Sometimes your legacy can’t save you
So I have a deep and abiding appreciation of Bob Dylan and his body of work. There are just a certain number of artists that are impeachable because they changed music forever and/or have a consistently amazing catalogue. At least, that’s what I thought before last weekend.
About a month ago in a flurry of ticket-buying activity I secured a couple of passes for Bob Dylan’s so-called “Never-Ending Tour” as it came through town. Now I’m no fool; I know and accept what Bob Dylan is today. He’s the opposite of the acoustic-slingin’ folk hero that has been thoroughly idolized for decades. He’s a mysterious and obstinate bluesy rock and roller these days and makes no apologies for maintaining a public persona as thick as a bomb shelter door. Let’s just say that I fully expected his set wouldn’t be a back to front straightforward performance of Freewheelin’.
What I heard when the show began was perhaps the most disappointing, dream-crushing thing I’ve experienced in years. While the band he’s assembled is clearly talented and more than able to do what he requires of them, the sound guy must have some kind of grudge against audiences becauase from our seats the music was only marginally audible. Dylan doesn’t play his guitar anymore, staying firmly planted behind his keyboard for the vast majority of the set (other reviews from the currently tour support his; only in cases of technical difficulties has he picked up his axe).
But I can live with all those things. What I can’t abide is the ridiculous caricature his “singing” voice has become. As I mentioned a couple paragraphs up, I’ve kept abreast of his work and I quite enjoy his latter-day releases. The records he’s put out the last ten years are really quite good. But I know he doesn’t ALWAYS sing like he did.
He sang like there was someone standing on his throat. Like his neck had been sandblasted. Like an axe murderer that chewed up and swallowed a light bulb. Like a cement truck with a broken axle. Like the Scream voice after gargling a bucket of battery acid. Like a bread machine stuck on crust. Like a telemarketer that had his voicebox kicked in. Like a garbage disposal unit with a cheese grater stuck in it. Like a rock tumbler stuck on overdrive or an oil barrel rolling down a rocky slope. Like Tom Waits with a fishbone caught in his throat.
Either way, it was not at all tolerable as far as I’m concerned. I don’t know if I’ve ever walked out of a show that I paid for before then, but I have now.
A co-worker who saw the show said he genuinely enjoyed it and that’s fine; everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But if you’re going to willfully sound like shit and put on a sub-par presentation when you’re charging the kind of money he is then fuck you. Being a musical legend can only cover your ass so far and he’s extended himself beyond that. It’s sad to see.
Bob Dylan - Most of the Time (alternate version) [3:35m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download Bob Dylan - God Knows [3:07m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | DownloadYou probably already own enough Dylan, but he just released a really great unreleased/alternate takes/b-side album, Tell-Tale Signs. Pick it and others up on itunes or amazon, his choice of physical retailer (not ours).
