Dylan cites the year as 1987. His hand was badly injured, and he wondered if he’d ever perform again. What timing! Two major revelations had just converged to transform Bob’s thinking about his troubling stage act. After years of struggle, he had discovered the keys to unlock his future. Now, his hand was in a cast up to his elbow, and everything seemed more uncertain than it had before his revelations. Everything, it seemed, was up in the air.
Except for one thing, that is. One point was abundantly clear to Bob Dylan: the old way could not continue. Dylan reports in Chronicles that he was “whitewashed and wasted out professionally” by 1987. He’d become an “empty burned-out wreck.” Sean Penn reads: “Wherever I am, I’m a ’60s troubadour, a folk-rock relic, a wordsmith from bygone days, a fictitious head of state from a place nobody knows. I’m in the bottomless pit of cultural oblivion.” Bob Dylan realized that he was, in fact, a pop icon. He tells us how he appreciated his legendary status, but he needed more. Dylan was “lingering” as he anticipated the end. He could no longer kid himself and continue to exploit his talent. A fundamental reorientation was in order. As we’ve seen, it worked. Here we learn how.
Bob faced a serious problem. He was more than unhappy with his treatment of his beloved songs. He felt that those songs had been “sketched out” in the studio and then abandoned. He believed that he left many of his treasured compositions dead in the studio “like shot rabbits.” He was also convinced that he failed to embrace their “inner spirit” on stage. He feared that this left his audience traveling through “deserted orchards and dead grass.” Listening to Chronicles you gain the impression that Dylan was with them as well. He concluded that “too many distractions” had transformed his “musical path into a jungle of vines.” It was time to change or quit.
During portions of the Pop Icon Period quitting seemed to be the more viable option. While on tour with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Bob realized that he was lost without any form of inspiration. As he explained to National Public Radio’s Steve Inskeep: “I did some tours with the Tom Petty band and then I did a short tour with the Grateful Dead and . . . as you could probably expect, really didn’t feel like my heart was in it anymore.” When Inskeep asked if his songs were “alien” to him, Dylan replied: “That’s true. If you talk to any of the people who were around me at that time, I couldn’t quite reach the meaning of the whole pantheon . . . of the songs of which I’d written. I thought maybe they didn’t really hold up conceptually or something like that or maybe the music scene had passed me by.”
Things were so bad that Dylan claims his songs were like “carrying a package of heavy rotting meat” (in Chronicles). There Bob describes himself as “an old actor fumbling in garbage cans outside the theater of past triumphs.” He embraced retirement. He was at peace with his situation. It was time to go. David Fricke opens his 1985 Rolling Stone interview with Dylan’s pronouncement: “I’ve made all the difference I’m going to. . . . My place is secure, whatever it is. I’m not worried about having to do the next thing of keeping in step with the times. I’ve sold millions of records. I’ve done all the big shows. I’ve had all the acclaim at one time or another. I’m not driven anymore to prove that I’m the top dog.”
The man would prefer to manufacture wooden legs than become a mindless legendary act. He stated his case to Malcolm Jones in 1995: “I’d rather live in the moment than some kind of nostalgia trip, which I feel is a drug, a real drug that people are mainlining. It’s outrageous. People are mainlining nostalgia like it was morphine. I don’t want to be a drug dealer.” Dylan was emphatic to Robert Hilburn in 1992: “Nostalgia is death.” This Minnesotan wanted no part of that scene.
Bob was a bit more precise in his 2004 talk with David Gates. He explained that up until the Oh Mercy project: “I didn’t know what it was I was really doing. I was going on reputation. Which buys you a certain sum, but you’re not in control. And until you gain control, you’re never quite sure you’re doing the right thing. . . . So I went for a long time precisely on that fame that we’re talking about. But—it was like a bag of wind. I didn’t realize it was slipping away until it had slipped away.” When Gates inquired how long this carried on, Bob responded: “Artistically speaking, it would have to have begun sometime in Woodstock—not personally, but in a public way—till maybe when that ‘Time Out of Mind’ record came out.” When Dylan is not in “control” of his guiding “idea” he loses his sense of “purpose” and things “slip away”—sometimes for a decade. That was Bob Dylan’s 1980s.
Echoing the situation he endured during the Crystallization Era and his evolution from primitive to conscious writing, Dylan was lost. His mission-show-songwriting nexus was, once more, broken. Demonstrating the delicate balances of the creative mind, Bob just did not like the pop icon, legendary role. Playing that part was not only unfulfilling, it thoroughly stifled the songwriting. That prohibited any new material from emerging and stopped the back catalog’s ongoing development. Dylan wasn’t in touch with his old songs’ “spirit.” Their nuances completely evaded him. His nexus was tilted. And playing the pop icon role wasn’t going to repair it. For all intents and purposes, the laureate was done.
Then two significant events transformed the situation. Years before, guitarist Lonnie Johnson taught Bob a style of guitar playing based on an odd rather than the traditional even numerical system. Dylan tells us that Johnson acted as if this was some sort of secret code—a method only to be shared with the right people; folks who dared to be different. Shifting numerical systems changed the entire melodic process and opened the musical door to endless new possibilities.
The second event transpired after Dylan agreed to a brief tour with the Grateful Dead. The Dead wanted to play songs that Bob could no longer fathom, as he told NPR: “They [the Grateful Dead] always have seemed to have known my stuff in a lot of ways deeper than me. They found great meaning in those songs. They could play them pretty accurately, but I couldn’t do that.” Dylan recalled that during a rehearsal with the Dead he left with no intention of returning. He was not up for that task any longer. There was no way to establish any form of emotional connection with his old material—and remember, for Dylan, it’s all about those feelings. Our Iron Ranger was finished with all of those Bob Dylan songs.
While strolling down the street in a light San Francisco rain, Dylan came upon a jazz combo performing inside a small bar. He walked up to the edge of the stage, ordered a beverage, and listened. The singer inspired him, as he told Inskeep: “A lot happened for me when I went in there and heard them. And I felt like I could do something again or I had a fix on something that I hadn’t had for many, many years . . . it was the singer who got to me there. I mean, those things happen sometimes, mostly when they do happen, they happen to a person when they’re much younger.” Dylan experienced an epiphany that altered his reality. Sean Penn reads:
By combining certain elements of technique which ignite each other I could shift the levels of perception, time-frame structures and systems of rhythm which would give my songs a brighter countenance, call them up from the grave—stretch out the stiffness in their bodies and straighten them out. It was like parts of my psyche were being communicated to by angels. There was a big fire in the fireplace and the wind was making it roar. The veil had lifted.
Bob was on the road to recovery. He had discovered a way to reorient his singing and revisit his old songs. This “orchestral” approach would pave the new path. There would be serious bumps in that road such as a frightful but productive experience in Locarno, Switzerland, where he lost his bearings in front of 30,000 people and magically rebounded, but Dylan had what he desperately needed: a new purpose. In fact, that mission was born during the fog and the wind of that decisive moment in Locarno, as Bob recounted for David Gates in 1997:
It’s almost like I heard it as a voice. It wasn’t like it was even me thinking it. I’m determined to stand, whether God will deliver me or not. And all of a sudden everything just exploded. It exploded every which way. And I noticed that all the people out there—I was used to them looking at the girl singers, they were good-looking girls, you know? And like I say, I had them up there so I wouldn’t feel so bad. But when that happened, nobody was looking at the girls anymore. They were looking at the main mike. After that is when I sort of knew: I’ve got to go out and play these songs. That’s just what I must do.
Retirement plans were abandoned. A mission of service began. The artist who orchestrated the Rolling Thunder Revue, the Bob Dylan Revue, and the Bob Dylan Crusade was back in his element. Chronicles reports that Bob devised a three-year plan through which he would reorient his approach, revise his audience, and revitalize his performances. He would play at an unprecedented rate (as many as 200 shows a year), allow “word of mouth” to carry the news of his revival (those Rolling Thunder dreams die hard), attract a new audience, and carry on forever. He would be a self-contained unit, as Penn reads: “I’d be entirely at once author, actor, prompter, stage manager, audience, and critic combined.” He proclaims: “All the cylinders were working and the vehicle was for hire.”
And then Bob mangled his hand.
While Dylan coped with his injury, he considered all sorts of possibilities; yet the one thing he didn’t think about at all was writing songs. So much effort went into every detail of his reorientation—new voice, new sound, new audience, new old songs—but not a moment’s thought about new songs. Things turned around with Oh Mercy, yet that was merely a flash—a demonstration of talent, not a traditional Dylan Script. The situation changed by the mid-1990s as the Jack Fate role settled in, restored Bob’s creative nexus, and inspired new material. Dylan thoroughly explained this pivotal development to Mikal Gilmore in 2012:
Well . . . the Time Out of Mind record, that was the beginning of me making records for an audience that I was playing to night after night. They were different people from different walks of life, different environments and ages. There was no reason for these new people to hear songs I’d written 30 years earlier for different purposes. If I was going to continue on, what I needed were new songs, and I had to write them, not necessarily to make records, but to play for the public. The songs on Time Out of Mind weren’t meant for someone to listen to at home. Most of the songs work, whereas before, there might have been better records, but the songs don’t work. So I’ll stick with what I was doing after Time Out of Mind, rather than what I was doing in the Seventies and Eighties, where the songs just don’t work.
As his Locarno Doctrine declares, this mission is all about serving the songs—making them work. With The Show’s rejuvenation came a specially designed Script. Bob was back in the saddle.
This is concrete proof of Bob Dylan’s mission-oriented approach to art. There are so many tools in this Iron Ranger’s toolbox that he requires a blueprint to orchestrate their use. As in the Americana Period and parts of the Crystallization Era, Dylan once again found himself without that schematic in the 1980s. Bob’s mission-show-songwriting nexus was inoperative. The art suffers when any element of this nexus is missing or in disrepair. In this instance, The Show—and its nostalgia—was once again the problem (shades of the Tour ’74 nightmare). And now Bob had an idea about how to adjust that situation and save his career—just as he did in 1975.
Performance has always been the fulcrum of Dylan’s creative enterprise. It enabled the folkie, it armed the rebel, it inspired the vaudevillian, it served the preacher, and it failed the icon just as it did the country squire. But touring requires commitment, as Dylan told Robert Hilburn in 1978 “once you’re on [the road], you’re on it.” He elaborated in 1992: “If you just go out every three years or so, like I was doing for a while, that’s when you lose touch. If you are going to be a performer, you’ve got to give it your all.” It’s that simple.
Now the Locarno Doctrine demanded allegiance. It required Bob to get back to basics and focus. Dylan’s 1997 comments to Jon Pareles explain:
A lot of people don’t like the road . . . but it’s as natural to me as breathing. I do it because I’m driven to do it, and I either hate it or love it. I’m mortified to be on the stage, but then again, it’s the only place where I’m happy. It’s the only place you can be who you want to be. You can’t be who you want to be in daily life. . . . But the cure-all for all that is to get on the stage, and that’s why performers do it. But in saying that, I don’t want to put on the mask of celebrity. I’d rather just do my work and see it as a trade.
Yes, Bob is most comfortable when he’s doing something that mortifies him. When he’s on stage, Dylan’s not wearing the mask of celebrity (as per the pop icon); rather, he’s just pursuing his vocation. In other words, it’s not about him, it’s about the mission. Now it was time for the man to stand and deliver. The Locarno Doctrine provided the idea and Dylan returned to his “cure-all” to fulfill that purpose. The following pages demonstrate how his renewed commitment to performance revived the old songs, birthed the new ones, and enabled this historic career to advance. Buckle up, this is quite the struggle!
The Show: Four Eras of Song
The 30 years of performance that follow are popularly known as the Never Ending Tour. Bob Dylan despises that label because he considers it to be grossly inaccurate (he goes on quite the rant with Douglas Brinkley over this touchy subject). In World Gone Wrong’s liner notes he tackles the issue straight-on. There he identifies a series of tours by their names; for example, there was the fall 1991 “The Money Never Runs Out Tour,” the European 1992 “Why Do You Look at Me So Strangely Tour,” the Mexico/South American “Principles of Action Tour,” the 1993 “Dont Let Your Deal Go Down Tour,” and “others too many to mention.” In his interview with Derek Barker, former band member César Diaz recalled other tour names such as 1988’s “It’s a Hard Tour,” the “Where Is the Oil Tour,” and “It’s a Parody of Himself Tour.” Obviously, much of this tour-naming stuff is private folly and subject to the labeling trends of that particular moment. So, let’s just allow everybody to have their peace and continue to call this aspect of Dylan’s career “The Show.”
The post-1988 editions of The Show may be broken down into “four eras of song” that showcase Dylan’s pursuit of his Locarno Doctrine. Throughout this protracted run Bob performed songs from a variety of genres and styles that served his musical needs (e.g., traditional songs, covers, etc.). The man did everything possible to avoid becoming a Bob Dylan Jukebox. The Script emphasized newer songs and often recast older numbers in mysterious ways. It was not uncommon for the performer to completely dumbfound his audience. Some things never change.
The four eras include “New York Bob” (from June 7, 1988, to November 18, 1990), “Tennessee Bob” (from January 28, 1991, to February 24, 1997), “The Bob Dylan Quintet” (from March 31, 1997, to November 21, 2004), and “The Bob Dylan Band featuring Jack Fate” (from March 7, 2005 to date). “New York Bob” presented three bands that performed 263 shows across its high-speed run. The “Tennessee Bob” era offered seven different ensembles that appeared for 590 shows. The prodigious “Bob Dylan Quintet” manifested in eight bands that marched through a remarkable 846 performances. Lastly, the “Jack Fate” era tops everything with its four bands performing over 1,000 shows. In fact, the current group has appeared in over 700 concerts.
The “New York Bob” era involves a show style that I characterize as “The Race.” Here that thin, wild mercury sound of yesteryear zooms through the Dylan catalog and anything else that gets near the stage. Bob’s vocals struggle throughout this band’s tenure—ranging from not very good to horrible. When joined with the band’s fast-paced tempo, the songs are treated far worse than shot rabbits; they are thoroughly decimated—skinned, if you will. Dylan’s pop icon role dies a slow death as The Look devolves into parody. This era involves a “Phoenix Moment” in which the songs and The Look are destroyed so that they may be reborn.
The “Tennessee Bob” phase displays a transforming trait I designate as the “Tennessee Detox.” While Dylan’s vocals continue their struggle (they move from horror to car alarm to pre-growl), the Lonnie Johnson musical formula enters the soundstage and slows everything down. This provides all sorts of space for the songs to unfold in a variety of ways. The “Lonnie” scheme fits perfectly—just as Bob predicted. The Look also undergoes subtle changes as the pop icon slowly morphs into Jack Fate. The “Tennessee” era is a critical time frame.
“The Bob Dylan Quintet” builds on the momentum of its Tennessee predecessor. Dylan’s vocals advance through a series of pre-growl techniques as they inch their way toward The Growl. When you listen to these performances it is oh-so-clear how hard Bob is fighting off his tendency toward weak enunciation, screeching sounds, and sing-song tendencies. The music is a direct manifestation of the “Lonnie” with its layers upon layers of guitars, guitar-piano interplay, and stellar rhythmic support. Dylan’s creative nexus also rebounds with new songs for its new character. Finally, The Look gradually settles into its seasoned rounder persona. Here The Show features remarkable rearrangements, theatrically paced songs, new compositions, and thematically based staging.
Finally, we have the “The Bob Dylan Band featuring Jack Fate” era. Again, as Bob predicted, this is orchestral music with its layers of sound, rotating instrumentals, and stunning sonic balance. The rhythm section leads the way. The crowning achievement of this era is The Growl’s arrival with its distinctive form of melisma. Dylan bends and weaves his voice around his words in an emotional manner that totally serves The Look. Throughout this phase new scripts appear alongside a constant flow of reinterpretations of old material (both musically and lyrically). That Bob Dylan songs are living creatures is crystal clear here—as is the restoration of the artist’s creative nexus.
An interesting facet of this musical evolution involves the motivation for the whole shebang: The Songs. In the “New York” mode, the songs fight for survival—and lose. After their Phoenix Moment, the songs arise from the ashes in their new “Tennessee” mode. Once that musical corner is turned, Dylan’s treasured compositions achieve victory via “The Quintet.” At long last the songs prosper in the “Jack Fate” era as new scripts are joined by a concentrated emphasis on the “great American song tradition.” Never at any time is Dylan’s devotion to American Song more evident.
To capture these historic happenings, I use an interpretative template as I move through 30 years on the road. The songs are examined in terms of their length, their pace/tempo, their instrumental style, their musical genre, their arrangement, and their vocal characteristics. I apply that framework to a select concert from each of The Show’s 22 bands. This is in no way a systematic sample of anything as I use anecdotal evidence to tell the story.
