Live Review: Bob Dylan

Important guest information is communicated via the Margaret Court Arena website in the lead-up to Bob Dylan's shows: "For this performance video recording and photography of any kind (including from a smartphone) is prohibited. We thank you in advance for your cooperation."

Upon arrival, venue staff communicate updated information to audience members: the artist has actually requested that all phones be switched off throughout the entire performance. We're warned that those clocked using their phones during the show will be politely warned once then ejected from the arena if they're busted doing so again. And boy do security guards enforce Dylan's request! Even sashaying halfway across long rows to deliver stern warnings to those Googling information about Dylan's band of virtuosos or attempting to video a sneaky grab of their favourite song.

The house lights dim. Mad applause and much whooping. Dylan's band wander onto the stage through a gap in the back curtain, settle in and tune for a bit before their bandleader materialises, trademark-shuffling with that unruly mop that would be identifiable from the moon. Things Have Changed struts into the mix, Dylan taking his position behind a forward-facing, stage-left piano. Those sneaky drum beats, dealt with barely any body movement, but rather deft, stylish flicks of George Receli's wrists. (The drummer's Wipe Out-referencing solo later on in the set would've resulted in thousands of camera phones being held aloft to record evidence were it not for Dylan's strict orders.) 

You know what? Seeing zero phones illuminating inside the stadium creates a meditative space for this fully engaged audience. Punters barely even shift in their seats. No head or chin scratchers are spied throughout. Isolated crowd members holler to claim their fave song and scattered groups rise up appreciatively outta seats following certain songs (and we're pretty sure they're not stretching their legs). 

Dad plus one leans in to share a cracking observation on Dylan's svelte physique: "He wouldn't even give a crow a feed!"

Highway 61 Revisited makes us ever so glad Dylan chose to roll with it. Those cheeky, knowing occasional strums that sound like sly winks! Lead guitarist Charlie Sexton's spiky silver hair looks like static against the black curtain as if electricity courses through his fingers and out through his follicles — the man is a force. 

Dylan's harp blasts catch us by surprise after the midpoint of Simple Twist Of Fate. Duquesne Whistle doesn't blow.

Leaning into his keyboard, Dylan alternates being seated with standing up and adopting a super-wide Suzi Quatro stance. Occasionally he shuffles over to instruct a member of his crack backing band or just pose centrestage, one hand on the hip he's not sinking into, to soak up our adulation.

Bass guitarist Tony Garnier permanently sits in a groove and all of Dylan's band members often seem to instinctively adjust according to their boss's whim. We're mesmerised by Donnie Herron's masterful multi-instrumentation (pedal steel, lap steel, electric mandolin, banjo, violin) and we certainly can't leave rhythm guitarist Stu Kimball out of the equation — each piece of this band fits perfectly within Dylan's sonic puzzle.

Pay In Blood is spat out menacingly by Dylan, whose croaky delivery here would give Marge Simpson's chain-smoking twin sisters a run for their money. A dude about four rows back in the stalls stands up and then loudly rings a bell during one song and no one reacts. Love Sick is wonderfully despondent, but so captivating in how it all unfolds. We swear Gotta Serve Somebody is given a rollicking Peter Gunn treatment — one of the too-many-to-mention set highlights tonight. 

Dylan and his band leave the stage, but soon return (before panic sets in) for a two-song encore. 

In this particular live arrangement, Blowin' In The Wind truly swings. Ballad Of A Thin Man ("Yeah, good one, dad") is robust with Nobel Prize-worthy lyrics ("Ah, you've been with the professors and they've all liked your looks/With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks.")

Dylan shuffles over to meet his bandmates halfway and stands with one hand on hip for a final time this evening before they all bow heads in unison and then disappear behind the curtains from whence they came.

All audience members are upstanding, clapping hopefully. Then (sadly) the house lights illuminate as we groan our collective disappointment. Then reach into pockets for our phones.