Toby Richards-Carpenter
2004-06-26 14:34:48 UTC
Bob Dylan
Glasgow Barrowland
24 June 2004
by Toby Richards-Carpenter
Would you be prepared to believe that a great Bob Dylan show could
occur without necessarily containing a set of great Bob Dylan
performances? Tonight was the night, truly the You Had To Be There'
gig to end them all.
In broad terms, the Glasgow Barrowland crowd generated a wall of
noise, a noise of such force that Bob Dylan was coerced on occasion,
(and you're not going to believe this), into duetting with his
audience. For whatever the volume of support, and it did overwhelm the
music coming from the stage at times, this was not an unthinking or
disrespectful barrage of shouting.
It was just that, on occasion, the entire crowd sang along. In a place
the size of your average village hall, this didn't have the usual
irritating, cheesy effect of a good-time clap-along for people who
knew the songs only off the record. Oh no. This was Bob Dylan's music
crossing boundaries, forming a state of unity between song, audience
and performer in the profoundest sense.
This first occurred during Just Like A Woman', and Bob acknowledged
the collective power of the moment during the final verse. "You fake
like woman" filled in Bob through a huge grin, surfing the wave of
sound that flooded the room. As this continued to the song's
conclusion, the sense of euphoria grew and the reception given was
tumultuous.
People were cheering Bob of course, but also celebrating their own joy
at being part of such a moment. The only comparable feeling I can
think of occurred during A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall' in Bournemouth
in 2002 when Bob's microphone cut out, for those of you who remember.
After the reaction to Just Like A Woman', which had clearly taken Bob
aback, it seemed that he was actively trying to steer clear of the big
chorus-laden songs. People were rapt in attention during It's
Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding), Girl Of The North Country' and Most
Likely You Go Your Way (And I'll go Mine)', although the level of
adulation never dropped below the deafening between songs.
It was during this middle portion of the set that the show's
centrepiece unravelled, a heroically vengeful Ballad Of A Thin Man'.
On a day when Bob Dylan's image adorned the front page of every
newspaper in Scotland, alongside insulting headlines criticising his
appearance at his degree ceremony in St. Andrews on Wednesday, Ballad
Of A Thin Man' was the only response.
The bit between his teeth, Dylan tore into the song, and how glorious
to hear it sung with genuine purpose, with a target, Bob getting even
with his accusers in the press. He'd literally been with the
professors, discussed matter with scholars, and none of them knew what
was happening. The Barrowland crowd knew though, cheering and
hollering at the level of Bob's response.
Along with Ballad Of A Thin Man' there was one other performance that
Bob claimed as his own, separate from the insane din that elevated and
defined the show. I Believe In You' took exceptional willpower for
Bob to sing with such searing gospel heat. The selfless religious
intensity was generated from Bob's commitment to sing from the bottom
of his heart, not to mention his lungs.
One passage in particular took on the verve and menace of the Born
Again' era:
"Oh, though the earth may shake me
Oh, and my friend for sake me
Oh, even that wouldn't make me go back"
I was close enough to see Bob's shoulders rising and falling as he
took deep breaths, reaching and drawing out the notes as though
offering his voice as a sacrifice, and I saw him give a little cough
afterwards and a flicker of a smile to George as if to say "That's it
that's all I got nowadays!". It's plenty, Bob, plenty.
Although five rows or so back from the rail, and directly in front of
the drum kit, I was still within 15 feet of Bob's keyboard in this
tiny venue. It was a fabulously intimate vantage point, and a
privilege to get such a close-up look at the workings of the band. I
could see beads of sweat, Larry smiling, Stu grimacing, George's legs
shaking, and Tony looking a little scared. And if I paused for a
second, I could feel the barrage of noise pressing against me from the
back of the room.
The encores were the pinnacle of this communal elation. Bob sang
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright' with a smile as the audience
harmonised, and during Like A Rolling Stone' he was actually pointing
at us, conducting us, telling us when to come in! For all concerned
the effect seemed to be utterly surreal yet, to me, wonderfully pure
as well. Bob had finally surrendered to the collective ascendancy of
the music.
When the time for the band introductions came, Bob took the chance to
acknowledge what was happening. Most of his words were inaudible above
the hysteria, but I think he began with something like "My, it's loud
in here" and, in reference to Like A Rolling Stone', said "I must
have sung that a thousand times and nobody could ever sing along with
it".
I may be wrong about these words, but what was clear was that Bob was
touched and somewhat overwhelmed by the level of reaction his mere
presence had generated. I say his mere presence, because the chaotic
buzz was there in the room before a note had been played, and many of
the songs' performances, as far as I could tell, were routine in their
execution by Bob and the band.
But the Barrowland gig wasn't about inspired interpretations by Bob of
individual songs. It was about the power of music. It was about the
human spirit. And, above all, it seemed to be about the fans in the
venue expressing their unconditional gratitude to Bob Dylan for all he
has done. That this expression was recognised, acknowledged and
finally appreciated by Bob means more than I can say.
So, for reasons that may baffle those who weren't present, who may
just hear a recording, Glasgow Barrowland was one of the all-time
great Dylan concerts. You just had to be there.
