joined the, by-then, staggeringly long queue an hour before. Despite this, once in, we secured a place pratically at the front with an awesome view of Mr Dylan.
The one drawback of the night came in the form of a very, very tall, grey-haired, spectacled posh twit in his 40s (at least) who managed to push his way to the front where his friend and pregnant wife were standing. Under the ruse of caring for his friend's wife, he point-blank refused the petite girl behind him when she very nicely and politely asked if she could stand in front of him so she could see (instead of only being able to stare at his back all night) and not only pushed in front of me but stood at an angle digging into me so I couldn't even move. Of course when the pregnant lady and friend decided it was too much for them and opted to go to the back, suddenly all concern disappeared and instead used the opportunity to get to the barrier. Two nights of enduring absolute pricks at Dylan concerts left me feeling that, despite his beautiful lyrics and right-on messages in his music, Bob really had the worst fans. I've been to metal and grunge gigs where fans helped each other and were considerate of other people so that everyone could have a good night, here, during both nights, everyone was simply out for themselves. Pretty sad really.
But on a happier note, the music itself was far superior in the more intimate setting of the Roundhouse. A venue that dates back to the 60s and is indeed completely in the round
, it has around 2,000 capactiy - a 10th of the night before, and Dylan seemed more relaxed and happier in this atmosphere and actually appeared to acknowledge our existence, moving out several times from behind his keyboard and walking to the edge of the stage and nodding and smiling to the crowd (perhaps because the crowd remained rooted throughout the night instead of constantly disappearing for booze). Because of this he treated us with a truly superb, three-song start of Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat, Don't Think Twice, It's Alright and Tangled Up In Blue, all getting a rhythm and blues, groove-filled treatment.
After that smattering of classic tunes and aside from a rocking Highway 61 Revisited and I Don't Believe You, the middle section of the concert concentrated on material from his last three albums (although, again, inexplicably, nothing from the new LP), all fairly shuffling and bluesy, with three from Modern Times (Rollin' And Tumblin', Ain't Talking, Spirit On The Water), two from Time Out Of Mind (Million Miles and Trying To Get To Heaven) and strangely the largest helping from Love And Theft (Summer Days, Po' Boy, Sugar Baby, High Water and Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum). The concert ended on a beautifully faithful but slightly meandering Like A Rolling Stone, and the encore of the mutated but cool All Along The Watchtower, the sweetly calming, countrified Spirit On The Water and Blowin' In The Wind, turned into a jauntily, rocking closing number, was the same as the previous night.
I'm left not knowing what quite to make of it all. Aside from occasionally putting a few touches and flourishes here and there on his Hammond organ and playing some admittedly magical harmonica, Dylan is clearly the weakest member of his band musically (all hugely talented, yet anonymous, wearing black suits and hats, looking like the Dylan blues Mafia) and his voice is pretty much shot, though instantly recognisable, so much so that it's often difficult to make out what he's even saying. But just witnessing him perform and seeing him so close up is such a thrilling experience (and hearing him play such iconic songs), that once again it's hard to separate the myth from the man. I walk out feeling confused, sort of baffled by it all, not sure if it was great or not.
As we made our way out we spotted the very awesome Roger Daltrey from The Who, who had been watching the show from the back (rather than the snotty VIP area of the balcony where we saw Bill Nighy and others looking down on us). Probably still on a high from the gig, without thinking we bounded over to him to speak to old Roge and I'm glad we did, because he's an amazingly nice, down to earth guy who shook our hands and seemed thrilled when we raved about seeing The Who last year at the Indigo and encouraged him to play more Christmas gigs this year. "Nobody does it like The Who, do they?" he said to me grinning, like the cool dude he is. "But old Bob was alright too."
Over the past few years though I began hearing fantastic things about his live shows of late: yes, his voice is almost gone but his band is unbelievably tight and he changes up his set list every night, so you never know what you're going to get. This sounded a far more promising prospect and when Mr Dylan and his band announced a show at the O2 arena it sounded good so I jumped on a ticket but things got even better a couple of months later when I, through pure fluke, managed to get tickets to a much, much smaller, more intimate show at the Roundhouse.
I was in for a weekend full of Dylan fun.
Obviously having secured the Roundhouse tickets suddenly the promise of the 20,000 seater show at the O2 became less exciting but I figured it's fairly close to where I live and I get to sit happily through the show like the old lady I'm becoming. I've had better seats at the O2 but my seat for Bob Dylan wasn't too bad. Half way up the lower tier, I was fairly near the front, not close enough to see any of the band's expressions clearly but good enough to tell it was really him, the icon, the legend, the "poet laureate of rock" himself.
The band started promptly at 8.15pm with a familiar tune, a long, grooving version of Maggie's Farm: a really fun way to start the show. I have to admit, having not followed the world of Dylan shows in recent years I was surprised to learn that he no longer plays guitar (there are rumours it's due to arthritis, which could be true, but I imagine it's also down to love of defying expectations) and instead stood side-stage partly hidden behind his Hammond organ and a huge hat that shadowed his face (dressed all in white, he looked like a rock n' roll Rhett Butler). He barely spoke aside from introducing his band at the very end, barely acknowledging the audience all night. These days, it seems, that old Bob doesn't have to rely on any kind of charisma, he has become such a towering icon that merely his presence is enough to strike awe and capture the audience's attention. That said, in some ways it's also a refreshing change from the theatrics and spectacle that dominates so many arena shows: here was Dylan and his band, concentrating on the music and playing as if they were in a far more intimate setting. This sometimes worked beautifully, other times the magic was completely lost in the vastness of the arena.