As we’re about to witness, Dylan’s vocals are a challenging aspect of his musical formula. Bob explained the strategic qualities of his singing to Robert Love: “Look, it all has to do with technique. Every singer has three or four or five techniques, and you can force them together in different combinations. Some of the techniques you discard along the way, and pick up others. But you do need them.” He continued: “One alone doesn’t work. There’s no point to going over three. But you might interchange them whenever you feel like it.” Finding the right combination of vocal techniques will surely test Bob’s resolve. It will prove to be the Locarno Doctrine’s most difficult hurdle. Dylan concluded with this insight: “The fact that [singers] have to sing hit records from years gone by doesn’t leave a lot of room for any kind of intelligent creativity. In a way, having hits buries a singer in the past.” Your success can trap you. Not only did this artist understand that hazard, he developed a plan to avoid it. The Show is not a Bob Dylan Jukebox.
In the 2004 60 Minutes interview, Ed Bradley inquired why Dylan continues to tour so extensively. Bob answered that he had struck a deal with “the Great Commander.” That arrangement contains no mystery: as long as Bob Dylan can perform, he has a duty to perform, and the musician is simply “holding up his end of the deal” by enforcing the Locarno Doctrine. The Show certainly reflects that deep-seated motivation. Perhaps this is due to his struggles during the Pop Icon Period and those powerful realizations of 1987. Maybe that hand injury was a stroke of good luck. Or maybe the laureate simply had to experience his own Phoenix Moment in order to continue. That’s hard to say. But what’s not hard to say is that The Show is a pivotal part of the creative nexus that gave the world Bob Dylan’s art. Here it saves the day. Our story opens with the fast-paced ways of the Capital of the World.
The Show: New York Bob
The Show’s New York Bob phase initiates three decades of performance. Ranging from the opening concert on June 7, 1988, until this era’s final performance on November 18, 1990, the New York Bob bands presented 263 shows via three ensembles: the G. E. Smith (guitar), Kenny Aaronson (bass), Christopher Parker (drums) group (78 shows from June 7, 1988, to June 8, 1989); the Tony Garnier, Smith, and Parker band (163 shows from June 10, 1989, to October 19, 1990), and the John Staehely/César Diaz (guitars), Garnier, and Parker group (22 concerts from January 21, 1990, to November 18, 1990). In a remarkable display of professional commitment, Tony Garnier first appeared on June 3, 1989, and permanently joined Dylan’s band on June 10 of that year. The bass player has been with Bob since the summer of 1989. As we observed during our discussion of the recent American Standard projects, Garnier’s role as musical director cannot be overstated. The Show has a rock-solid foundation, and its name is Tony Garnier.
When we apply our template to the New York bands, one overriding trait quickly emerges: speed. These groups race through songs. A slow acoustic number such as “Masters of War” may be transformed into an electric blitzkrieg led by Dylan’s screaming—and often-unintelligible—vocals. Even the acoustic portions of these rock concerts are rushed in this thin, wild mercury sprint. Short songs fly by with brief instrumental bursts, high-speed harmonica breaks, and raging vocals that suggests the boys have a cab waiting outside—and the meter’s running. Of course, Bob’s vocals are telltale. It’s as if the Minnesotan returned to his Little Richard roots as he attacks songs as he did his piano during his high school talent show. In all cases, the songs fight for their lives. There are moments when this is not pretty.
Our race through the canon begins in Stanhope, New Jersey. The September 10, 1988, concert was the 54th performance of the first New York band and it says everything about everything. This is a totally insincere, emotionless, show. “The Songs” are trivialized. From the opening grunt through the last “wind down” tag (i.e., a long fade), this band just races through these songs. Even the acoustic songs are a mad dash to the finish line (usually characterized by the abrupt Big Finish or the awkward wind down). As Mick Taylor once told biographer Clinton Heylin, these “song endings” are “in the hands of God.” What this hurts the most is Dylan’s intelligibility. There’s no telling what he’s singing. And I know these songs. They could be playing anything. Bob’s just screaming at us!
Still, there’s no doubt about it: these guys can play. Aaronson tears it up from top to finish. Parker complements Aaronson in every way. Indeed: G. E. Smith IS Mike Bloomfield. That thin, wild guitar knifes its way through every electric song (e.g., “Masters of War” is powerful; as is the bluesy “Highway 61”). Nevertheless, the mad rush is so irreverent—or odd. All of this seems forced. They’re pushing too hard. Consequently, these great songs are stillborn on this stage. They’re extras on the set. The pacing and screaming kill any hope of an emotional connection. This is just going through the motions—as quickly as possible.
The Show’s rhythm is without mystery. After the opening sprint through the first six numbers (“Subterranean Homesick Blues,” “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue,” “Masters,” “Ballad of a Thin Man,” “Shelter from the Storm,” and “Highway 61”), the concert pauses for an acoustic race through “Ramona,” “One Too Many Mornings” (a brief slowdown), “Mr. Tambourine Man,” and “Girl from the North Country.” Speed kills most of this, too.
The electric firestorm resumes with one of the worst versions of “Silvio” that you’ll ever hear. An electric “I Shall be Released” follows and actually works. It slows the pace a bit, but Bob’s scream shouts continue. This band’s Big Beat version of “Like a Rolling Stone” would work if only they would slow down. The night closes with lightning acoustic versions of “The Times They Are A-Changin’” and “It Ain’t Me, Babe” along with “Maggie’s Farm” and “All along the Watchtower” (hereinafter “AATW”). Dylan’s shouting is fast and furious. The “AATW” vocals are actually distasteful. On this night in New Jersey the songs are streaking down the Jersey Turnpike. Speed Kills. It happens quickly, though.
Yes: Speed kills. What it does most is elevate The Show’s insincerity. The way Bob rushes through these numbers is revealing. This is clearly a musical strategy, yet the motive escapes me (some sort of Bloomfield Syndrome?). Dylan certainly screamed his way through Rolling Thunder and Tour ’74 and even Tour ’66, yet there was feeling in those performances. Not so here: vacuous shouting over one loud band rules this day. This is not about the songs. By the way, there was no harmonica in the Stanhope concert. He must’ve dropped it onstage and didn’t have time to pick it up.
That trend advances with The Show’s 81st concert and the June 11, 1989, performance in Brussels, Belgium. This was the third gig for the second New York band (Smith, Parker, and Garnier). After listening to this show I wonder: Is this the performance version of Self Portrait? Is this an attempt to distort the songs to the point that no one will attend shows? Why play the songs so fast that you rob your audience of a meaningful listening experience? Nobel-winning songs are annihilated by this band. While there are moments of impressive acoustic guitar work, the singing and the speed ruin all else. You have to love those Bloomfield-like thin wild electric guitar licks and you must admire the band’s stamina; however, the vocals are so ruinous that you’re actually left with nothing. Garnier didn’t change a thing. This is a straight-ahead, frontal, attack on the songs. Bob Dylan is systematically destroying his act.
This show’s rhythm is identical to the previous performance and its three-part format. A six-song electric sprint opens the night: A mad race from “Most Likely You Go Your Way” (never heard it played that fast before; Bob’s vocals have a hard time keeping up), “John Brown” (unbelievable), “Baby Blue,” “Shelter,” “Just Like a Woman,” and “Highway 61” (great but wasted slide guitar). A four-song acoustic dash follows (“Gates of Eden,” “Girl from the North,” “Mr. Tambourine,” and “Mama, You Been on My Mind”). Again, the acoustic guitars keep these songs on life support (the seven-minute “Mr. T” helps), but Dylan’s singing renders a lot of this unrecognizable. The songs are just props. And, as the closing segment indicates, not everything on the set is meaningful.
“When Did You Leave Heaven” opens with a smooth blues-based groove that is quickly countered by the vocals. Maybe we’re lucky that a lot of these vocals get buried in the mix. The electric “I Shall Be Released” is totally empty. “Rolling Stone” is a nonstop wall of shouting that the band seems incapable of ending. “Hattie Carroll” is a blitz of words, acoustic guitar, and harmonica (you bury your face in your rag from the get-go). How interesting that Bob opened “Hattie” with a sample of “Camptown Races”—it’s just another song, after all. The closing “Maggie” mercifully ends quickly. Speed kills. I know just what it kills, too: Emotion.
The songs are slightly longer and the acoustic section is more palatable; nevertheless, this show is a direct extension of the Stanhope entry (i.e., it’s all forced). The pop icon’s slow death crawls onward. While Garnier plays well, he has little impact on this rapid-fire rip through the canon. To say that “Gates of Eden” is meaningless is blasphemous. But it is. To report that “Rolling Stone” is toothless is unimaginable. But it is. To suggest that “John Brown” and “Hattie Carroll” are void of emotion is unthinkable. But they are. This band’s performance of “Silvio” should guarantee a refund on your way out, but I bet it didn’t. I think I’ll return to my previous point that this is a performance version of Self Portrait. These shows are so bad, they must be purposeful. You can’t do this kind of stuff by accident.
Is this some kind of “deconstruction” so that Dylan can “reconstruct” these songs via the Lonnie Johnson system, the pedal steel players, and the Garnier-led rhythm section? Some sort of strategy is controlling these performances. That is certain. Is this some sort of Basement Strategy tactic?
By the time we reach The Show’s 259th entry in Dayton, Ohio, G. E. Smith is gone, and the third New York band offers its eighteenth performance (Staehely, Diaz, Parker, and Garnier) on November 13, 1990. What an intriguing show. How often do you witness a band in one phase of its musical development and its singer in another? Bob’s vocals are still with GE and his flaming wall of noise. He shouts and sprints through songs that require something else. He mumbles and whines at inopportune times. In fact, there are instances when the band is spot on musically and Dylan just destroys the song vocally (e.g., “I’ll Remember You,” “Gotta Serve Somebody,” “Joey,” and more).
In every respect, this is a transitional moment in The Show’s history. Garnier and Parker have found a groove that allows the guitars to operate in intelligible, complementary layers. Remember, there are three guitars in this band and there are moments when they achieve the sublimity of a Tennessee or Quintet group (e.g., “Mr. Tambourine Man”). Beautiful layers of intertwining guitars are the results of those moments. The fact the band often has difficulty ending songs also indicates the transitional qualities of this particular performance. They’re figuring this stuff out as they go. To sum things up in a single song, all we have to do is turn to “Maggie” and the truly confused version featured in Dayton. Bob shouts away while the band attempts to take the song to a more rhythmic place. This is one confused performance.
This concert advances The Show’s now-traditional method of operation. A seven-song electric set opens and is followed by a new, full-band, four-song acoustic set that gives way to seven-song electric close. The evening ends with an acoustic and an electric encore. The “Marine Hymn” initiates the act for some reason (an attack?). That 60-second entrée yields to a three guitar, electric wall of sound version of “Tangled up in Blue.” Bob’s vocals are clear and comprehensible as the band zips through the song before an abrupt ending. This “Tangled” seems forced. Dylan’s harmonica opens an uneven “Just Like a Woman” with his fast vocals in stark contrast with the musicians’ more subdued approach (still, the song moves along at a brisk pace). The weirdness continues with “Thin Man” and its crazed open as Bob’s vocals step all over the opening guitar—a ruination of this song’s theatrics.
Again, throughout the concert, the band is grooving while the vocalist is rushing. He seems so detached. The harmonica-fueled wind down again suggests they’re having difficulty figuring out song endings. “AATW” advances the good music/bad vocal trend. When we get to “I’ll Remember” and “Gotta Serve,” we hear a versatile band via the soft, layered sounds of “I’ll Remember” and the funky grooves of “Gotta.” In both cases, Dylan offers his unique vocal counterpoint as he either shouts or mumbles his way through the songs. The singer is in one place and his band is in another.
The page turns with the four-song acoustic set. Garnier’s bass and Parker’s brushwork provide the perfect bottom for the layered acoustic guitars that control these numbers. Bob’s vocals may race along and he may raise his voice unnecessarily; however, the musical backdrop compensates. These songs definitely feature Dylan’s best vocal work. “Gates of Eden,” “Ramona,” “One Too Many Mornings,” and “Mr. Tambourine” (at 7:30) foreshadow the bands to come. What returns with this acoustic set is simple: Emotion. These beautifully orchestrated acoustic songs add feeling to the performance—an attribute that was wholly lacking with the G.E. productions. They also offer snippets of the “Lonnie” strategy that will dominate this band’s future. Without question, this is the Ohio show’s best segment.
The evening closes in a most uneven manner. “Everything is Broken,” “Joey,” “Seeing the Real You at Last,” “Wiggle Wiggle,” “Under the Red Sky,” and “I Shall be Released” all have mixed moments. For instance, the band is in its element with “Joey” while Bob’s vocals are just awful (the song goes on and on as the band could not close the number). Garnier is utterly fantastic in “Seeing,” which evidently inspired Dylan’s improved vocals. “Wiggle” is pure fun despite its rough spots (a false start even). “Under the Red Sky” may run a tad fast and Bob’s mumbling confounds “I Shall be Released” somewhat as his singing struggles. All of these songs offer evidence of transition. The band is searching for some sort of musical equilibrium. Again, the challenging song endings are telltale. The night concludes with an improving “Rolling Stone” before an extensive “It Ain’t Me” (6:20) and a way ragged “Maggie” encore. One would be hard-pressed to find a more curious show.
This is one wildly uneven time frame. For example, a June 13, 1988, Salt Lake City show involves a madcap race through timeless treasures such as “Tangled,” “Baby Blue,” and “Gotta Serve” before dramatically slowing down two nights later in Denver for a more smoothly paced set (minimal racing). Although both shows feature uneven vocals, the contrast is startling. An October 19, 1988, New York concert features a beautiful “In the Garden” and a theatrical “Simple Twist” alongside an insane electric “John Brown” and an unintelligible “Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream.” A July 7, 1989, return to Stanhope offers a butchered electric “Hollis Brown” (performed exactly like the New York “John Brown”), a ridiculously fast “Rainy Day Women,” and a shattered “Silvio.” By the time the second band travels to London on February 8, 1990, we hear crazed versions of “Positively 4th Street,” “I Want You,” and “Political World” alongside a majestic “Disease of Conceit” and a dreamy “Where Teardrops Fall.” Remarkably, that performance features a 60-second open for one song (“You’re a Big Girl”) that suddenly morphs into another number (“I’ll Remember You”). In fact, there are times when you wonder if Dylan is even trying (e.g., a Portland, Oregon, version of “I’ll be Your Baby” [August 21, 1990], a horrible encore in West Point [October 13, 1990], and the revealing opening number in Normal, Illinois, “Old MacDonald” [November 14, 1990]). All of which inspired former band mate Robbie Robertson to tell Greg Kot in 1992: “I don’t understand what he’s doing now. He’s gone to Chuck Berry-land, where he’s stopped caring about what he’s doing or how he’s interpreting his songs musically.”
I just didn’t expect this. I knew the music was going to change—and change a lot. But I had no idea that the music would evolve so far ahead of the vocals. Dylan is clearly stuck with one singing technique—a clear violation of the formula he articulated to AARP. Like all transitions, there are portions of this show that are firmly rooted in the past and segments that surely foreshadow the future. I just didn’t think you’d see both characteristics in the middle of a single song. To hear a number like “I’ll Remember” and listen to instrumental patterns that control the future support shouting vocals from the past is just weird. Yet, that’s what we have here.
You have to wonder what’s up with all of this. As Pablo Picasso would joyfully observe, sometimes you have to destroy something to make it beautiful. Perhaps this is the Dylan canon’s Phoenix Moment. In order for Dylan’s carefully orchestrated plan to work, he had to destroy the very reason he devised that plan. The songs certainly weren’t the stars of the New York Bob era. Where’s the Locarno Doctrine? What happened?
These productions were apparently image-driven affairs. Perhaps Dylan was destroying his pop icon persona as well. The Look was decaying nightly on stage. On the other hand, maybe Bob was systematically crawling under the media’s radar—slipping into celebrity darkness. Maybe the New York bands took Dylan’s reorientation to the outer limits; clearing the musical fields by torching them, and in so doing, fertilizing the artistic ground for a rebirth. While that’s exactly what happens, it’s awfully hard to imagine that the Nobel laureate planned this. But then, you never know. We’ve seen this Iron Ranger do audacious things before, haven’t we?
