Wolverhampton night one — Key West is still the key

Empire songs, messages from ancient history, reflections on the passage of time and the actions of the greats. It’s rough and rowdy and it’s coming your way.

Audio from the show, a much better recording to follow soon:

The first show at Wolverhampton Halls picked up where Nottingham left off. It was the same energy. The energy of someone battle strong, sure footed, ready for round two. It was such a strong and consistent start. His entrance, slightly behind the band who slipped right into Watchtower while he slipped onto the stage, marked by a silhouetted chaplinesque bounce against the gentle neon moonrise stage curtains. The crowd, caught off-guard, roared as he appeared.

This time seated in the stalls it was possible to get a clearer view of the stage and see Bob whenever he stepped away from the keys. He’d tease a little journey close to centre stage, but usually hover like an aged boxer near Tony Garnier, flicking his microphone cable back and forth before ambling back to the piano, leaning across it and right into the vocals. There was even an ever so brief moment where he sat on Tony’s monitor.

Tonight’s show was different to Nottingham, at times I felt it was better, but then why compare when each time is a new time.

The blues numbers sizzled, the band were locked in and tight. Keltner’s signature style shone throughout. He injects so much daring and unexpected movement into the songs, he’s up there on the tightrope behind Bob, pushing the floating template of the songs into new territory.

Bob’s voice was gentler tonight, softer, even slightly raspy, but then he sang so fully the previous night, he was likely feeling a little hoarse around the edges.

Midway through It Ain’t Me Babe, Bob switched over to his Nord stage piano (set to the fender Rhodes setting) for the first time in several shows and played some rather splendid staccato-like licks that were almost as ethereal as the guitar interplay between Lancio and Britt I heard later during Key West. He should definitely play more of the Rhodes, it suits his touch and adds some sustain that he doesn’t get from the piano — he doesn’t tend to use the sustain pedal as a pianist. It was great to see him take the role of multi instrumentalist in his own band moving between guitar, piano and Rhodes on It Ain’t Me Babe. It’s something he could definitely expand on once he feels comfortable.

At times I wondered if Dylan was slightly more aware of himself tonight, like the brilliance of the previous nights performance lingered in his mind. But at the same time it seemed like the band and him had reached a kind of sublime precision tonight. Everything was on point, everything hot to the touch, razor like finesse.

Key West again was the show stopper, you could have heard a pin drop, the guitars of Britt and Lancio knitting together the free time of Bob’s delivery. It’s almost like he’s testing a possible debut of Murder Most Foul, by way of this song.

Britt and Lancio have been terrific, particularly some of Lancio’s acoustic playing stands out, taking great leaps and chances in the higher register with some really exhilarating parts.

Masterpiece continues to stun in its current arrangement. It’s the perfect touring song, about a man traveling, weary and inspired, dreaming about the perfect time, when he’ll paint his masterpiece. But the melody borrowing of the current version got me thinking. Masterpiece is a song centred on Rome, the great empire city state, then there’s ‘Istanbul, Not Constantinople’. Constantinople was the capital of the Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Latin Empire, and the Ottoman Empire. Then there’s Puttin’ on the Ritz, centred around New York, the unofficial capital of the world, the megalopolis/metropolis, of the new (probably declining)world empire, America. And then there’s the title itself a derivative of the expression "to put on the Ritz", inspired by the opulent Ritz Hotel in London, the capital of the last empire before the war, the British Empire.

Something about these arrangements including the treatment of Black Rider (where Lancio’s acoustic shines) reminds me of Leonard Cohen, as if the spirit of his later years of touring, the gentle dynamics, the remoulding of the sound around the voice, and the pristine brilliance of the band have transferred their spirit to what Dylan is now doing.

There was just one brief faltering moment, during what feels like one of the great concert runs of his career, Baby Blue. But Dylan soon regained his footing and slipped back into the concert dream of otherwise another perfect show.

Unfortunately it was also night of living talkers in the stalls where I was sitting. I felt the ghost of Peter Stone Brown take hold of me, “Sorry, is Bob Dylan interrupting your conversation?” Beer zombies stalking back and forwards with no thought for anyone hoping to maybe enjoy an intimate concert. A contingent of dumb hedonists, an apocalypse of alcohol and brain dead banter, were up and down from their seats like honey bees every other song, failing to understand the rules of concert etiquette, which is, “sit down, shut the fuck up, clap and cheer when a song ends but otherwise play dead.” “Do not leave your seat during a song, do not come back until a song ends, do not block the views and disturb the listening experience for others.”

The Queen Bee of the group had the nerve to leave during the first picked chords of Every Grain of Sand, ruining the quiet beauty of the delivery and who in her zombie wisdom thought it sensible to come back less than a minute before the song ended. I refused to let her back in the row to sit down which caused its own regrettable (on my behalf) problems. Little did they know it was the last song of a beautiful set and little did they likely know about Bob Dylan concerts. Why on Earth couldn’t they have done the arena show instead?

I do wonder if some of that crowd disturbance reached the stage throwing Bob particularly during Baby Blue.

Anyways, here’s to London!