In fact, this approach was completely lost on a good deal of those in attendance: maybe expecting a light show, witty banter and the songs exactly how they remember hearing them on the radio (Bob certainly didn't deliver on that count), many seemed far more interested in renewing their beer supply and even though the show ended two hours later on the dot the amount of people going in and out of the arena was not only rude and disappointing, it was hugely disruptive and for those who were enjoying the show, managed to break the spell and the mood every time they shuffled past. In my history of concert going, and I've been to a quite a few arena shows during that time, it really has to be one of the worst, most disrespectful crowds I've ever encountered. The people beside me even left 40 minutes before the show had ended and missed out on some of his best songs. Oh well.
As for the set, the one surprise was that it contained none of the new album, Together Through Life, which came out today. I just imagined Bob getting a thrill out of trying untested material on a huge crowd but instead he concentrated on material from his last album, the critically lauded Modern Times (Spirit On The Water, Rollin' And Tumblin', Workingman's Blues #2, Thunder On The Mountain - particularly good) with a lot of re-worked, often unrecognisable versions of his biggest hits (The Times They Are A-Changin', The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll , a surprisingly faithful Like A Rolling Stone, All Along The Watchtower, Blowin' In The Wind) although on the whole they sounded pretty good, in a shuffling, boogie-eque, jamming kind of way. Despite the lack-lustre audience and disinterest from Bob himself, a fairly enjoyable if unspectacular show, but tomorrow will be so much better, I thought.
When we arrived in Camden at just after 2.30pm to pick up the tickets and our wristbands (a fantastic anti-tout measure, where the credit card holder who bought the tickets and their guest were wristbanded upon picking up the tickets) there was already a huge queue of people waiting to get in, hoping to get to the front. It was, afterall, one of the few if only times most people here would ever get the chance to get so close to their idol, especially such a private, elusive one such as Dylan. We opted instead to wait it out in the pub opposite and only joined the, by-then, staggeringly long queue an hour before. Despite this, once in, we secured a place pratically at the front with an awesome view of Mr Dylan.
The one drawback of the night came in the form of a very, very tall, grey-haired, spectacled posh twit in his 40s (at least) who managed to push his way to the front where his friend and pregnant wife were standing. Under the ruse of caring for his friend's wife, he point-blank refused the petite girl behind him when she very nicely and politely asked if she could stand in front of him so she could see (instead of only being able to stare at his back all night) and not only pushed in front of me but stood at an angle digging into me so I couldn't even move. Of course when the pregnant lady and friend decided it was too much for them and opted to go to the back, suddenly all concern disappeared and instead used the opportunity to get to the barrier. Two nights of enduring absolute pricks at Dylan concerts left me feeling that, despite his beautiful lyrics and right-on messages in his music, Bob really had the worst fans. I've been to metal and grunge gigs where fans helped each other and were considerate of other people so that everyone could have a good night, here, during both nights, everyone was simply out for themselves. Pretty sad really.
But on a happier note, the music itself was far superior in the more intimate setting of the Roundhouse. A venue that dates back to the 60s and is indeed completely in the round
, it has around 2,000 capactiy - a 10th of the night before, and Dylan seemed more relaxed and happier in this atmosphere and actually appeared to acknowledge our existence, moving out several times from behind his keyboard and walking to the edge of the stage and nodding and smiling to the crowd (perhaps because the crowd remained rooted throughout the night instead of constantly disappearing for booze). Because of this he treated us with a truly superb, three-song start of Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat, Don't Think Twice, It's Alright and Tangled Up In Blue, all getting a rhythm and blues, groove-filled treatment.After that smattering of classic tunes and aside from a rocking Highway 61 Revisited and I Don't Believe You, the middle section of the concert concentrated on material from his last three albums (although, again, inexplicably, nothing from the new LP), all fairly shuffling and bluesy, with three from Modern Times (Rollin' And Tumblin', Ain't Talking, Spirit On The Water), two from Time Out Of Mind (Million Miles and Trying To Get To Heaven) and strangely the largest helping from Love And Theft (Summer Days, Po' Boy, Sugar Baby, High Water and Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum). The concert ended on a beautifully faithful but slightly meandering Like A Rolling Stone, and the encore of the mutated but cool All Along The Watchtower, the sweetly calming, countrified Spirit On The Water and Blowin' In The Wind, turned into a jauntily, rocking closing number, was the same as the previous night.
I'm left not knowing what quite to make of it all. Aside from occasionally putting a few touches and flourishes here and there on his Hammond organ and playing some admittedly magical harmonica, Dylan is clearly the weakest member of his band musically (all hugely talented, yet anonymous, wearing black suits and hats, looking like the Dylan blues Mafia) and his voice is pretty much shot, though instantly recognisable, so much so that it's often difficult to make out what he's even saying. But just witnessing him perform and seeing him so close up is such a thrilling experience (and hearing him play such iconic songs), that once again it's hard to separate the myth from the man. I walk out feeling confused, sort of baffled by it all, not sure if it was great or not.
As we made our way out we spotted the very awesome Roger Daltrey from The Who, who had been watching the show from the back (rather than the snotty VIP area of the balcony where we saw Bill Nighy and others looking down on us). Probably still on a high from the gig, without thinking we bounded over to him to speak to old Roge and I'm glad we did, because he's an amazingly nice, down to earth guy who shook our hands and seemed thrilled when we raved about seeing The Who last year at the Indigo and encouraged him to play more Christmas gigs this year. "Nobody does it like The Who, do they?" he said to me grinning, like the cool dude he is. "But old Bob was alright too."
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