The Show: Tennessee Bob
The Show’s second phase—the Tennessee Bob era—opens on January 28, 1991, and runs until February 24, 1997. Seven different ensembles appear across the 590 concerts of this time frame. The first group features Memphis guitarist J. J. Jackson and César Diaz on guitars, Ian Wallace on drums, and Tony Garnier on bass (21 shows running until March 2, 1991). From April 19, 1991, until November 20, 1991, the second group of Jackson, Wallace, and Garnier perform 80 concerts. After these initial 101 shows Garnier and Jackson are joined by Nashville’s Bucky Baxter (pedal steel) for the rest of the Tennessee Bob era. They apply a distinctively Tennessean musical style that represents the glue that holds these bands together. Our third band (Jackson, Baxter, Wallace, and Garnier) runs for a mere 22 shows (March 18, 1992, to April 24, 1992) before morphing into our fourth act that adds Charlie Quintana on percussion (44 shows from April 27, 1992, until September 5, 1992). Quintana is replaced by Winston Watson for the fifth band’s 26 performances (September 6, 1992, until November 15, 1992). The search is on for the right combination, and they find it when Wallace departs and our sixth Tennessee Bob band settles into a prodigious 358 show run (from February 5, 1993, until August 4, 1996). The Tennessee era winds down when David Kemper fills Watson’s spot and joins Jackson, Baxter, and Garnier for 39 shows (from October 17, 1996, to February 24 1997).
The blend of Jackson’s Memphis blues and Baxter’s Nashville virtuosity produces a radical, calming change for The Show. As I mentioned earlier, I call this phase the “Tennessee Detox” as the performance slows down and allows room for the “Lonnie” layers of guitars to operate. This lifts the songs from their New York ashes as they breathe the fresh Smokey Mountain air of liberation. Their detoxification will take time. All the while The Show is transformed from its hard rock format to a more diversified style featuring country, blues, and occasionally, folk sounds. The era also involves longer songs, more complicated instrumental breaks, the occasional backing vocals, and a radically uneven harmonica. Unfortunately, Bob’s vocals continue to struggle as they progress from their car alarm mode through a variety of inconsistent pre-growl forms. The result involves a band that arrives at its musical destination long before the singer. The Tennessee Bob phase features shows that offer beautiful music and painful vocals presented through The Look’s slow but sure evolution (pop icons die hard).
The journey opens with a return to Brussels on January 30, 1991, and The Show’s 265th concert—the second with the first Tennessee ensemble (Jackson, Diaz, Wallace, and Garnier). This performance of The Show’s fourth band certainly builds upon the foundation established by our third unit’s example. The band is getting tighter and tighter musically. They’re developing an ability to create just the right ambiance for the song in question. A pensive, wistful song is performed in a pensive, wistful way (e.g., “The Man in Me”). Driving, penetrating songs are presented via driving, penetrating rhythms (e.g., “Thin Man,” “Gotta Serve,” and “Rolling Stone”). The addition of Jackson’s Memphis Guitar facilitates this progress. This is in stark contrast to earlier bands’ hell-fire treatments and their “no matter the song, let’s race” mentality. This band is hitting its stride and interpreting these songs in artful ways (although song endings remain a challenge).
Then there’s the vocalist. The band is way ahead of Bob, but there is evidence that the singer is closing the gap. Here we hear nasal shouts, emotive whining, sincere mumbling, and the occasional smooth clear line. But he’s getting closer, and that’s a positive trend in this band’s development. The increased amount of Bob Speak (between song banter) also suggests a loosening of the spirit.
This show unfolds in three sections including a three-song encore. The six-song opening electric set takes us from “Most Likely” (a chaotic warm-up exercise), into a dramatic “Lay Lady Lay” (gentle music with shouting vocals—perfect) with a weird (but effective) transition to a wicked “Thin Man”—“Silvio” one-two punch (forceful music; rushed awful vocals), through a dramatic “The Man in Me” (struggling but improved singing), and ends with a joyous “Wiggle.” Here the band consistently finds the right groove for Bob’s disastrous vocals and chaotic harmonica.
The four-song acoustic set offers smooth musical backdrops for more unpredictable vocals. “Mr. Tambourine,” “Bob Dylan’s Dream,” “Baby Blue,” and “The Times” feature good vocals (“Mr. T”), mumbled vocals (“Bob Dylan’s Dream”), mumble-light vocals (“Baby”), and rushed vocals (and emotionless “The Times”). Sometimes, Bob changes pace within the song, or drifts into his mumbling mode, only to recover and find his stride. Throughout Dylan’s harmonica has a mind of its own; doing what it wants whenever it wants—crazy! These are certainly transitional times.
The electric third section is a keeper. From the funky “Everything Is Broken” through the super-funky “Gotta Serve,” “Seeing the Real” (awesome DEEP blues—the best selection of the night featuring what Bob deemed a “John Coltrane ending” [the song just stopped]), and a wonderful “God Knows,” this band finds the right vibe for the moment and Dylan’s vocals are there with them (most of the time). We’re seeing the future here. This is great music. “I Shall be Released” (crazy vocal time) and “Rolling Stone” (lazy vocal time) round out the set in a perfectly OK manner. As with the three-song encore (an acoustic “Blowin’ in the Wind” and the Big Beats of “Highway 61” and “AATW”), vocals vary while the band finds the right sound for these classic songs. This ensemble is coming together.
Once more, we have a work in progress. Tony Garnier and the drummer-of-the-day are perfecting a rhythm section that is imaginative, playful, and savvy. With J. J. Jackson we open the door to virtuosity. Our racin’ days are numbered. Primal screams over blazing instrumentation are yielding to musical orchestration—Bob’s plans are gaining a foothold. Layers of guitars are replacing that thin, wild mercury sprint. The Locarno Doctrine is pushing forward.
But we’re not there yet and The Show’s 305th entry demonstrates that point. Here we travel to Ljubljana for the second Tennessee band’s 21st show (on June 10, 1991). For sure, this is yet another transitional moment for the new Jackson, Wallace, and Garnier band. Dylan’s singing is chaotic throughout. He just cannot find a vocal groove as he seems stuck with his “one technique” syndrome. We go from an unintelligible nasal whine (“New Morning”), to an unimaginable nasal mumble (“AATW”), to a mumble shout (“Gotta Serve”), to clear but very rushed vocals during the acoustic set, to the emotionless singing of “Just Like a Woman” and “Rolling Stone,” to the vacuous nasal shouts of “The Times.” The vocals are all over the place—and they’re never very good.
Musically, the band enjoys several majestic moments (e.g., “Gotta,” “Rainy Day Women,” “Just Like,” and “I Shall be Released”). Then, for some reason, they regress to the absolutely horrible, never-ending “Rolling Stone.” The sprint through the acoustic set is also a blast from the past. The music-vocal incongruity persists there as well. On the other hand, the “Lonnie” guitar moments embrace the future with their dramatic use of counterpoint (e.g., “Thin Man,” “Shelter,” and “Gotta Serve”). And Bob’s idiosyncratic keyboards appear in “Gotta Serve,” “Just Like,” and “I Shall” in a potentially innovative way. Once more, this is a transitional show with the past tugging away on the boys’ coattails. That this band still has a hard time ending songs is quite revealing (e.g., meandering wind downs, abrupt cuts and drops, are, once more, “in God’s hands”). The Show is still finding its way.
The concert unfolds in the standard three-part fashion. It opens with a perfunctory “New Morning” (another lifeless warm-up); moves into a well-played, poorly sung “Thin Man” (beyond awful vocals); slides into an “AATW” that is the epitome of the music-vocal incongruity (excellent guitars—frightening vocals); ventures into a pretty fast “Shelter” with its unique blend of racing music, bad vocals, and great guitar work; and wraps with an outstanding “Gotta Serve Somebody.” This “Gotta” has a funky beat that resembles ZZ Top (have mercy). “Gotta” features some of Bob’s best vocals (and they aren’t very good). The way the band allows the song to expand via its funky backbeat is impressive and rewarding. The 1:51 opening instrumental sets the pace for the entire song. The dueling guitar routine is the highlight of this “Gotta.” As a final note, there’s a lot of oddly placed harmonica in this opening segment. Harmonica blasts shoot from every direction for no apparent reason.
The full band flies through the three-song acoustic set (“Love Minus,” “Don’t Think,” and “It Ain’t Me”). While we witness some beautiful guitar moments, Dylan’s breakneck vocals are a real distraction as they rob the songs of their inherent dramatic qualities. There’s lots of wacky harmonica here, too. These songs require patient space to unfold and there’s none of that going on this Ljubljana evening. The performance ends with a ragged “Rainy Day” (still, great Memphis Blues groove despite the vocals), a conflicted “Just Like” (a case study of the music-vocal incongruity issue as Bob’s lifeless vocals just destroy an otherwise nice rendering), a gentle “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” with disquieting vocals and a really weird harmonica ending, a classic take of an electric “I Shall be Released” (vocals aside), and a dreadful “Rolling Stone” (unfathomable). The only part of the encore we have is “The Times” (“Maggie” is missing from this recording). This “Times” features smooth, layered guitars, bass, and harmonica. Too bad the vocals couldn’t have gone there with them.
This is yet another transitional moment in The Show’s development. The “Lonnie” layers join the Garnier-fueled bottom to create some fine musical platforms for these award-winning songs. This band is on the verge of getting its act together. Bob’s singing may be another matter. The uneven qualities of these vocals suggest a desperate search is underway. This may take some time. On the other hand, the whole music-vocal incongruity could simply be a matter of pacing. The more Dylan rushes, the worse he sings. Fast vocals kill intelligibility, sincerity, and at times, legitimacy. They just don’t work—not now, anyway. This is not 1966, Tour ’74, Rolling Thunder, or the Bob Dylan Revue. Still, you can sense that the band is on the edge of something.
The Show takes a major step in that direction with its 373rd concert on April 2, 1992, in Melbourne, Australia. This ninth performance by the third Tennessee band adds Bucky Baxter to the Jackson, Wallace, and Garnier ensemble. This act is totally different from any of the previous efforts. What fuels such radical change? Patience. This band displays the patience to allow the songs to unfold. They give the instruments room to operate and be heard both individually and collectively. The singer follows that lead (most of the time). Dylan allows the words to breathe in the same manner the band treats the music (most of the time). Consequently, the songs are slower, more dramatic, and—most important—more strategic. Gone are the haphazard endings of yesterday. This group knows how to open and close each number. The harmonica plays a specific part in a given song as opposed to the chaotic rip here or the wacky dash there. Everything comes together in this performance: vocals, instrumentals, SONGS. What an amazing transformation (most of the time).
Bucky Baxter is the prime mover in this pivotal development. Baxter’s pedal steel and slide work add an ambiance to the songs that not only elevate their dramatic qualities, they slow them down. Dylan’s vocals naturally follow suit. The Show’s sixth band introduces the musical world to the new Bob Croon. This singing style transfers the vocal techniques of the studio to the performance stage. Instead of shouting, screaming or mumbling his way through songs, Bob now applies his unique form of melisma to the vocal process. I would love to report that Dylan casts beautiful notes over musical passages in the manner of Al Green or Edwin McCain, but this is not so. But it does mean that Bob is slowing down, stretching his vocals over the music in ways that add to the lyrics intelligibility, impact, and sincerity (i.e., he’s using more than the dreaded one technique). Since the songs are creeping into the headlining role, the singer appears to be more committed to their lyrics delivery. He’s not perfect. He stills mumbles on occasion or shouts or gets carried away in some fashion. Nevertheless, this is a major development.
This show does share one characteristic with its predecessors: it unfolds in three segments. We have the usual opening electric set followed by an acoustic section that leads to a concluding electric set and a three-song encore. From the very outset change is evident. The opening “AATW” displays a totally different feel in that it’s slower, more deliberate, and more coherent. This is not the typical warm-up number. Baxter’s pedal steel takes us into “Tonight, I’ll be Staying Here with You” by way of the distinctive ambiance that instrument offers. An ebb and flow emerges at this point. We rock to the third song (“Everything Is Broken”), slow down somewhat for a dramatic version of “Just Like a Woman” (some wacky vocals), pick up the pace with a seven-minute “Tangled” (with a wonderfully layered sound), slow down for an atmospheric “She Belongs to Me,” and wrap the opening set with an enigmatic “Maggie.” Here we experience a Wall of Maggie with beautiful breaks between verses, dynamic slide guitar (Go Bucky Go), double-time drumming, and layered instrumentals (the “Lonnie”). This is one busy “Maggie” and she sounds great.
More changes appear in the acoustic segment. Of the five songs featured here (“Love Minus,” “Little Moses,” “Trail of the Buffalo,” “Don’t Think Twice,” and “The Times”), the first three appear via solo Bob with his guitar and harmonica (JJ joins on guitar for “Trail”). The remaining songs constitute an acoustic symphony. The backing mandolin and dobro, the delicate brush work, the soft bass, and the layered guitars work with Dylan’s improved vocals to make the songs the masterpieces they, in fact, are. The 1:15 open to “The Times” conveys the respect these songs are now receiving. That this “Times” comes in at 6:51 is indicative of this new theatrical style.
The concert marches on with a Baxter-fueled, playfully fast “Cat’s in the Well.” As usual, this song bounces along in its own carefree fashion. The plot really thickens with the 8:13 of “Idiot Wind” (the first performance since 1976). This slow, electric version is a mix of strong vocals (Bob’s melisma is in full force) and wonderful pedal steel parts. The song patiently unfolds across its eight minutes and provides the highlight of this magical evening Down Under. This is an outstanding performance of one of the Dylan canon’s most acerbic compositions. A raucous “Highway 61” closes the set. The “Thin Man,” “Absolutely Sweet Marie,” and “Blowin’ in the Wind” encore offers a fitting end for this production. “Thin Man” is a tad fast with a rough ending and “Marie” is a rocking wall of layered instruments; however, it is the solo Bob, acoustic “Blowin’” that seals this night’s performance. The soft, gentle, respectful treatment this epic song receives clearly demonstrates the news from this particular concert: the songs are the stars of this show. The Locarno Doctrine is served.
The first Tennessee band signaled a significant shift in The Show’s unfolding history. Yet, somehow someway, that trend stalled, Dylan’s vocals didn’t follow suit, and uncertainty ensued. Now, we witness another major innovation: the combination punch that is Baxter and Crooning Bob. Baxter makes this happen. Emotion returns when Bob’s vocals slow down and this enhances the dramatic qualities of the performance (most of the time). The songs have risen from their New York grave.
When The Show travels to Antibes for its 416th entry on July 12, 1992, the Tennessee bands fourth edition (adding Charlie Quintana on percussion) performed its 30th concert. From the majestic melodies of the previous band’s efforts, we move to a sonic bomb. There is nothing good to be said about this performance. Could the addition of a second drummer be this disruptive? How could these guys regress so quickly? The best thing about this show is that it ends. We have car alarm vocals, wall of crap instrumentals, and a going-through-the-motions exercise. The band is all over the place and the vocals share that trait. But that’s not totally fair to the band. There are a few moments where they work as a unit. This can’t be said for the vocals. They never work for more than a word or two. Songs start roughly and never rebound. The band has a difficult time ending songs (the big wind down is ever-present—another telltale sign). The harmonica races to and fro and, often, for no apparent reason. There’s no patience here. This is just awful.
The horror unfolds in three segments. We have an atrocious opening electric set followed by a soulless acoustic segment that yields to a meaningless electric reprise and a three-song terror that functions as an encore. The songs are nowhere in sight on this night. The misery begins with “Hey Joe.” This warm-up starts on the wrong musical foot and never recovers (the vocals are frightening). A nice shuffle introduces “I Want You” before the vocals come in and ruin everything. Nothing makes any sense at all (especially the harmonica). It’s as if they’re not even trying to play together. “Maggie” follows with an incredible blend of wandering vocals and disjointed instrumentation. There is no melody—everybody is doing their own thing. It’s cacophony. When the 9:19 of “Simple Twist” comes in after “Maggie,” well, things become totally nonmusical. The 2:23 instrumental opening holds promise that is instantly dashed by the effortless vocals, bad playing, and an odd arrangement (the harmonica is on steroids). Again, the band is not playing together and the various parts just don’t align well. A dreadful “Tom Thumb,” “I’ll Be Your Baby” (a catchy instrumental groove is destroyed by the vocals), and “Stuck Inside” (indecipherable at its very best—more cacophony) round off this ugly opening segment. This band is terrible.
