Live Review: Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan’s Never Ending Tour recently ticked over the 30-year mark, the man and his entourage snaking around the world essentially non-stop and performing literally thousands of shows during which humankind’s greatest songwriter has grown gracefully from his late-40s to his late-70s without any sign of wanting — nor needing — to hang up the boots. 

With tonight’s Brisbane show being the last of the current Australian run, there’s been a lot of noise of late about how the great man goes about his business these days. That static has largely surrounded Dylan altering the arrangements of his well-known songs to the point that often only the lyrics provide a recognisable signpost to origin, as if an artist has an obligation to trot out note-perfect renditions of their well-known songs in concert mode out of respect for their fans. 

Granted in huge arena situations like this, faithful versions of the hits are the norm — and definitely the path of least resistance for all involved — but Dylan’s never really been one for convention. Plus some of the tunes for which he’s best-known are over 50 years old now: imagine not just having played them over that duration but also essentially having performed them non-stop for over three decades straight. Therein lies the path to madness.

So we turn out en masse with all this in mind and are treated to a magnificent two-hour master class in stately rock’n’roll, Dylan holding court from behind a baby grand piano on stage left, his distinctive silhouette obvious even from a distance and in the dim production lighting. His accomplished five-piece band is clad in matching suits with elegant silver jackets, elegantly sartorial without taking focus away from the main attraction. 

Lead guitarist Charlie Sexton kicks off Things Have Changed to open proceedings, Dylan soon jumping in with his raspy vocals — his voice still readily identifiable despite being ravaged by the passing of time — while the rhythm section of long-time sidekick Tony Garnier on bass and drummer George Receli lock in immediately to provide a strong foundation for the excursions to follow. Dylan remains seated behind the piano for the slower tunes like It Ain’t Me Babe, Simple Twist Of Fate and When I Paint My Masterpiece, while for more up-tempo numbers like Highway 61 Revisited, Summer Days and the rollicking Honest With Me, he stands behind the baby grand with legs askance, as if steadying himself for the pure rock’n’roll coursing through his being. 

Dylan has been steadily releasing albums this whole time but largely eschews tracks from these releases in favour of old staples, a couple of numbers from 1997’s Time Out Of Mind in Trying To Get To Heaven and Make You Feel My Love acquitting themselves well before he moves into relatively recent territory with Pay In Blood (from 2012’s Tempest) before flitting right back to the mid-‘70s with the timeless Tangled Up In Blue, the avant arrangement barely recognisable, but the song still fascinating in this new setting. It’s as if the people who’ve been complaining about this current Dylan paradigm are focussing on what’s not there rather than what’s actually happening in front of them — you can see both sides of the argument for sure, but someone with this many runs on the board surely demands our trust.

The band — rounded out by rhythm guitarist Stu Kimball and multi-instrumentalist Donnie Heron — are incredibly versatile throughout, working as a unit as they mine authentic blues for Early Roman Kings before turning on a dime for a playful version of the classic Desolation Row — during which Dylan emerges from behind the piano for the first time, taking centre stage and holding a rock’n’roll pose with the microphone stand jutting out at a 45-degree angle behind him for the duration — then returning adroitly to a deep bluesy shuffle for Love Sick. 

Suddenly we’re transported right back to the early ‘60s with Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright — given a pleasant country lilt by Herron’s pedal steel — during which Dylan’s sultry voice soars in a way that strips back time, dripping with emotion and gravitas, before he brings it home with a roaring harmonica break that gets the crowd on their feet en masse for the first time. 

A boogie introduction welcomes Thunder On The Mountain, while the sombre Soon After Midnight betrays an underlying ray of optimism and things are brought to a finish with a sprightly take on Gotta Serve Somebody, which they adeptly strip down to bare bones then build up again before shuffling off backstage with nary an adieu.

An encore is a given — time’s on our side and he’s certainly got the songs — and we’re soon treated to two absolute classics: a country lounge version of the eternal Blowin’ In The Wind, which still packs a hefty punch all these years later, then an elegant take on Ballad Of A Thin Man to bring it all home. 

Dylan — who still hasn’t made a solitary utterance all evening — joins his band centre stage and after a cute little Elvis shuffle to the crowd briefly soaks in the adulation before they take a well-deserved bow and again file off into the darkness, this time for good.

We’ve just been treated to two hours of classics from one of the greatest songwriters of all time, one nearly in his ‘80s, who’s still going strong and resolutely doing things his own way, a trait difficult not to admire. It’s a performance by a man at peace with growing old and growing gracefully into his vintage, and at the end of the day, any audience witnessing greatness is ultimately an experience to cherish.