Concert review: Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan

I went to see Bob Dylan in Hamilton on the weekend. My father and I had entered Claudelands Arena with high hopes. I hoped that Bob would deliver a stellar performance that I would remember for years to come and that I would exit the venue with a smile on my face, full of inspiration and positivity. However this is not what happened.

As I sat down with my father in the stands I realised something. The baby-boomer generation were out in force. I could see them, crawling out of the dark corridors. I was surrounded by white/grey haired people with facial hair. The hip people from the 60's were claiming the venue. Sure, there were smatterings of 30 something's, a few nostalgic 20-up year olds and under-20's having been dragged along by their parents to expose them to the phenomenon that is Bob Dylan. But this was an old crowd coming to support the champion of the counter-culture, the jester, the man who no one knows exactly.

A few things to consider before I tackle the concert. I knew going into the event that Bob's voice had deteriorated over the years. I had read that some of his shows in the past were terrible. Having smoked a zillion cigarettes in his life and already having a nasally singing voice, I was going to be hard for him to sing like he used to. Having realised this, I knew this was going to be no Celine Dion show with pitch perfect singing. Another thing I had considered is that Bob is known for being mysterious. He is a very private man, is somewhat reserved in nature and is the quiet, silent type. I wasn't sure how he would be on stage, would he interact with the crowd?

Anyway, the show started right on eight. As it should have. A lone guitar player strummed the band into the first song of the night 'Things have changed.' Bob got one hell of a reception when he opened his mouth. Cheers all round. However, his voice was obviously in bad shape. Had he not warmed it up before-hand? Because it sounded like he was trying to gargle a chainsaw. It was hard to understand the lyrics but he got through the first couple of numbers alright. So far, so good.

Backtracking a bit, I was surprised that there was no opening band. It was just straight to the main act, it was all about Bob. A theme that would later make me leave the concert with a bitter-sweet view of the man.

The band was obviously in great form. Six musicians, dressed in the finest threads, looking rather rustic. Bob was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and was wearing a type of shirt that went down to his knees. He looked like someone who might holiday in Italy on occasion.

After hearing a few of the songs, Bob's voice having now warmed up, improved immensely. He was singing in the cackling, strange way that he does and I was smiling to myself. Here I was, listening to a man whose music had inspired me for years. Here was the man, who was like Elvis in his day. Uber-famous. Everybody who has a bit of music knowledge, knows Bobby.

I remember when I first heard Bob Dylan. I was reading a book in the lounge of my parents' house and my Dad was dilly dallying around with his vinyl records collected over the years. He put on Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits and instantly my ears picked up.

'Who is that?' I asked my father.
'Bob Dylan,' he said.
'He can't sing,' I said.

It was true. His voice was a shock to the system. It kind of whined at you. Taunted you. Made you think of someone trying to sing with a peg attached to their nose. The more I heard, the more intrigued I became. I got a couple of books out from the public library and read about the man. He was interesting.

Anyway, back to the concert. The band had a break after 50 minutes, which I thought wasn't a very long time to play before having a break. I don't understand people. Why can't they just eat and drink before they come out to see a concert? Why the need for all these breaks? People ordering beer, pizza, wine at ridiculously high prices.

I remember thinking to myself during the break that it would be nice if he interacted with the crowd a bit more. The show lacked connection. He wasn't making an effort to tailor the show to the Hamilton crowd. He just sang his songs and walked off. Just before the break, he said 'Thank-you' which was great but that was all. I wanted him to tell stories, maybe crack a joke; maybe give the audience an inkling of his personality. He could have just said 'How's it going Hamilton? Great to be here with you tonight. Thank you for supporting my music over the years, I wouldn't be here without you. This one's for all the fans...' This would have endeared him more to the crowd. But he did no such thing.

As the night progressed, I realised one thing. Bob hides behind the music. He did his own thing and that was to ignore making an effort to interact with the audience and emotionally connect. To be honest the concert was a bit of a downer. We exited the arena to the sound of apocalyptic orchestral music. It was surreal.

I felt short-changed. Even the encore songs were less than good. He forgot some of the words to 'All along the watchtower' and played a muddled version of 'Blowing in the Wind'. The problem was that the performance was not captivating. I thought that at the end of the night, he could have at least introduced the members of his band and said a word of thanks, but no. We got the silent treatment as the band members stood together to much applause and then returned to the dark shadow of the stage.

It was a strange experience. I felt like I knew Bob Dylan less now than before the concert. I felt disconnected. He had not brought me into his world, but rather seemed to make the distance between artist and fan more profound. I had to be realistic. Bob is in his seventies. For an old-timer is was a good performance. Sure it was no Kanye show, but it was interesting. Not amazingly enjoyable but interesting. Like when a dog licks your hand for no reason.

Angus Wishart is a music enthusiast from the sprawling metropolis of Waikite Valley. He enjoys composing melancholic songs, critiquing musical legends and failing at a teaching career.