Whatever promise the acoustic set might hold is quickly vanquished. “Ramona,” “It Ain’t Me,” “Desolation Row,” and “Don’t Think Twice” are just void of emotion. There’s no feeling anywhere. “Ramona” starts nicely as Bob slows down in a fashion that highlights his guitar; however, the song sinks on another chaotic harmonica tag. An empty “It Ain’t Me” exacerbates the situation with yet another crazed harmonica blast on top of another lifeless performance. Bad playing and poor phrasing dominate this solo performance. The harmonica is out of control. The full band joins the final two acoustic numbers and offers no relief. Things actually seem to get worse. “Desolation” (every fifth utterance is actually a word and the guitars are disjointed) and “Don’t Think” (ZOOM!) are just nuts. The acoustic wall of sound is overwhelming. Everything is squeezed together and rushed. These performances have no dramatic qualities save the occasional Bucky Baxter moment. The band is working against the songs.
The closing electric set features guest appearances (Dave Stewart and César Diaz) that readily fit within this musical disaster. “Highway 61” is chaotic but it has its moments, “Joey” is painful (very painful), “The Times” involves a wildly weaponized harmonica, “Rolling Stone” is one long run-on sentence (no space—no feeling—no nothing), “Just Like a Woman” features bland, shouting vocals and instrumental breaks that drift into oblivion, “AATW” sounds as if the band met for the first time five minutes before the show, and finally, the concluding acoustic “Blowin’” offers so much promise until Bob breaks out his harmonica and loses touch with the song (as per “Ramona”). He was doing so well and the bottom just seems to fall out. This is the first review from the Tennessee era without one positive comment.
This is just dreadful. What stands out is how it departs so drastically from the previous band’s example. I thought Bucky Baxter was The Answer. And he may be. But on this night, Bucky is way more question than answer. Maybe it is, after all, the dual drum arrangement. But they operate in that Motown method of simultaneous playing. They’re just one sound. The “Lonnie” routine is percolating in there somewhere; however, the rushed wall of noise just buries it.
Dylan’s vocals are always challenging. That’s certain. Having said that, I fear we hit a new low on this July night in 1992. To say someone sounds like a car alarm is a pretty harsh observation and, perhaps, unfair—to the car alarm, that is. The car alarm serves a specific function. I have no idea what function Bob’s vocals perform. These mumbling, shouting, nonmusical vocal tendencies are just unintelligible. Consequently, they kill the songs. It must be purposeful.
One thing is certain: this band is still in development. A good show here, a not-so-good show there; a strong vocal performance here, a lifeless singing attempt there; and, a beautifully layered instrumental passage here, a squeezed-up-forced-together segment there are all signs of transition. The ebb and flow of this history is somewhat surprising. The perfection of, say, the Campbell-Sexton unit is clearly a product of a long, demanding, trial and error process. And I know what part of that process this show represents: the error.
My how things change in Youngstown, Ohio, on November 2, 1992, with The Show’s 448th concert featuring the fifth Tennessee band (here Winston Watson replaces Quintana). After a mere 17 performances The Show is transformed by this band. This production is the photo negative of the previous entry. It’s stunning in every way. The songs open and close masterfully. The vocals aren’t perfect; yet they’re sincere, intelligible, and at times, dramatic. The instrumentals complement those traits. Even the harmonica bits make sense. Once more, we witness the value of patience. These songs are allowed to breathe. The strategic use of space manifests in Bob’s vocals, the instrumental segments, and in the overall feel of the performance. The songs’ length offers evidence of the slower, more dramatic style (all songs are right at or over five minutes—several are over seven minutes). This patient performance strategy allows sincerity to enter the music hall.
As per tradition, the concert unfolds in three segments; however, this time there is an attention to pacing within the respective sets that elevates the night’s dramatic qualities. The opening seven-song set uses both electric and acoustic numbers. The middle acoustic set features solo Bob and Dylan accompanied by Garnier. The closing segment contains two electric and two acoustic numbers before yielding to a strong encore that provides a fitting end to this outstanding show.
The Show begins with a cover of McKinley Morganfield’s “I Can’t Be Satisfied” that establishes the tone; it’s flat-out beautiful. A gentle “If Not for You” advances that trait. The 7:05 of “If Not for You” allows Baxter’s pedal steel to flourish with the guitars floating on top. Even with two drummers, the bottom is soft and smooth. A theatrical “AATW” ensues with its slow, powerful buildup. The rising and falling action within the song adds so much to its dramatic pacing (e.g., stop-starts, soft instrumental breaks, louder instrumental breaks, harmonica, and, of course, The Big Finish). There’s no rushing anywhere. This is an extremely patient “Watchtower.” Afterward, we slow for another cover (Paul Metsers’s “Farewell to the Gold”), that is perfectly executed. That trend continues with the blues powerhouse that is “It Takes a Lot to Laugh.” Everybody is on the same page here. This is straight off Beale Street. The layered guitars (early “Lonnie”), smooth bottom, and improved vocals unfold in a manner that allows us to absorb the song’s sentiments. “I & I” and “Silvio” close the opening set with grace and style. “I & I” offers a mysterious, brooding quality that supports Bob’s determined vocals. At 7:26 “I & I” is a handsomely orchestrated statement. “Silvio” rocks in a restrained, focused fashion (extraordinary percussion). This is one fine opening segment.
That quality continues with an almost perfect acoustic set. Here we witness some stellar guitar playing that is, once more, complemented by slower vocals. The harmonica routines also fit just right. These songs are given the space and opportunity to develop. Dylan’s solo songs (“Mama, You Been” and “Boots of Spanish Leather”) are exquisite. He unpacks both songs in a gentle, sincere way via some great guitar. Garnier enters for “Mr. T” and “Gates” and adds a sweet bottom that contributes much to these stellar performances.
The concluding set offers a show within a show. The slashing energy of “Unbelievable” gets things rolling. Bob’s vocals hang in there—no shouting or mumbling, even when he sings loudly. Things slow down for the third cover of the evening, the traditional, “I’ve Been All around This World” and its layered acoustic guitars, atmospheric electric guitar licks, and clear, distinct vocals. This acoustic symphony continues with a quintessential version of “The Times.” At 7:09, this song is also allowed to unfold via its calm, layered, inspirational musical style. This “Times” is dazzling and its message is oh-so-timeless. A trait that sets us up for the Big Bang that is the show’s finale, “Maggie.” Here “Maggie” is in a Memphis Mode. The big bottom and slashing electric guitars bury the vocals somewhat, but not too badly. This “Maggie” works.
The evening closes with a magnificent encore: “Shooting Star,” “Rainy Day,” and a solo Bob, “It Ain’t Me.” The atmospheric, theatrical open to “Shooting” is so true to this song that it’s breathtaking. Baxter is in his element. What ambiance! Those Motown drums reinforce the drama. The night explodes with “Rainy Day.” Like several of the electric songs in this show, the internal pacing, stop-start-rebuild strategy kept the number going and going (a tactic I soon deem The Hush). Bob’s vocals are in there all the way. The solo acoustic Dylan is a compelling way to end a show that is squarely focused on the songs. A slow, sincere “It Ain’t Me” is such a signature statement as solo Bob closes a fine evening.
What a difference a drummer makes! Our methodical march through The Show’s development takes yet another transitional turn with this performance. From the sloppy, insincere songs of the Antibes gig we evolve into the dynamic, focused, sincere happenings of Youngstown. These shows were three months apart! How could so much change so quickly? Was Antibes just a bad night? Did the band go to the crossroads or something? Everything—I mean everything—changes so significantly. It makes you either dread the next show or revel in anticipation.
The momentum advances with a return to Brussels and The Show’s 651st performance on March 23, 1995. On this spring night in Belgium, the sixth Tennessee band—Bucky Baxter, John Jackson, Tony Garnier, Winston Watson, and Bob Dylan—hit the stage for the 195th time. To suggest this is a flawless performance is not to embrace hyperbole. It’s the truth. The band’s attention to pacing is the key. The concert is smartly arranged according to song style and tempo. The songs themselves are cleverly paced with rising and falling action that directly enhances their dramatic impact. And the vocals serve the songs in every way. This is a thoroughly theatrical musical event. One meaningful piece of evidence is simply song length. So many songs are in the seven- to eight-minute range. The band allows the songs to stretch which, in turn, elevates their status as the stars of this show. They have never sounded better. Over the years they may sound different, but they will never sound better.
Dylan’s vocals are, once more, the key to it all. He sings in a clear, coherent fashion. Even if the song is fast or the music is loud, his vocals are understandable, and better yet, emotional. There’s no mumbling or hesitation or botched lyrics. There’s no shouting or screaming or drifting off. Dylan enunciates his words in clever ways. Even as “Tangled” races along in its high-speed storytelling, you can understand every single word. Inflection is often the key: His serene vocals in “Just Like,” his brooding growl in “Queen Jane,” his wistful tone in “Mr. T” and “Boots,” his sermonic posturing in “Dignity,” his daunting taunts in “I & I,” his rebellious declarations in a wall of sound “Maggie,” his seasoned invective in “Rolling Stone” (hoowww doooes it feeeeeeeel, indeed), and his defiant demeanor in “It Ain’t Me, Babe.” There are no drive-by vocals here. Bob sings with conviction and those sentiments are totally supported—nay, enhanced—by his band.
The concert unfolds in the time-tested three-part manner. An evenly paced, six-song electric set gives way to an extremely soft, three-song acoustic segment (with the full band), which yields to a three-song electric set before the concluding two-song encore. Musical flow and balance are the keys to these individual segments. The night begins with the big sounds of “Crash on the Levee.” In every way, this is a warm-up. The powerful sounds of “Crash” yield to the soft, smooth Baxter-led country twang of “If Not for You.” The production’s pacing is established from the outset. The action rises with an explosive “AATW.” The opening instrumental build up is complemented by The Big Finish. Between those bookends is some wonderfully layered guitar work supported by a driving rhythm section (Watson is on fire).
This carefully arranged performance pauses for a ravishing “Just Like.” A new drum intro prefaces a sweet pedal steel lead with accompanying harmonica to establish this song’s pensive mood. The pace races away with a very fast, electric “Tangled.” The 7:36 of “Tangled” is a journey unto itself with rollicking electric guitars rotating instrumental breaks in a fashion that keeps the song moving. To close the opening set, the band slows way down. At 7:56 this “Queen Jane” is one brooding piece. This song certainly showcases Baxter’s pedal steel. This is quite the theatrical opening set.
The action comes to a standstill with the acoustic segment. This is the slowest “Mr. T” I’ve ever heard. The light acoustic guitar dances over Baxter’s equally delicate pedal work. But it’s Bob’s wistful vocals and gentle harmonica that invigorate this respectful version of a timeless song. That trend continues with a truly melancholy “Boots.” Dylan sings so softly—and slowly—that the song assumes the quiet conversational tone that underlies the story. This is a beautiful moment. The pace enlivens with the layers of acoustic guitar on “Don’t Think Twice.” It’s difficult to imagine that this song could be any better. The blend of acoustic instruments, the intensity of Bob’s vocals, and the song’s message form one impressive musical statement. All of the acoustic numbers are over six minutes long. That says it all.
The three-song concluding set extends the musical drama. The steady, driving rhythms of “Dignity” reinforce the song’s sermonic observations in every way. There are several impressive guitar breaks here (the “Lonnie” is in full swing to marvelous effect). The musical theater advances with a loudly introspective “I & I.” The band lays layer after layer of guitar on top of a demonstrative rhythm section as Dylan delivers the admonitions that flow from this song. The drums play a key role in this musical expedition with its blistering guitars. This is an outstanding example of this band’s Memphis sound.
After band introductions, a wall of sound “Maggie” enters the arena. All of the musicians are wailing on top of some rollicking drums in this rocking “Maggie.” Bob’s vocals keep pace: no shouting or mumbling. The night closes with a seven-minute “Rolling Stone” and a 7:52 “It Ain’t Me.” This slow, deliberate “Rolling” allows all of that song’s invective to emerge. Pacing is everything for “Rolling” and this band gives the time/space this song requires. Once more, “It Ain’t” provides a fitting capstone moment for an outstanding musical evening.
The previous entries in this portion of our musical voyage suggest we have turned that proverbial corner. The orchestrated qualities of these performances are becoming their controlling characteristic. The songs are certainly the stars of the show, and everything else flows from that wellspring. Dylan’s voice is finding its way: He’s serving, not fighting, the songs. Garnier’s leadership is taking hold. With the vocals and rhythm section solidifying their roles, the lead guitarist plays a major part in a given interpretation. And that’s what this is all about: the song’s interpretation. Different bands will interpret songs in their own signature style. But the foundation for that process involves the vocals and the rhythm section and we’ve established both at this point. It’s taken a lot of work to achieve this. But we have. The results are promising. The Locarno Doctrine is honored.
Our discussion of the Tennessee Bob era concludes with The Show’s 842nd edition and the seventh band’s 28th performance on November 23, 1996, in Akron, Ohio. David Kemper replaced Winston Watson to form The Show’s 10th ensemble, and the group experiences some growing pains as a result. In Akron, Kemper ranges from simply keeping time (“Silvio” and “Highway 61”), to being downright intrusive (“Mr. T” and “It Ain’t Me”), to playing wonderfully (“God Knows” and “Born in Time”). He is certainly feeling his way. Consequently, we have a slightly uneven show.
Dylan’s vocals range from excellent to not-so-excellent. The mumble machine manifests itself from time to time (almost always on fast-paced numbers), and the occasional shout rings out; however, by-and-large, Bob’s vocals work well. In terms of the band, well, we have news: The Hush. The Hush is a performance technique in which the band winds down, very slowly, from a hot instrumental moment toward silence, holds that “hushed moment” for a few seconds before winding back up to another full-volume musical explosion. The band uses the tactic on the Akron versions of “AATW,” “Watching the River Flow,” and “Silvio.” They also use a version of The Hush to wind down songs (e.g., “Rolling Stone”). The Hush certainly adds to the dramatic qualities of the performance. Those tempo tricks can be invigorating. By the way, speaking of ending songs, this band has real difficulties with that on this particular night (new drummer syndrome). “I Want You” has a really weak ending and, unbelievably, “Highway 61” just stops (there are other instances as well). How these bands end songs is telling.
This Ohio show deploys the usual structure: An opening electric set (six songs), a middle acoustic segment (three numbers), a closing electric bit (four songs), and a three-song encore. As per the previous entry, this show’s pace varies between and within songs. That is, faster songs are followed by slower numbers and individual songs display an ebb and flow as they unfold (e.g., The Hush). This ensemble certainly understands the value of song arrangement. The night opens with the blues bonanza that is “Crash on the Levee.” The band seems to be in its groove from the outset (brilliant counterpoint). An awkward “I Want You” counters that observation. While Baxter is certainly in his element here, Dylan’s vocals encounter a brief mumbling moment. This song never finds the right balance and ultimately ends rather poorly. As a result, this show has a mixed open.
The Hush makes it first appearance of the night in the always-forceful, guitar-fueled “AATW.” Here is where we first notice Winston Watson’s absence as Kemper is basically keeping time in a number that usually cultivates active percussion. At 7:05 “Simple Twist” unveils another made-for-Bucky arrangement. His pedal steel provides a strong platform for Bob’s soft vocals and the intense guitar exchanges that dominate this performance (it also ends abruptly). The opening set concludes with “Watching the River” and “Silvio.” That both of these songs feature The Hush is interesting. “Watching” is just too fast. The drumming is too fast and overbearing, which forces Dylan into his high-speed mumbling mode. The Hush helps, but this “Watching” just doesn’t work (remember: speed kills). “Silvio” comes to the rescue with its rising and falling action and wicked instrumental breaks. The strong backing vocals suggest a team effort rare in The Show.
The acoustic set extends the uneven qualities of the opening segment. The full band accompanies Bob on “Mr. T,” “Master of War,” and “One Too Many Mornings.” The results are mixed. “Mr. T” contains soft (but fast) vocals and some wonderful layers of acoustic sound that are disrupted by the drums (the vocals shift into a ruinous sing-song mumble). “Mr. T” just doesn’t work. Not so for the highly dramatic “Masters.” The acoustic band does an excellent job of creating the tension that makes this song so aggressive. What a theatrical moment! A soft pedal steel platform offers an outstanding context for the quiet vocals and relational commentary of “One Too Many.” Dylan’s voice rises and falls throughout the performance which, once more, enhances the dramatic ambiance Baxter provides and the dueling guitars reinforce. “One Too Many” is yet another Bucky Baxter moment.
