At the brisk pace of an octogenarian and without saying hello, Bob Dylan he sat behind the piano and the band swirled around him in formation. The mass begins. And the little poignant riff of ‘hoy’ soundsWatching The River Flow‘, in which the boy from Duluth sang almost inaudibly and fearing the worst omens about his voice: “What’s wrong with me, I don’t have much to say.” Historical history, one of the capital figures of the 20th century, the genius who gave rock and roll background, prudish him because he has nothing to say to the patio of the Botanical Garden that he was still sitting around. What he also did not say is that it is the end of the story. But there are plenty of words, long live the shadows. And the voice is better than good, false alarm.
Far from the stadiums a la Bruce Springsteen, the concert was raised as the clone of the clone of this long tour in what you already know what you will see: a lot of his last album of 2020 ‘Rough and Rowdy Ways‘ and no classic. He continues to do Ferrán Adrià-like deconstructions of his musical dishes but commands the grid in the repertoire based on his 39th album, a spectral and elevated work. And why come? Because with his group he has refined a static, timeless and even psychedelic cocktail of his obsessions with folk, blues and rock and roll. He’s even a bit of a crooner and could hit death metal with that tubercular sandpaper he pulls out when he squawks.
The setting was twilight. In the background the fir trees in the forest, illuminated in a play of blues, and on stage the band looking at Dylan in front of an elegant curtain with intense light in the bass lines, as if they were playing in the center of a dim bonfire. And they started to fall with no speech in between’Most Likely You Go Your Way (And I’ll Go Mine)’del ‘Blonde on Blonde’, ‘False Prophet‘ and just before, special mention, to the close-up of Dylan in ‘I Contain Multitudes‘. Really, his and his piano were the basis on which his exquisite band played with mastery and chemistry. Great sound. And the water respected the show, a good detail because up to a minute after starting it was still drizzling.
The night of the dark Dylan, three ‘thank you’ throughout the date, and his team also in matching black dealt with rock and blues variations with details in their progressions and arrangements on which the Minnesota singer-songwriter phrased in his recognizable timbre and admirable at 82 years old. Historical history listen to the characteristic nasality of him. He’s hairy too. And energy, always standing with his legs open, he hardly sat down when he wasn’t singing, which was almost never, to get up with impetus. Motionless, yes, he only played the piano and did not touch the guitar or harmonica.
The parish silently respected the great of the greats, in a thrill-killing concert with some tedious section, where Dylan seemed like a child playing focused on polishing the cerebral savagery of his wit interspersed with pretty songs. In the final part came a version of Buddy Hollyan atmospheric and celestial recreation of ‘Mother of Muses‘, the jewel of jewels last night, and a closing with ‘Every Grain of Sand‘, from his less than memorable 1980s album ‘Shot of Love’. If someone expected a hit, they must have freaked out. But if someone is disappointed in Dylan at this point, let him look at it. Seeing someone free is always inspiring, too. At the end, he staggered to the edge of the stage and looked almost defiantly at the audience. He didn’t even raise his hand. And he went into the shadows from which, someday, he will no longer come out.
#Nobel #laureate #goodbye #Spain #goodbye #playing #rock #roll