Glasgow Barrowland
24 June 2004
by Toby Richards-Carpenter
Would you be prepared to believe that a great Bob Dylan show could
occur without necessarily containing a set of great Bob Dylan
performances? Tonight was the night, truly the You Had To Be There'
gig to end them all.
In broad terms, the Glasgow Barrowland crowd generated a wall of
noise, a noise of such force that Bob Dylan was coerced on occasion,
(and you're not going to believe this), into duetting with his
audience. For whatever the volume of support, and it did overwhelm the
music coming from the stage at times, this was not an unthinking or
disrespectful barrage of shouting.
It was just that, on occasion, the entire crowd sang along. In a place
the size of your average village hall, this didn't have the usual
irritating, cheesy effect of a good-time clap-along for people who
knew the songs only off the record. Oh no. This was Bob Dylan's music
crossing boundaries, forming a state of unity between song, audience
and performer in the profoundest sense.
This first occurred during Just Like A Woman', and Bob acknowledged
the collective power of the moment during the final verse. "You fake
like woman" filled in Bob through a huge grin, surfing the wave of
sound that flooded the room. As this continued to the song's
conclusion, the sense of euphoria grew and the reception given was
tumultuous.
People were cheering Bob of course, but also celebrating their own joy
at being part of such a moment. The only comparable feeling I can
think of occurred during A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall' in Bournemouth
in 2002 when Bob's microphone cut out, for those of you who remember.
After the reaction to Just Like A Woman', which had clearly taken Bob
aback, it seemed that he was actively trying to steer clear of the big
chorus-laden songs. People were rapt in attention during It's
Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding), Girl Of The North Country' and Most
Likely You Go Your Way (And I'll go Mine)', although the level of
adulation never dropped below the deafening between songs.
It was during this middle portion of the set that the show's
centrepiece unravelled, a heroically vengeful Ballad Of A Thin Man'.
On a day when Bob Dylan's image adorned the front page of every
newspaper in Scotland, alongside insulting headlines criticising his
appearance at his degree ceremony in St. Andrews on Wednesday, Ballad
Of A Thin Man' was the only response.
The bit between his teeth, Dylan tore into the song, and how glorious
to hear it sung with genuine purpose, with a target, Bob getting even
with his accusers in the press. He'd literally been with the
professors, discussed matter with scholars, and none of them knew what
was happening. The Barrowland crowd knew though, cheering and
hollering at the level of Bob's response.
Along with Ballad Of A Thin Man' there was one other performance that
Bob claimed as his own, separate from the insane din that elevated and
defined the show. I Believe In You' took exceptional willpower for
Bob to sing with such searing gospel heat. The selfless religious
intensity was generated from Bob's commitment to sing from the bottom
of his heart, not to mention his lungs.
One passage in particular took on the verve and menace of the Born
Again' era:
"Oh, though the earth may shake me
Oh, and my friend for sake me
Oh, even that wouldn't make me go back"
I was close enough to see Bob's shoulders rising and falling as he
took deep breaths, reaching and drawing out the notes as though
offering his voice as a sacrifice, and I saw him give a little cough
afterwards and a flicker of a smile to George as if to say "That's it
that's all I got nowadays!". It's plenty, Bob, plenty.
Although five rows or so back from the rail, and directly in front of
the drum kit, I was still within 15 feet of Bob's keyboard in this
tiny venue. It was a fabulously intimate vantage point, and a
privilege to get such a close-up look at the workings of the band. I
could see beads of sweat, Larry smiling, Stu grimacing, George's legs
shaking, and Tony looking a little scared. And if I paused for a
second, I could feel the barrage of noise pressing against me from the
back of the room.
The encores were the pinnacle of this communal elation. Bob sang
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright' with a smile as the audience
harmonised, and during Like A Rolling Stone' he was actually pointing
at us, conducting us, telling us when to come in! For all concerned
the effect seemed to be utterly surreal yet, to me, wonderfully pure
as well. Bob had finally surrendered to the collective ascendancy of
the music.
When the time for the band introductions came, Bob took the chance to
acknowledge what was happening. Most of his words were inaudible above
the hysteria, but I think he began with something like "My, it's loud
in here" and, in reference to Like A Rolling Stone', said "I must
have sung that a thousand times and nobody could ever sing along with
it".
I may be wrong about these words, but what was clear was that Bob was
touched and somewhat overwhelmed by the level of reaction his mere
presence had generated. I say his mere presence, because the chaotic
buzz was there in the room before a note had been played, and many of
the songs' performances, as far as I could tell, were routine in their
execution by Bob and the band.
But the Barrowland gig wasn't about inspired interpretations by Bob of
individual songs. It was about the power of music. It was about the
human spirit. And, above all, it seemed to be about the fans in the
venue expressing their unconditional gratitude to Bob Dylan for all he
has done. That this expression was recognised, acknowledged and
finally appreciated by Bob means more than I can say.
So, for reasons that may baffle those who weren't present, who may
just hear a recording, Glasgow Barrowland was one of the all-time
great Dylan concerts. You just had to be there.