The closing electric set opens with the two highlights of this show. “God Knows” and “Born in Time” contain the best drumming of the night and that supports some mercurial guitar sequences. The “Lonnie” guitar battles contribute so much to the pacing that energizes “God Knows.” Another awkward ending takes us to a new battlefield and the guitar exchanges that make this “Born in Time” special. Bob’s counterpoint pushes Baxter—and the band—in a gloriously rhythmic way. This is the best two-song sequence of the evening. The representative anecdote for this show may very well be “Highway 61.” At 7:42, “61” offers lots of time for lots of things, and not all of them are good. First, Kemper is simply a timekeeper. The guitar exchanges are spectacular (Kenny Wayne Shepherd joins the band for “61” and “Rolling Stone”), yet the drumming and singing just fall flat. The quick, clumsy exit says everything about this truly disappointing “Highway 61 Revisited.”
How interesting that close to half of this show involves the three-song encore (slight exaggeration). “Rolling Stone” comes in at 8:43. “It Ain’t Me” carries on for 8:04. And “Rainy Day Women” comes in at a whopping 8:58. It begins with our first Baxter-dominated version of “Rolling Stone.” His pedal steel is in full control and this drastically slows the number down. The guitar-pedal steel exchanges add much to this more restrained “Rolling.” From a never-ending “Rolling” we turn to a never-starting “It Ain’t Me.” This version of this timeless song just doesn’t work. There is no sentimentality at all—and that’s the key to this provocative message. You can’t be cavalier without attitude. Just “blame it on the drums.” This Buckeye night concludes somewhere on Beale Street with a Memphis-fueled “Rainy Day Women.” After an impressive drum/slide open, this “Rainy” slips into a slow, deep blues grind. Here Bob’s “Lonnie” tactics go to the Holy City of American Music for a battle with hometown blues master, J. J. Jackson. For close to nine minutes, these boys grind this song out with Garnier and Kemper’s dutiful support. This is one of the finest performances of The Show’s history.
Methinks something is up when a Bob Show doesn’t feature harmonica (see the first entry in our prolonged adventure). That old harmonica was not in the building on this autumn evening in Ohio. Confusion was, though. The confusion over song endings and the inconsistent drumming are major elements of this performance. The Hush and other pacing tactics offer evidence that this band is applying the lessons of previous groups. The concert’s theatrical qualities benefit from these musical strategies, and The Show’s 10th ensemble is well aware of that. I guess this is part of the process of introducing new band members. Perhaps this is why we often see new members brought in early. Remember, Winston Watson played with Ian Wallace for 26 shows before assuming the drummer’s role. John Jackson played with Carlos Diaz for 21 shows before taking over the lead guitar duties. Stu Kimball will play with Larry Campbell for 78 shows before assuming Larry’s job (or at least part of it). A dynamic entity like The Show demonstrates its evolving nature in these moments. The transitions are an essential element of the creative growth that has defined these bands to date.
The New York Bob bands served an important function in The Show’s history. I’m starting to believe that Dylan did revert to his Little Richard heritage as a means of deconstructing his songs. I think he had to kill them so they may be reborn. He also finished off the pop icon role. It was his career’s Phoenix Moment. The songs were resuscitated during the Tennessee Detox as The Look slowly evolved. It wasn’t easy. The songs’ articulation is The Show’s principal challenge to this juncture. The players’ ability to add their own stylistic signatures to these historic tunes is a given band’s source of energy—its reason for being. And the Tennessee Bob era is a critical turning point in that unfolding phenomenon.
The Show: The Bob Dylan Quintet
The Tennessee Detox certainly raised the Dylan canon out of its New York abyss. The calm, layered rhythms from the Tennessee era will be difficult to match. Yet, Tony Garnier and his mates more than meet that formidable challenge. You cannot say that The Bob Dylan Quintet surpasses the Tennessee bands’ musicality, but it does advance The Show’s virtuosity and its song list. What was burned in New York, arose in Tennessee, and wins the day with the Quintet and Jack Fate’s gradual emergence. When Bob masters his vocals at the end of this era, The Show enters a new realm of performance that extends to this day. Not only did the Locarno Doctrine prevail, it reinstated his creative nexus, revised The Look, and revived The Script. As Dylan suspected from the outset, it took a long time to get there.
Eight different ensembles appear across this time frame that stretches from March 31, 1997, to November 21, 2004. The versatile Larry Campbell (guitar, mandolin, pedal steel, and more) replaces J. J. Jackson for this era’s 846 concerts. The first installment (March 31, 1997, to May 2, 1999) features Campbell, Baxter, Garnier, and Kemper for an extended 242 show run. Guitarist Charlie Sexton replaces Baxter and ushers in the second combo and its 288 concerts (June 5, 1999, to November 24, 2001). The Quintet hits its stride when George Recile joins the third band for 91 shows (January 31, 2002, to November 22, 2002). Just as the Tennessee Duo shapes the sounds of that era, the New Orleans Duo of Garnier and Recile play a major role in refining the Quintet’s style. Jim Keltner sits in for Recile for a brief 16-show run (April 23, 2002, to May 12, 2002) and Bill Burnette assumes Sexton’s spot for 11 concerts (February 6, 2003, to February 26, 2003) before the sixth combo’s 94 shows with guitarist Freddy Koella in Burnette’s place (April 18, 2003, to April 14, 2004). Drummer Richie Hayward joins the seventh installment for 26 performances (February 28, 2004, to April 4, 2004) before the era closes with the eighth ensemble’s 78-show stretch with Stu Kimball taking Koella’s role (June 4, 2004, to November 21,2004).
The songs win in the Quintet phase. This act recreates the canon in a variety of ways; taking a song like “Maggie” and recasting it through a rock, folk, country, blues, or some hybrid framework. Songs assume new forms on a nightly basis. Today’s laid-back country tune is tomorrow’s blistering rocker. These bands can do whatever they want. That flexibility paves the way for dramatic recreations that involve backing vocals; extended, multilayered, Lonnie-fueled instrumental breaks; a steady, driving rhythm section; and an unpredictable harmonica. This is also the era of the “pre-growl” vocal style that fights off the tendency to mumble, rush, or fall into sing-song patterns. A careful listen indicates just how hard Bob works to improve his singing (his techniques are expanding). All of that effort pays off handsomely here as this Iron Ranger’s pen awakens from a very long sleep.
This portion of our journey opens with The Show’s 935th appearance in Los Angeles, California on December 19, 1997. This was our initial Quintet’s 82nd concert. It’s one compelling performance featuring several new Jack Fate songs. Everything comes together here. The singing is clear and direct all night—no lapses whatsoever as Dylan’s screaming vocals evolve into a more settled technique. The guitar work is stunning. Dylan and Campbell float over Baxter’s pedal steel platforms supported by Kemper and Garnier’s steady, driving bottom. Kemper is very active—even in acoustic numbers. Garnier is so smooth he’s almost invisible. It’s hard to point to one variable on this stage. Until you think about it, that is. The stars on this stage are the songs.
There is a distinctive depth to this band’s work. Songs are usually in the five- to six-minute range (or longer). This facilitates the musical interplay that characterizes this unit. There’s lots of space for everybody to work. Yet, it is how they work that provides the key to this ensemble. These performances don’t involve independent, rotating solo routines; rather, the instrumentals feed off one another in a manner that adds depth. Even when the sound shifts from electric to acoustic, the music unfolds in a layered style. As a result, these can be very busy songs. The three guitarists often play different things at the same time. This is exactly what Dylan planned in 1987.
The concert unfolds via a steady pacing that pauses for a three-song acoustic interlude. It opens with a country-tinged “Maggie,” moves to a Baxter pedal steel masterpiece (“Man in the Long Black Coat”), shifts to a formidable guitar battle (the new “Cold Irons Bound”), slows back down for another Bucky moment featuring a hyperactive Kemper (“Just Like a Woman”), enters a funky, deep-blues, Garnier-led “Can’t Wait” (also new and one of this night’s highlights) that transitions into an outstanding “Silvio.” From the backing vocals to the layers and layers of guitar, this “Silvio” shines. The three-song acoustic set ensues (“Oh Baby It Ain’t No Lie,” “Love Minus Zero/No Limit,” and “Tangled”).
The pace quickens after the acoustic set with an electric version of “When I Paint My Masterpiece” that showcases Baxter. A dramatic “Joey” follows and closes with band introductions that involve a nod to the opening act, Sheryl Crow. The Show explodes afterward by way of a wicked “Til I Fell in Love with You” (also new) and a monstrous “Highway 61.” Crow sings a verse of “61” that adds a lot of zest to this raging number. The night pauses for a sweet “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” (thanks to Sheryl’s accordion) and a dark “Love Sick” (also new). All of which sets up the climatic ending that “Rainy Day” provides. It would be difficult to improve on this version of “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.” Its slow, deliberate blues groove provides the perfect setting for some outstanding guitar exchanges. The Show’s 11th band has most certainly found its groove on this December night in the City of Angels.
That we are entering a period devoid of the bad nights of the past is made clear in The Show’s 1,199th offering from Stockholm, Sweden, on May 18, 2000. This was the 104th appearance of the Quintet’s second edition featuring guitarist Charlie Sexton alongside Campbell, Kemper, and Garnier. The Show is in a new realm. Considering the opening six songs, you’d have to call this an acoustic-driven performance as the multi-instrumentalist Campbell assumes Baxter’s responsibilities in an impressive fashion. The resulting layers of guitars provide the perfect support for Bob’s improving vocals. The singer is inching his way toward The Growl that will control the new millennium. There are moments of mumbling (in fast-paced “Watching the River”) and touches of the nasal drawl, but The Growl’s slow emergence progresses. Throughout, Kemper and Garnier offer subtle support for the magical guitars that dominate this performance. This is gorgeous music.
The night unfolds in two protracted segments: the opening acoustic symphony and the spectacularly paced closing set. The acoustic portion offers compelling performances of the traditional “Roving Gambler” (just lovely) followed by a majestic “Mr. T,” a richly dramatic “Masters,” a resplendent “Visions of Johanna,” a fine “Tangled” (the guitars!), and a showstopper “Gates of Eden.” The acoustic guitars are, as Bob predicted, orchestral. They add staggering layers of depth as the songs unfold. Everything flows so effortlessly—especially the vocals. These guys sound like they’ve played 1,000 shows together. That they bring out the best in Dylan is without question. A new day has dawned.
When The Show goes electric with a delightful “Country Pie” the “Lonnie” guitar interplay assumes control and leads the way through a diabolical “Thin Man” (fantastic pedal steel and pacing), a scorching “Watching the River,” and “Things Have Changed.” This band brings a completely different feel to these songs. You never want them to end. “Not Dark Yet” follows and kicks off a masterful set that travels from an emotional, super-dreamy “Not Dark”; through the guitar party that is “Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat” (amazing virtuosity); dives into the melodramatic “Love Sick” dirge; bounces back by way of a classic, patient “Rolling Stone”; “It Ain’t Me” (yes, patience is a virtue); “Not Fade Away” (super backing vocals and guitars); an unforgettable, gentle “One Too Many”; a rollicking, joyous, layered “Maggie” and closes with a solemn, respectful “Blowin’ in the Wind.” The backing vocals in “Roving,” “Not Fade,” and “Blowin’” are as good as it gets in The Show. Those vocals surely extend the layered qualities of this orchestral music.
After 104 appearances, this musical engine is firing on all cylinders. The next ensemble may switch drummers and add a new continuity from the rear, but it’s the refined sounds of the Campbell, Sexton, and Dylan trio that carry the day for a long, long time. That guitar work is this band’s signature characteristic. They masterfully execute Bob’s master plan. The Bob Dylan Quintet is state of the art Dylan: They never have a bad night. They surely take the Locarno Doctrine to new places. This is what a recovering Bob Dylan dreamt of when he was nursing his hand in 1987.
When we turn to The Show’s 1,489th concert and the Quintet’s third band’s appearance on November 21, 2002, in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, the musical worm slightly turns. After David Kemper’s tepid drumming during the previous show, I expected a reinvigorated band with George Recile’s introduction into The Show’s 13th ensemble. On this, the 90th appearance of the third group, we witness something entirely unexpected: an uneven show with an uncertain band. On one hand, some of The Show’s best group vocals appear via the remarkable “Shelter” revision and “Blowin’ in the Wind” while, on the other hand, versions of Warren Zevon’s “Accidentally Like a Martyr” and “Mutineer,” the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar,” and Neil Young’s “Old Man” are added. Complementing those musical excursions are several new songs. One is the 8:36 of “Summer Days” that may be the best performance of that song EVER. The night ends with Recile’s new toy: “AATW.” What a strange mix.
The opening “Maggie” sets the scene for this unusual night. “Maggie” appears via a smooth, medium-paced tempo that never manages to take off. It just does its thing; as if on auto-pilot (pure warm up). A somber “I’ll Remember You” follows with Bob growling his way through this sentimental story. The times change with a pounding “Highway 61” that features rushed vocals, clashing guitars, and Dylan’s crazy keyboard. Things get weird from there. The Zevon song joins the radio-perfect “Things Have Changed,” the fun-loving “Brown Sugar” cover (what backing vocals and superb drumming), and the super slow, dreamy, pedal steel-driven “Never Gonna be the Same Again” to make for one odd mix. A growling, dramatic “It’s Alright Ma” (powerful vocals, layered instruments) and a gentle “Girl from the North” round off that one-of-a-kind song sequence.
Between a ripping “Cold Irons” and the Neil Young song is the stunning revelation that is the new “Shelter from the Storm.” The rich backing vocals (totally unique) and smooth, layered guitars surely take this revision to new musical places. A new song—“Honest with Me”—revisits the Big Sound (a maze of guitars) before a majestic “Just Like a Woman” (soft vocals, dreamy pedal steel), and a forceful “High Water” (another new Delta-dripped tune). “Honest” and “High Water” are monstrous blues bombs. The night mellows with the second Zevon song (“Mutineer”) and the hushed symphony “Bye & Bye” (also new). With Bob’s subdued band introductions (rare to hear him like that) we expect everyone to fall asleep, but that doesn’t happen. The night closes with the showstopping “Summer Days,” a beautiful “Blowin’,” and a blistering “AATW” (thanks to Recile).
What an odd show. It opens with a tired “Maggie” and ends with a burning “AATW.” It’s as if the band realizes it’s on the home stretch and gathers a much needed second wind for the final three songs. The big question involves the covers. This is a distinctive moment for this band. The Warren Zevon tribute is obvious (he recently died); however, the remaining selections are puzzling. No Dylan band uses cover songs to this extent (American Song entries are another matter). This is noteworthy—as is the presence of the new songs from Love and Theft and the stirring backing vocals. Always: change.
That trend was yet to arrive when we travel back in time to Manchester, England, on May 9, 2002, for The Show’s 1,427th entry and the Quintet’s brief span with Jim Keltner sitting in for an injured George Recile. The Quintet’s third ensemble paused for 16 shows with this era’s fourth band, and the results were explosive on this night—the 13th show of that small run. To be sure, this is the photonegative of the New York bands. To the extent that GE and the gang ripped and tore their way through the Dylan catalog, this band patiently moves from note-to-note, allowing each song to unfold in its own ambiance. And this band knows how to create ambiance. It may be Jim Keltner’s 13th show, but he plays like it’s his 1,300th. Along with Garnier, this show gives great bottom. On top are the magical combination of Dylan (“Lonnie”), Campbell, and Sexton. The icing on this musical cake is Dylan’s vocals. The Growl comes to visit on this May night with a stirring vocal performance. At times, Bob’s vocals are downright playful; using his unique brand of melisma to colorize the tunes.
The concert begins with an orchestral five-song set (featuring acoustic “Maggie,” “Seńor,” “It’s Alright,” “One Too Many,” and an electric-acoustic “Stuck Inside”), transitions to the electric guitars by way of a gentle “Moonlight” (a new song), and tears into a two-song blast with “I Don’t Believe You” and the grinding monster blues “Lonesome Day Blues” (a mind-blowing new song). The evening pauses for an exquisite three-song acoustic segment with “Masters,” “Visions,” and a harmonica-drenched “Don’t Think Twice.” The night concludes with shining performances of “Blind Willie McTell” (“Lonnie” to the pain threshold), “Summer Days” (oh my!), “Drifter’s Escape,” and an over-the-top “Rainy Day Women” blues bomb.
What follows is one for the ages: a six-song encore. This extraordinary set is surely well-paced. “Things Have Changed” leads off with “Rolling Stone,” “Forever Young,” “Honest with Me,” “Blowin’ in the Wind,” and the thundering nightcap, “AATW.” Throughout, the band works with the songs—not against them or in competition with them. Nothing is ever forced or rushed. Space is everywhere. Nuance flourishes. Song endings are rarely hurried or curt.
Bob’s vocals almost never miss a beat in Manchester. We have the slight mumble here or there when a song’s pace quickens. Yet, by and large, this is a vocal treasure. That it all starts with history sets the tone. The night begins with the first-ever acoustic performance of “Maggie’s Farm.” The band establishes a layered acoustic backdrop for Dylan’s improved vocals and that renders one busy Maggie. Those vocals improve with the cinematic “Seńor.” It feels so strange to report that the singing is this good, but it is. The defiant singing in “It’s Alright,” the hushed vocals of “One Too Many,” the melancholy of “Moonlight,” the wicked intonation of “Lonesome Day,” and the threatening barks of “Masters” all depend on variations of Bob’s growl as Dylan deploys multiple techniques to marvelous ends. I’m not suggesting that Bob is belting it out like Barbara Streisand or Johnny Mathis. But I am claiming that the vocalist has caught up with his band. With that, The Show turns a substantial corner. When we add the splendid backing vocals on “Forever Young” and “Blowin’ in the Wind” this vocal showcase is complete.
Those vocals are supported by the music, too. The layers of guitars in electric masterpieces such as “Lonesome Day” (The Grind), “Summer Days” (Benny Goodman Time), “Drifter’s,” “Rainy Day” (The Major Grind), “Honest with Me,” and “AATW” add so much to the way the songs unfold. Patience abounds. Everything is given its own room to operate. The rising and falling action of these songs seems to be the ideal complement to Dylan’s emotional growls. The acoustic guitars achieve the same musical end. “Maggie,” “It’s Alright,” “Stuck Inside” (this sounds as if it’s in 3-D it’s so layered with counterpoint), the overwhelming “Masters” (the subtle rhythm is beyond dramatic), the beautifully patient “Visions” (very patient at 9:02), and the grand “Forever” and “Blowin’” represent little acoustic symphonies. The guitars play off one another in an energetic yet refined fashion. This is impressive musical theater and quite the treat for the fine people of Manchester. The Locarno Doctrine was dutifully served.
Once Recile returns The Show experiences another brief 11-concert run when it travels Down Under to Brisbane, Australia, in February 2003. The night of February 11th witnessed The Show’s 1493rd entry and the new group’s third outing as Campbell, Recile, and Garnier are joined by guitarist Bill Burnette. Burnette has the daunting task of replacing Charlie Sexton. As you might expect, there are some rough moments between the guitars as a result. Burnette’s task is further complicated by Dylan’s move to keyboards. Bob’s guitar days are numbered and that transition begins in earnest here.
There are three stars in the Australian skies above this show: the songs, the New Orleans Duo, and The Growl. Although Dylan completely blows the lyrics to “Honest with Me” (quite funny) and mumbles his way through parts of “Watching the River Flow,” his vocals are strong, focused, and playful. The vocals shuffle along in a joyous “I’ll Be Your Baby.” They bark their way through “Highway 61” and “Wicked Messenger.” The Growl whispers its way through “It’s All Over” before it damns the enemy in “Masters of War.” After that rant, Dylan pauses for the serene sentiments of “Forever Young” and “Don’t Think Twice.” Bob’s voice services the songs. No racing. No shouting (save a few). “Saving Grace” and “Moonlight” are so softly emotional. “Honest with Me” and “High Water” are raucous Delta howls. Whatever the song needs, the vocalist discovers: refined or raw. It’s an excellent vocal effort.
Like most of these concerts, the band attends to pacing throughout the night. We open with a six-song electric set (“Maggie,” “I’ll Be Your Baby,” “Highway 61,” “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere,” “Things Have Changed,” and “Wicked Messenger”) before yielding to a four-song acoustic segment with the full band (“It’s All Over,” “Masters,” “Forever Young,” and “Don’t Think Twice”), and concluding with a very carefully paced electric session (“Watching the River,” “Honest,” “Saving Grace,” “High Water,” “Moonlight,” and “Summer Days”). The night ends with a two-song encore: “It Ain’t Me” and “AATW.”
There are several memorable moments in this line-up. The 7:04 of “I’ll Be Your Baby” just swings and sways its way through a joyful, happy-go-lucky story of relational anticipation. Campbell’s pedal steel fuels this catchy tune and Bob’s bouncy vocals, lively harmonica, and the rhythm section follow that lead. “Highway 61” is a deep blues grind down that famous road featuring rotating solo performances that maintain their momentum throughout (Burnette certainly holds his own). We hit the dance floor once more with the delightful “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” (floating pedal steel, carefree backing vocals, and joyous harmonica). After another deep grind via “Wicked” (great drumming, bass, and guitar interplay—shades of the “Lonnie”), things settle for a magnificent 9:32 of opulent pedal steel, flawless rhythm support, and pensive vocals with “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” (with Dylan on guitar). The remarkable 8:18 of “Forever Young” uses backing vocals, a soft sweet bottom, and layered acoustic guitars to create one of the evening’s many symphonic moments (stunning example of the Lonnie technique). This is a spellbinding performance of a beautiful song.
Along with all the swinging and serenading, the band offers some growling deep blues with “Watching,” “Honest” (a whopping 8:46), and “High Water” (a brief 7:27). This is another showcase moment for Garnier and Recile. We’re so deep in the Delta there may be no getting out. But we do! And we head straight over to Texas and a rollicking “Summer Days” (running 8:22). While the occasional wacky piano flurry jerks us back to consciousness, this “Summer” is pure bliss. The band seems as if it could carry on forever—thanks to those Nawlins boys. No matter if we’re swinging, stomping, or sighing, the rhythm section provides the beat to get the job done. (Notice once more that most of these songs are new. The nexus is surely back in full force.)
The encore is interesting. “It Ain’t Me, Babe” clocks in at 9:11 and contains the most unusual music of the night. The band never quite gets in sync. The serene rhythm section and light acoustic guitars provide a musical backdrop for vocals that seem to be a beat or two off. Bob comes in late with the opening lines and he never catches up. The song maintains its blend of soft instrumentals and biting sentimentality, though (orchestral Lonnie). The concert concludes with another Recile-inspired “AATW.” I love the Exodus lead-in that builds “Watchtower” into a tour de force. Strong vocals and slashing guitars run throughout, but Recile’s drumming powers this show stopper. The man owns this song. “AATW” provided a fitting end for one fine Australian evening.
We travel way north to Big Sky, Montana, for the July 16, 2003, performance of The Show’s 1,528th edition and the Quintet’s sixth band featuring new guitarist, Freddy Koella. The versatile Campbell plays everything in this 27th concert with the new band (guitar, mandolin, pedal steel, electric slide, and cittern) and Dylan’s move to keyboards progresses. This creates a lot of room for our new guitarist—and he surely delivers in his own special way. But there’s more news to this story.
During his band introduction in Big Sky, Dylan proclaims George Recile to be “the best drummer on the stage.” If you ever hear this show, you’ll call that line, well, “an understatement.” Recile is on fire this night. His family, girlfriend, or bookie must have been in the audience. The Show’s 16th band’s drummer may never sound better than this. What started Down Under blows up in Big Sky. Still, George isn’t the star of this show. No sir. If you were there, and looked up into that deep Montana night, the stars you saw flickering were “Just Like a Woman” and “It’s Alright Ma” and “It Ain’t Me, Babe” and “Drifter’s Escape” and “Summer Days.” Maybe you would see a distant planet or two, too. That would be “Like a Rolling Stone” and “AATW.” The heavens were alive with historic music.
The songs may be the stars, but they are supported by one outstanding musical cast: the rhythm section, Bob Dylan’s vocals and harmonica, and an instrumental dynamic I’ll call The Guitar Wars. The Nawlins boys control this performance. Whatever the song needs, they provide. Garnier owns “Summer Days.” Recile dominates “Drifter’s” and “AATW.” Everything is under their guidance. The rhythm section’s excellence sets the stage for some outstanding vocals as well. Bob is clear, emphatic, emotional, and playful. When he needs to bark or growl, he does. When he needs a gentler, softer, more serene sound, it’s there. The rhythm section–vocals combination serves these songs in every way.
To complement these activities, we have The Guitar Wars. As we’ve seen, Larry Campbell is the picture of virtuosity. His pedal steel, cittern, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, whatever are always in state of the art mode. But in this 16th ensemble, there’s a new, kinda sorta freaky, kid on the block: Freddy Koella. Freddy is French. That must make him about a half-bubble off or something. There are times when the man opens a guitar solo and there’s just no telling where he’s heading. He just takes off. When you contrast this with Campbell, we have The Guitar Wars: Crazy Freddy and Perfect Larry.
Like most of our post–New York bands, this group maintains a focus on pacing. Unlike other shows, however, this ensemble doesn’t deploy the electric-acoustic-electric formula. In fact, there are no purely acoustic moments in this performance. Pacing is most certainly attended to here, just not in that traditional approach. The evening begins with a standard-but-steady “Maggie,” shifts gears into a smooth “Tonight, I’ll be Staying” (elegant pedal steel), slides into a rhythmic wonder (the new “Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum” and its guitar showcase), slows for a majestic “Just Like a Woman” (and its defining pedal steel), picks up the pace for a finely executed “Things Have Changed” and the Big Blues of “Watching the River,” quiets all the ruckus for a pristine full-band version of “It’s Alright” and “It Ain’t Me,” and shifts into an instrumental treat with “Dignity” (love those slashing guitars and stop-start tactics). At this point, the song selection settles into a perfectly paced sequence with “Drifter’s Escape” (Recile and the Lonnie-fueled guitars explode), “Make You Feel My Love,” “Honest with Me” (Recile!), “Bye and Bye” (gasp), and a spectacular “Summer Days” featuring the Nawlins Duo and The Guitar Wars at their finest. A two-song encore concludes the evening: “Rolling Stone” and “AATW.” This is grand musical theater.
Let’s consider a few examples. The 7:24 of “Just Like” rides a gentle, respectful wave that is inspired by Campbell’s magical pedal steel. The pedal steel was made for this song. Bob’s vocals follow suit in a clear, emotional fashion. At 7:17 the full-band version of “It’s Alright” provides evidence of Recile’s flexibility in that his drum work converts this acoustic traditional into a rocking mode (still, it’s a quiet rocker). While Campbell’s cittern and Crazy Freddie’s guitar provide a lot of tension, it’s the vocals that fuel the drama (with a little help from the lyrics). Later, the marvelously paced “Drifter’s” through “Bye” set provides an overture for the concluding symphony that is “Summer Days.” At 8:08, “Summer” is rich with its super sharp guitar breaks, strong vocals, smart internal pacing, and driving rhythms. Recile is truly incredible.
The two-song encore sustains this momentum. “Rolling Stone” is so restrained and deliberate that it allows the vocals to deliver the song’s story through slashing guitars: The Dylan Edge Live. Recile closes the night with his private property: “AATW.” From its slow Exodus wind up, to its strong vocal growls, to its impeccable invocation of The Guitar Wars, to its energetic harmonica, to the final verse’s Big Finish, this is one masterpiece of an “All along the Watchtower.” And all of it belongs to George Recile—the best drummer on the stage.
That momentum advances with The Show’s 1,605th performance in Toronto, Canada, on March 21, 2004. When drummer Richie Hayward joins the Quintet’s seventh band for a short 26-show stint the virtuosity is intoxicating. This is a Motown Special. That is, Hayward and Recile play so well together that they provide the ideal bottom for the dynamic happenings above them (although the tandem restrains George quite a bit). Garnier leads a totally unified rhythm section. The Growl is in full force with but a few moments of sing-song vocals. Dylan’s piano is laid back and down in the mix. At the end of the Canadian day, however, this night is about the madness and the perfection: Crazy Freddie and Perfect Larry. At times, they rotate; at others, they’re layered. Crazy Freddie can be heard lightly probing the depths of his imagination behind Bob’s vocals from time to time. But it is the straight-on interplay with Campbell that seems to set Freddie off. Larry’s impeccable pedal steel work rounds off a crack musical unit.
This Growlfest unfolds in three segments after the two-song open: “Maggie” and an elegant “Lay Lady Lay” (what pedal steel!). Starting with “Lonesome” and extending through “I Don’t Believe You,” “Tweedle,” “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” (majestic) and “Cold Irons,” we hear the madness versus perfection contest via deep blues, pop, western swing, country, and blues rock formats. With the Motown Bottom providing the musical foundation, The Growl and the guitars dance around the respective styles in a fun-filled manner. After a carefully paced middle featuring “It Ain’t Me,” “Watching,” “Just Like a Woman,” “Tom Thumb,” “Honest,” and “Shooting Star,” the band storms its way home by way of “Summer,” “Cat’s,” “Rolling Stone,” and “AATW.” “It Ain’t Me” unfolds in a theatrical manner with a soft backdrop serving Bob’s pensive, deliberate growl. “Shooting” and “Just Like” feature similar tactics—all to spectacular effect. This day belongs to the guitars, though. No matter what the genre, they command. “Watching,” “Tweedle,” and “Cold Irons” are strong examples, but it’s this version of “Summer Days” that steals the night (running 7:49). This is one unforgettable Guitar War. Again, it is exactly what Dylan envisioned in 1987.
The two Freddie Koella bands are my favorite ensembles. It’s just the wonder of the madness versus the perfection. I will always remember those subtle “Larry smiles” when he watched Freddie work. Nobody knew what was coming! There were times when Koella just got lost. It takes courage to do that. And Campbell loved it. Complementing that audacity is the rhythm section. They provide a stellar foundation for The Growl, The Guitar Wars, and Campbell’s beautiful pedal steel and slide work. It all adds up to Grand Musical Theater with a touch of craziness. Perhaps Bob said it best at the close of his introductions: “Freddy eats a lot of chicken. He’s always in a fowl mood.”
Our examination of the Bob Dylan Quintet’s magical run concludes with The Show’s 1,651st performance in West Haven, Connecticut, on August 7, 2004. Here the Quintet’s eighth and final edition conducts its 30th show as Stu Kimball replaces the French madman. I think it’s very difficult to appreciate what transpires on this August night at Yale Field without traveling back to 1988 and the opening of this historic series of tours. It seems to me that you have to listen to those early shows to grasp the significance of The Show’s 18th band’s performance on this summer night. You have to listen to those early bands racing through songs, stepping on each other’s instrumentals, and burying vocals that are either shouted or mumbled (read: unintelligible). Listening to those performances is the key to comprehending the grandeur of this concert.
The songs are the stars of this show. That is certain. The news here is in the way this band serves those songs as they perform in the outfield of Yale’s baseball park. Their commitment is complete. And it all happens at a college baseball stadium. When I sit at a baseball game I often think of another tale of devotion and the movie Field of Dreams with its wonderful line: “Build it and they will come.” That line works here as well. Bob Dylan has built an inspirational band; as a result, the songs have come home. The Locarno Doctrine prevails.
This production is a vocal showcase. Dylan’s Growl has blossomed into a formidable musical instrument. The Yale “Tell Me That It Isn’t True” gains a compelling sense of urgency due to Bob’s pleading vocals. He’s literally gasping as he begs for an answer. On the other end of the vocal spectrum, the intense growl of “Lonesome Day” adds a lot of grit to a grinding song. This deep blues powerhouse repeats each line, as per that genre. Dylan seems to reach back for a little more on those repeated lines. Somewhere in the middle are the sincere, emotionally charged voices of “Just Like a Woman,” “Love Sick” (such anguish), and “It Ain’t Me” (such drama) that reinforce those songs’ sentiments so directly that they achieve an astounding depth. You can feel the relentless despair that fuels Hollis Brown’s murder-suicide because of the agonizing vocals. Wanna party? There’s happy-go-lucky “Summer Days.” And the biting lyrics of “Rolling Stone” sneer at us through Bob’s damning inquiry: Hooow dooooes it feeeeeeel? He’s not always perfect, but the patient delivery and unrestrained emotional range provide a theatrical context for the songs that not only sharpens their respective stories, it heightens their impact.
The 18th band’s stellar support makes those vocals possible. Garnier’s swinging rhythm in “Summer Days” leads you to believe that the singer does, in fact, know of a place where something’s happening. The slashing guitars of “Highway 61” communicate that it’s one diabolical road. The call and response guitars of “Honest with Me” sustain the relational dilemma portrayed in that story. Kimball and Campbell bring their own magic to the guitar role. They don’t layer the music in the fashion of Jackson and Baxter or Sexton and Campbell. The “Lonnie” counterpoint is way gone. There is no Guitar War on stage. These guys rotate lead-rhythm roles or cross-instrumental moments (e.g., guitar and pedal steel) and create a supportive musical environment—much like old country bands and jazz ensembles. Everywhere you turn: lots and lots of complementary note playing. These guys offer excellent support for Bob’s vocals, harmonica, and the rhythm section.
The rhythm section directs all of this musical traffic on this Ivy League evening with the drumming leading the way. Here Recile displays an unprecedented command over the Dylan canon. Winston Watson was the king of the Big Beat, yet his drums were quiet during the acoustic segments. David Kemper added color to softer songs, yet often fell short of the Big Beat’s demands. George Recile does it ALL. Only Jim Keltner comes close. The subtle activity in support of “Just Like,” “Hollis Brown,” “It Ain’t Me,” and “Love Sick” demonstrates his capacity to respond to these softer tunes. His tendency to punctuate specific moments is impressive. When we travel to the other end of the spectrum and search for the Big Beat, Recile does not disappoint (e.g., “Highway 61,” “Honest,” and “Summer”). His stop-start tactics in “Rolling Stone” add so much to that drama. And the man owns “AATW.” These shows are becoming Drum Clinics, and all of it serves the songs.
Of course, the Yale show unfolds in a strategic manner. This time, we have two two-song bookends with smart pacing in-between. We open with the Big Sounds of “Maggie” and “Watching the River” and we close with the Huge Sounds of “Rolling Stone” and “AATW.” In between we witness the gentle pleading of “Tell Me That It Isn’t True” (sublime pedal steel), the deep blues of “Lonesome,” the smooth majesty of “Just Like a Woman,” the ripping energy of “Tweedle” (Holy Guitars!), the agonizing introspection of “Love Sick,” the raucous happenings on “Highway 61” (more guitars), the unrestrained despair of “Hollis Brown” (more powerful than ever), the relational angst of “Honest” (dramatic call and response guitar), the subtle defiance of “It Ain’t Me,” and the relentless party of “Summer Days” and its stunning musicianship. As you can see, these songs rotate both in terms of their tempo and their tone. The night concludes with the three-song encore featuring an opulent acoustic “Mr. T” and the explosions of “Rolling Stone” and “AATW.” “Watchtower’s” Big Finish is quite the capstone statement. It makes you want to play a double-header.
I’m so glad I fought my way through the G. E. Smith bands. There were times when I hated what they were doing to the songs. There’s nothing in our musical world like Dylan’s songs. Nothing. And these guys were butchering them. I guess they had to go through their Phoenix Moment to get where they are today. The plan worked. This show unveils one crack musical unit. They complement one another in dramatic ways and they do it all in service of those Nobel-winning songs.
Yep. Build it and they will come.
The Show: The Bob Dylan Band Featuring Jack Fate
Our musical journey concludes with the over 1,200 performances of the Bob Dylan Band featuring Jack Fate (ranging from March 7, 2005, to date). This is the Age of The Growl. It’s been building and building over the decades, and it became official with the 2003 release of Masked and Anonymous: Jack Fate has officially joined the band. This character is one seasoned rounder and you can hear it in The Growl and see it in The Look. Jack knows the score and his wily, heartfelt vocals convey that understanding. The band also projects that veteran image through its solemn performance style, matching attire, and stellar musicianship. The New Orleans Duo provides the rock-solid foundation for the rotating instrumentals and layered sounds that float above those rhythms. This is Bob Dylan’s music at its finest. Tony Garnier and the Nobel laureate have worked extremely hard to make this happen. They should be proud.
Two combos control this phase with two brief interludes. Kimball, Garnier, and Recile are joined by guitarist Denny Freeman, the multi-instrumentalist Donnie Herron (pedal steel, mandolin, banjo, fiddle, and more), and fiddle master Elana Fremerman for an opening 27-show run (from March 7, 2005, to April 13, 2005). After Fremerman departs, the band launches into an amazing 441-show marathon. When Charlie Sexton returns on October 4, 2009 (replacing Freeman), The Show’s 21st combo erupts with a 721-show run that carries on to this moment (May 2018). Duke Robillard steps into Sexton’s slot for 27 shows (from April 5, 2013, to June 30, 2013) before yielding to Sexton for the duration.
The songs prosper during this time frame. Songs are revised on a nightly basis early in this era before The Show settles into a more routine format during the latter years. That presentation is band-dependent in that the Freeman group features a rotating instrumental style while the Sexton team concentrates on a more subtle, layered style (in later years, Dylan’s grand piano plays the “Lonnie” role). Both approaches present longer songs articulated through different musical genres without backing vocals.
Our closing chapter opens with The Show’s 1,718th performance on April 2, 2005. This concert at Chicago’s Auditorium Theatre was the 19th appearance of this 19th ensemble. When we consider the addition of Freeman, Fremerman, and Herron to the new mix it’s safe to assume that this is a transitional moment. Usually, transitions are difficult, but not on this night. Like its predecessor, this band assumes the persona of an old-time country band or jazz ensemble. They create a controlling wall of sound with individual performers stepping out for solos of varying durations during instrumental breaks. I call these breaks “The Rotation.” Each instrumentalist takes his/her turn and steps back into the wall of sound afterward. It’s a tried and true musical formula and this group does a fine job of executing it.
Bob’s vocals cruise through this performance. There’s no mumbling or shouting (well . . .). Instead, The Growl is alive and kicking. There are moments when the vocals assume a gentle tone (e.g., “I’ll Be Your Baby,” “Desolation Row,” “Moonlight,” “Hollis Brown,” and “I Believe in You”). At other times, The Growl is forcefully aggressive (e.g., “Maggie,” “It’s Alright Ma,” and “Rolling Stone”). The singer is fully engaged with each and every song. This holds true for the rhythm section as well. The wall of sound may seem to absorb the Nawlins boys from time to time, but that’s never really the case. They lead this musical ensemble in every way—some more subtle than others. This Chicago evening features a continuation of Dylan’s expanding vocal prowess, while it offers a rhythm section adjusting to a new cast of players.
This band displays an extremely gentle touch throughout the night. There are moments when songs emerge via a soft wall of sound. Of course, these softer segments highlight the vocals and that adds a lot of drama; nevertheless, it’s quite a departure from the Smith, Jackson, or Campbell-led groups. Instead of the typical musical ebb and flow this performance seems to follow a soft, softer, softest format. As usual, we open with the Maggie Train and her wall of rhythm. “Maggie” leads to a gentle, Elana-led, country swing (“I’ll Be Your Baby”), to a wall of protest (“It’s Alright”), to another smooth country swing (“Down along the Cove”), to a pretty soft “Desolation Row,” to a surprisingly gentle “Tweedle,” to a super soft wall of hush (“Moonlight”), to the quiet despair of “Hollis” (an excellent rendition), to a slight momentum shift and a fairly standard “Most Likely.” From there, we return to the Quiet Zone with a dreamy “I Believe in You” and its smooth pedal steel-electric guitar duet (and excellent vocal—so sincere . . . after hearing this, I believe, too). The concert concludes with a wall of swing (the Garnier-led “Summer Days”) and a subdued-but-effective “Rolling Stone.” Even the quietest band goes nuts with “Summer Days.” What a joy this song is—regardless of its incarnation. “Rolling” is far more strategic. In this version, “Rolling” uses quiet verses to set up the sonic eruptions that are the choruses. BOOM: Hooow doooes it feeeeel? The night ends with a two-song encore: a version of Merle Haggard’s “Sing Me Back Home” (Merle is an opening act for this tour) and the Recile-fueled “AATW.”
This show is yet another transitional moment in our unfolding story. This larger band is finding its way through the canon, but they never compromise the material. Everything serves the songs; it’s just how they go about doing it. The Rotation is the key. The musicians are clearly making room for one another. Now, we settle in for a possible glory ride of new arrangements. The new band’s flexibility is a major strength and may open the door to innovation.
And that’s exactly what transpires during The Show’s 1,804th concert featuring the second Jack Fate band’s 75th performance on November 17, 2005, in Glasgow, Scotland. The Kimball, Freeman, Heron, Recile, and Garnier ensemble will hit the stage 441 times over the next four-plus years and demonstrate their mastery of the Bob Dylan songbook every time. As we’ve seen, there are moments in these concerts when bands define themselves. A particular song or combination of songs identifies that group’s essence. This tendency appears on this November night in Scotland. Two songs do the trick: “Cold Irons Bound” and “Summer Days.” “Cold Irons” is the consummate guitar song. Its studio version features the knifing, inter-cutting, battling guitars that typify the Lonnie Johnson formula. The breaks are full of all sorts of counterpoint and challenges. On the other hand, the Tony Garnier-controlled “Summer Days” subscribes to The Rotation method in which the instrumentalists step out from Garnier’s wall of swing, do their thing, and step back. How a given group plays these two songs is often telltale. The Show’s 20th band just cannot execute “Cold Irons” in the manner of, say, the Masked & Anonymous model (featuring Dylan, Sexton, and Campbell). The guitars take their turns and return to the dominate wall of sound. They perform “Cold Irons” in the style of “Summer Days.” While their execution is flawless, it’s also toothless.
That is the dominant characteristic of this show. Like the previous band a wall of sound envelopes this performance. The rhythm section is, as usual, on top of its game. Garnier anchors the wall and Recile sprays graffiti all over it. Mr. Recile brings a lot of personality to The Show. So does the vocalist. The Growl is in full-force here. He barks and howls all night. He also settles down into a sweeter, kinder, gentler mode when the song calls for that approach. There is one disturbing vocal trend, though. There are lots of sing-song moments. There are times when Bob sings a lyric in one tone, and then raises his voice in a questioning style for the next word. It creates a “low-high, low-high, low-high” vocal rhythm that can be quite annoying. There are shows in which this happens a lot. Just when you thought the mumble-shout-scream stuff was history.
Rest assured, the Kimball-Freeman-Herron combination yields some fine music. They work together well. No distractions. No detours. This group of musicians specializes in perfection. And that’s the rub: Perfection versus Greatness. These guys play so harmoniously that they almost suck the life out of these songs. It makes you wonder if they don’t inspire the sing-song vocals. The guitar breaks, the pedal steel, the violin, the banjo, and anything else these guys do is executed flawlessly (precise rotations). It will be interesting to see if this group ever develops a personality or if it insists on sterile perfection. Still, at the end of the day, these guys faithfully serve these songs. Of that, there is no doubt.
This show represents a smoothly paced parade through the evening’s musical repertoire. The night opens with a ride on that old Maggie Train (a driving, steady rotation). After everybody gets their groove on, we slide into the soft, gentle sounds of “Tonight I’ll Be Staying” and Bob’s playful vocals and harmonica. The super-soft rhythms continue with “I’ll Be Your Baby” (great pedal Donnie) before we stop for some world-class bitching via “It’s Alright Ma.” While the music is basically uneventful and repetitive (save for one extended rotation featuring Herron’s fiddle), it serves Bob’s biting vocals nicely (lots of room). “It Ain’t Me” follows by way of its new theatrical open (short, choppy piano and guitar) that provides a dramatic soundstage for Dylan’s growling rejection. The band dusts off an old trick with its Glasgow version of “Highway 61.” Behold: The Hush! A wall of sound envelops this robust “61” and The Hush adds a dramatic flare to The Rotation. With its two Hush segments, this is certainly the night’s Duke Ellington moment.
After 8:11 of highway debauchery, the band applies the musical brakes for one serene, prayerful “Every Grain of Sand” (more thanks to Herron’s pedal steel). Unfortunately, this is where the sing-song style creeps into the vocals. The musical tide rises with “High Water” and its banjo-led trek into the Mississippi Delta. The Hush appears here as well. We also witness a rare moment of layered instrumentation. The Show leaves the Delta for a majestic 8:50 treatment of “Just Like a Woman.” The dreamy guitar and pedal steel, the slow patient delivery, Bob’s pensive vocals, and a first-class audience sing-along define this version. After the middle-eight, the audience starts singing the chorus (ooooops!) and Dylan rejoins, “that’s right” (funny). Afterward we experience a classic Dylan trick as he messes with the sing-along by stretching his vocals in the chorus. That Bob!
The night closes with a smartly paced run through “Down Along” (unadulterated rotation), “Sugar Baby” (super dreamy), an oddly lackluster “Cold Irons,” “Girl from the North,” and Garnier’s specialty, “Summer Days.” The Hush returns during “Summer Days” to marvelous effect (Garnier is on fire). Throughout this extended segment the wall of sound—rotation strategy is in full bloom. It works! What doesn’t work is the way the sing-song style dominates an otherwise beautiful “Girl from the North Country.” Is the band in too much of a groove? Is the vocalist bored? A two-song encore concludes the night: “Rolling Stone” and “AATW.” “Rolling” subscribes to its now-traditional slow march which directly serves the explosive chorus. As usual, Recile carries the day with “AATW.”
Bob Dylan often talks about the “perfection-greatness” distinction. “Strive for greatness, not perfection” he says on Theme Time Radio. The laureate has followed this principle his entire career. I think as this band masters the songs, they’ll relax a bit and invite more spontaneity (as per this show’s “High Water”). Right now, I’d say they’re in a perfect rut. As they execute that perfection, they subscribe to a tried and true musical strategy: The Rotation. Everybody gets their chance to strut their stuff as individuals. There is minimal interplay between players. I suspect that this will eventually inspire song rearrangements. If not, look for more sing-song vocals. These are the challenges The Show’s bands face. It’s not easy to play 100 gigs a year and keep everybody and everything fresh and alive.
Charlie Sexton is back in the fold with The Show’s 2,284th concert on October 29, 2010. On this fall evening in Kalamazoo, Michigan, the third Jack Fate band hits the stage for the 114th time—an act they’ll repeat 607 times over the coming years. Over that remarkable time frame, this band will master the perfection-greatness dilemma by merging the two. As they’ll prove beyond a shadow of a doubt during the three albums of American Standards, this ensemble can play anything. Indeed, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a better musical unit.
The name “Kalamazoo” just sort of sings, doesn’t it? Well, on this autumn evening the city rocks when The Show’s 21st band arrives on the Central Michigan University campus. We’ve seen all of the individual components in different bands. We’ve heard this magnificent rhythm section before. We’ve witnessed Charlie Sexton’s virtuosity. We’ve admired Donnie Herron’s instrumental prowess. And we’ve definitely heard Bob Dylan’s growling vocals. What we haven’t observed until now is how all of this can consistently come together around the songs. No part is left behind. The songs are most assuredly the stars in Kalamazoo and they have one hell of a supporting cast. Everything clicks here. This is one gratifying moment.
First and foremost, the wall tumbles down on this Michigan night. The wall of sound and its rotating instrumentals disappear here. In its place we hear a patient band that allows the songs to breathe. This sets the stage for musical nuances that add so much color to the performance: a soft guitar here, a sharp pedal steel moment there, a quick drum roll here, some harmonica somewhere or a tight bass pattern everywhere. The layers of sound we first observed with Jackson and Baxter and later with Campbell and Sexton or Campbell and Koella return to great effect. The attention to detail is staggering. Moreover, the space required for these instrumental nuances to flourish provides all kinds of opportunities for the vocalist. And this singer is at his best when there’s lots of room to work.
The Growl moans and groans its way through these songs. There’s real feeling in these vocals. Even the four new songs sound as if they’ve been around forever (one is actually revised here). Although the opening number offers a taste of the sing-song style, it disappears almost as quickly as it arrived. The vocals find their groove in the second song. Whether it’s the deep growl of new song “Beyond Here Lies Nothin’” or the wistful observations of “Just Like a Woman” or the swinging warning of “The Levee’s Gonna Break” or the humorous melisma of “If You Ever Go to Houston” (also new) and the ultra-serious “Workingman’s Blues #2,” the vocals lead the way through the songs. To the extent that the layers of instruments unveil little accents that color the tune, the vocals do the same: a little stretch here, a deep blast there, and everywhere, complete commitment. The Growl is in full bloom. Beware!
The rhythm section paves the musical road through these songs. Garnier provides the instrumental baseline and Recile’s drums dance all over top of it. Sometimes the Big Beat is in your face, sometimes its pushing around the song’s edges, other times Recile may be heard fiddling around in the background. Always he brings a rich texture to the musical portrait the band is painting. I love the stop-start tactics that run throughout this show. Although we don’t reach back as far as the Lonnie Johnson formula (no Bob), the layered counterpoints and call and response techniques provide a compelling depth to the songs. You have to pay attention. There’s an awful lot going on in these busy performances.
The night’s set list unfolds in the traditional style. For the first time in a long time in this sample of shows, “Maggie” doesn’t lead off. In her place is the deep, subdued groove of “Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat.” Like “Maggie,” this number serves as a warm-up. Dylan’s crazy keyboard interacts with the various guitarists in a fashion that somehow steers everybody in the right direction. Afterward, a totally revised “It Ain’t Me” unfolds that sounds more like “Things Have Changed” than “It Ain’t Me, Babe.” Herron’s horn (that’s right, his horn) leads the way into “Beyond Here” with its tango rhythm, haunting growls, and layered guitars. Few Dylan songs feature a horn-guitar dialectic. The pace shifts radically with a majestic 7:14 of “Just Like” before it changes once more for the lively, swinging rhythms of “The Levee’s Gonna Break.” Since this concert doesn’t offer “Summer Days,” Garnier chooses this song as an opportunity to lose his mind. His bass shakes the entire campus throughout this protracted, fun-filled number. This performance also demonstrates this group’s anti-wall mentality as it features all sorts of musical nuances that float in and out as the song unfolds.
The night continues with a soft, theatrical “Tangled” (extraordinarily quiet), moves to a revised-but-still-swinging “Tweedle” (a truly busy song with sounds bouncing around in a smooth, relaxed manner), and advances with yet another new composition: the super-smooth, boogie-tinged, Garnier-driven “If You Ever Go to Houston.” I find it absolutely amazing that the band changed a brand new song. There are no jukeboxes in Kalamazoo on this night!
Herron’s banjo leads the driving rhythms of a “High Water” that seems to have shifted musical genres from its traditional deep blues to a more country-tinged sound. Throughout “High Water” we hear all sorts of accents and nuances that are surely anti-wall. These songs have room for all sorts of instrumental subtleties and that is the photo-negative of the wall of sound. There are no rotations here; instead, the band aspires for depth with brief complementary instrumental bursts supported by an active rhythm section. Speaking of subtleties, the gentle, layered sounds of “When the Deal Goes Down” mirror Bob’s soft, dreamy vocals in an impressive fashion. Afterward, the campus erupts with the blistering shuffle that is the revised “Highway 61.” While “61” maintains its edge, the song shifts from a rock blast to a swinging shuffle before an operatic Big Finish (Recile!). Again, these are busy performances and the band provides the space to appreciate each nuance. Musical folly is everywhere on this night and you can hear it. That these guys will one day master the subtleties of Frank Sinatra songs is in evidence here.
The night closes with the layers and layers of “Workingman’s Blues,” the outrageously multidimensional “Thunder on the Mountain” (orchestral), and the threatening “Thin Man.” I have never heard Dylan execute his “Thin Man” vocals any better (a Growl Attack). Another new song, “Jolene,” joins a straightforward “Rolling Stone” for a two-song encore. The swinging “Jolene” conveys the best qualities of this band: smart pacing, subtle accents, layered sounds, and strong vocals. On this night, Jolene is most certainly The Queen.
Everything seems to come together with Sexton’s return. This musical unit’s vast experience is showing. The attention to nuance, the complementary playing, the generosity of spirit, and the sheer comradeship are on display here. A band that used to stare down its leader—trying to anticipate his next unpredictable move—now relaxes via a hard-earned confidence. The Locarno Doctrine is served.
The incredible 721-show run by The Show’s 21st band is interrupted for 27 concerts by the Jack Fate Era’s fourth ensemble featuring Duke Robillard in Charlie Sexton’s slot. We catch The Show’s 22nd group in Akron, Ohio, on April 19, 2013, for its 11th performance. Robillard joined one well-oiled musical machine in the spring of 2013. Dylan’s voice, the Nawlins boys’ rhythms, and the Kimball-Herron combo are at the top of their game. The accomplished guitarist faced a tough assignment when he stepped into Sexton’s role. The Sexton band’s subtle style would present the greatest challenge for Robillard.
Yet, as this show indicates, he fits in rather nicely. He may lack Sexton’s nuance, but the transition was essentially smooth. In fact, if you had to sum this Akron show in a single word, that word would have to be “smooth.” You could easily characterize this concert in terms of varying degrees of smooth ranging from lightly smooth to smooth to super smooth. There are times when this band is too smooth for its own good; as per the two closing numbers, “AATW” and “Thin Man.” These songs stress power (“Watchtower”) and edge (“Thin Man”), but on this Ohio night they fall in line with the other songs and their more tepid style. I’m not saying that this is bad, but it is different. It is, however, sad to hear Recile relinquish his dominance of “AATW.” That’s just too smooth for me.
Dylan’s vocals complement that silky soundstage through its fifty shades of growl. We have a pop growl (“Things Have Changed”), an eerie growl (“Love Sick”), a blues growl (“High Water”), a loving growl (“Soon After Midnight”), a barking growl (“Earl Roman Kings” and “Pay in Blood”), a bouncy growl (“Spirit on the Water”), a lusty growl (“Beyond Here”), and my favorite, a wistful growl (“What Good Am I?”). “Vision of Johanna” features a solemn, poetic growl. Yes, friends, Dylan is growling his way through this show and he does so without mumbling or fumbling his vocals. While we witness a bit of the sing-song style toward the end of “Johanna,” Bob’s vocal aim is true in Akron.
Of course, the set list is well-paced. We come in on an even level with a systematically smooth “Things Have Changed” slow down to the always dark “Love Sick” (stellar harmonica), pick things up with Herron’s banjo and “High Water” (country smooth featuring Robillard’s refined guitar and a cool stop-start closing), bring them down again with a majestically smooth “Soon After” (fantastic piano-pedal steel ambiance), turn it up again with the “Early Roman” march, make a lateral move to a revised “Tangled” and the melodramatic “Pay in Blood,” bring things way down via an exquisitely smooth “Johanna,” crank things up a bit with a bouncy “Spirit on the Water,” turn it way up with a hard-charging “Beyond Here” (great stop-start drums), make another lateral move with a banjo-laced “Blind Willie” and its sterling harmonica, slow down for the ultra-pensive, pedal steel-fueled “What Good” (magnificent), crank up the smooth with Garnier’s shuffling “Summer Days,” let the air out once more with a dramatic “Scarlet Town,” and settle into the super smooth closing with a quiet “AATW” and an unusually restrained, lifeless “Thin Man.” All of these songs certainly feature varying degrees of smooth. Robillard is nothing less than the ghost of Denny Freeman—and we remember that perfection is not necessarily greatness (e.g., “Thin Man”). But it can be damned enjoyable.
Several interesting characteristics stand out in this performance. First, this is layered music—extremely so. It is a direct extension of the early “Lonnie” strategy with Dylan’s piano providing the required counterpoint. We have a very active bottom involving Kimball’s acoustic guitar, the Nawlins boys, and from time to time, Herron’s pedal steel. Dancing along the top are Bob’s vocals, harmonica, and grand piano, Robillard’s slice and dice guitar, and Herron’s versatile contributions (the man is invaluable). A lot of this is super subtle. Again, these are busy songs, full of nuance with layers of supple sound. Yes, indeed, these guys are smooth.
Another trait involves the drums-vocals connection. All night Recile’s drums directly punctuate Dylan’s vocals as George hits his snare or pounds his bass drum to introduce or close a vocal phrase. This dynamic is a controlling feature of “Love Sick,” “Early Roman,” “Pay in Blood,” “Beyond Here,” “Blind Willie,” and “Summer Days” (among others). Recile’s drums and The Growl may be the dominant forces of this performance since everything is so soft and smooth.
Yes, this was one smooth evening in Rubber City. The Bob Dylan Band featuring Jack Fate was sailing through new waters on this night. Not only did the group introduce a new member, one-quarter of the concert involved new songs from the recently released Tempest. There was no Bob Dylan Jukebox on display here. These guys were pushing their musical envelope as only they could—and they were surely smooth as they did it—for good or ill.
When Charlie Sexton left the group on November 21, 2012, the set list was a fluid phenomenon that featured a 30–40 percent (or more) change each night. While some songs held their place in the list, others were interchangeable. For fans, this meant attending a series of shows might prove to be especially rewarding in terms of song diversity (as many as seven new songs each show). That practice ceased when Robillard joined the band on April 5, 2013. From that point forward a static set list was the rule with one or two or no changes per night. There were exceptions such as the 2014 summer European tour with its multiple “greatest hits” packages and other instances (e.g., the 2016 Indio, California, concerts). That rigor was extended in the fall 2013 European tour when an intermission was added. The Show entered a new realm with these structural changes. I think it improved the quality of the performance—especially with regard to Bob’s vocals.
Those adjustments were complemented by Dylan’s exploration of the American Songbook that began on October 26, 2014, in Los Angeles. When Bob closed that night with the beautiful standard “Stay with Me” he initiated a trend that led to the inclusion of over 20 classic songs in a new incarnation of The Show. Dylan followed “Stay with Me” with “Autumn Leaves” on April 26, 2015. He treated a national television audience to a resplendent version of “The Night We Called It a Day” on the penultimate episode of Late Night with David Letterman on May 19, 2015. Dylan would add more classics over the next two years such as “Full Moon and Empty Arms” (June 20, 2013), “I’m a Fool to Want You” (June 23, 2015), “Why Try to Change Me Now” (October 1, 2015), the gorgeous “Melancholy Mood” (October 15, 2015), “That Old Black Magic” (April 5, 2016), “Stormy Weather” (April 17, 2017), and “Once upon a Time” (June 8, 2017).
During the 2016 tour of Japan, 8 of the 21 songs were from the American Songbook. In the 2016 summer tour of the United States, 8 of the 20 songs were from that catalog; that fall as many as 7 of the 21 numbers; during the 2017 European tour, 6 of the 21 songs; and in the summer of 2017, as many as 7 of the 21 tunes involved what the media termed the “Sinatra Songs.” That trend dissipated somewhat in the fall of 2017 (4 to 5 songs out of 20). Sadly, the spring 2018 European tour featured no more than 3 out of the 20 songs. Interestingly, the only variance in the set list involved these classics as specific slots in the program were reserved for them and Bob rotated different songs in an out of those positions.
When the band opened the American Songbook they once again brought new life to The Show. The layers of nuanced sound these songs require are a perfect fit for this ensemble. It also spawns new, clever versions of older material (e.g., the 2017 country version of “Summer Days” and significant revisions of “Tangled,” “Thunder on the Mountain,” and more). With the dark stage lighting, old school set design, matching attire, and focused demeanor there is more than a little bit of noir in this act. And whether Dylan works from his grand piano or from center stage, The Growl is thoroughly invigorated by this staging. Watching Dylan dancing with his mic stand as he belts his way through the night is an enriching experience. These guys are working it in an extremely subtle way. That attention to detail is a perfect platform for these thoughtful songs.
When the band began practicing these standards on the road during sound checks, it took its virtuosity to new heights. That gave Bob the confidence to pursue a project that was years in the making. Friends, when you hear this ensemble perform these wonderful songs live it leaves no doubt about how they recorded them so quickly. These guys have a system and they have it down pat. Dylan offered this account of that musical strategy to Douglas Brinkley:
My band plays a different type of music than anybody else plays. . . . We play distinctive rhythms that no other band can play. There are so many of my songs that have been rearranged at this point that I’ve lost track of them myself. We do keep the structures intact to some degree. But the dynamics of the song itself might change from one given night to another because the mathematical process we use allows that. As far as I know, no one else out there plays like this. Today, yesterday, and probably tomorrow. I don’t think you’ll hear what I do ever again. It took a while to find this thing. But then again, I believe that things are handed to you when you’re ready to make use of them. You wouldn’t recognize them unless you’d come through certain experiences. I’m a strong believer that each man has a destiny.
The Show has certainly proven to be a major part of this Nobel laureate’s destiny. Yes, it most certainly took years “to find this thing.” Yes, The Growl was “handed to” Dylan when he was ready for it (and not one second earlier) and without the vocal challenges of earlier phases, he might not have “recognized” its arrival without that “experience.” The “mathematical process” that the “Lonnie” provided enabled “today, yesterday and probably tomorrow.” And yes, we may never hear the likes of this again. Like so many things in this Iron Ranger’s career, I know of nothing like The Show.
The Show: A Reprise
This has been quite the adventure. From raw, seemingly impulsive acts to uneven, transitional moments to smooth, state-of-the-art performances to huge walls of sound to a striking manifestation of it all, we have witnessed a musical act struggle, evolve, and ultimately, prosper. The musicianship has always maintained high standards. Only the style of those performances has varied. Bob’s singing was at the core of each approach. While the musical elements settled rather quickly, Dylan’s war with his vocals required a formidable effort. He may be the master of “four or five” vocal techniques, but it took time to figure out which ones would make the songs “work.”
What a battle. As we’ve seen, Bob’s singing extended from the unintelligible to the masterful. We’ve gone from the detached mumbling machine to the engaged passionate growl and everywhere in-between. Still, that personal pledge Dylan made in Locarno never wavered. He fought and fought—with or without Ultimate Guidance. Bob Dylan is one determined Iron Ranger. I not only find it amazing, I believe it is distinctive. Who else has done anything like this? You have to ask yourself what fueled this level of commitment. Was it some kind of Picasso-like pursuit of perfection? I don’t think so. Was it a determined quest for artistic longevity? Perhaps. That characteristic was certainly present, yet I don’t think it was controlling. So, just what was it? What motivated this intense struggle for artistic survival and, ultimately, prosperity?
The songs.
Dylan’s aim was true. His Locarno Doctrine became his guiding creed. It supported the “idea” that provided his “purpose” and fueled his mission of service. A commitment to keep the songs alive—and, in turn, serve them—inspired this constant process of refinement and revision. The Show was the battlefield. It had to be conquered in order to restore his creative nexus. Holding true to his Locarno Doctrine, the laureate prevailed, the songwriting returned, and the Swedish Academy had more reasons to place its blessings on this literature.
That literature—like William Shakespeare’s—was written to perform. The songs are the heart of Bob Dylan’s artistic universe. It’s a formula—just as Dylan reports in Chronicles. When the songs weren’t the star of these concerts, we heard it in the band’s performance: lost, ill-considered, maybe even disrespectful. Pain followed. But when the songs were the headliner, we witnessed unbridled passion and artistic growth. Different bands placed different signatures on these compositions and that kept that passion alive and thriving. There was no time for boredom much less mediocrity. This service required intense effort and concentration. Tony Garnier is running one focused operation.
One way that you can tell that the songs are the star of these shows is in the band’s selfless behavior. Not only do they promote uniformity by dressing alike (nice suits!), they never acknowledge the audience in any way. There are no acts of individuality. None. When they receive the audience’s applause at the concert’s end, they do so standing together, arms behind their backs with no sign of any emotion. They don’t even smile. Bob may shuffle around and make a few gestures, but he doesn’t smile or react in any way whatsoever (of course, there are exceptions).
The same holds for in-show reactions. There’s no sign of any emotion. Dylan even stopped introducing the band and telling corny jokes. Recile may drop his head and fool around with Garnier or Kimball every now and then, but he’s very discreet when he does it. The only overt response you’ll see onstage is from Herron. Herron often shadows Dylan’s piano and they seem to make a game out of that practice. They appear to play “gotcha.” Occasionally, Bob gets him and Donnie erupts in laughter (Dylan does nothing—what a poker face). That’s all of the reaction you’ll ever see from this act. They are most assuredly sending a message: “It’s not about us.” No, it’s not. It’s about devotion to those songs.
This phenomenon also demonstrates the importance of the mission-show-songwriting creative nexus. The Show is the pivot in that equation. When The Show prospers the songwriting flourishes. Without The Show, the songwriting dwindles away. This 30-year expedition performed the same function that the Rolling Thunder Revue served in the Crystallization Era’s mission of reorientation: it restored a broken nexus. That paved the way for Time Out of Mind, Love and Theft, Modern Times, Together through Life, and Tempest. The Show gave the world Jack Fate. Jack portrays The Look in his own special style. And all of it culminated in a new Script. Had not Dylan battled his way through the Pop Icon Period and devised his new plan, his career may have stopped short of that marvelous series of songs that flowed from these albums. The Show’s 30-year run did more than keep the artist on the road; it kept Bob Dylan’s pen alive.
These bands have certainly worked it; performing 100 shows a year. You must be committed to work that hard. I have to think the songs fueled that, too. These groups do whatever it takes to keep the Dylan canon alive and prospering. Just look at the revisions. How many editions of “Maggie” have we heard? She can dance to any tune, that’s for sure. We may disagree with a change or question a tactic, but we never doubt the motive behind it. This is all about service—just like every other facet of the Jack Fate Era. The Show protects those songs. It’s their home. There are no shot rabbits on this stage. As the different bands embraced that solemn task, we discovered that these songs are every bit as strong as the willful individual who wrote them. That’s the lesson from this adventure. The winner of the 2016 Nobel Prize in Literature went to war for his art. His victory is a testament to his genius. As the saying goes, talent does what it can, genius does what it must. And Bob Dylan’s unwavering commitment to performance offers overwhelming proof of that claim.