Bob Dylan

Now that oughta drive some traffic. . .

We just got back from the Bob concert. The soulless municipal hall was about two-thirds full, which seemed odd to me. It's Bob. Inexpensive tickets. The first wave of heavy buying must have choked sales. Or nobody cares. Who knows.

Kings of Leon opened. Loudly. Energetic, but without a lot of variation in tone. But they did seem to be about, oh, fifteen. So. Bob came out with a six piece band. Three guitars, bass, drums, and Himself on keyboards. He was in profile to the largest section of the crowd, but we ended up behind him. So I looked at his back. Very thrilling. He played for about two hours, one encore. Some classics: Highway 51, Like a Rolling Stone, All Along the Watchtower, and others, plus material from the new album. We sat next to a woman from Omaha who's seen him roughly ten times a year for thirty years. So that was stunning. We all thought it was a good show, though Himself sounded like a pterodactyl with weeping sores down his throat.

The crowd was widely separated in age. Lots of kids, lots of grandparents. . . and grandparents who came to rock, which was nice. As far as I could tell, all the men with long hair in Lincoln were there. It was a Festivus miracle of sorts. Another miracle was the undergrad woman with high, healthy. . . cheekbones who kept D and I entertained with a bouncy, spinny dance a couple seats down and over. I hope Bob knows these things are happening.

As we were leaving and the rain was misting over us, a couple of hipsters were planning to lay in wait for Himself at the Zoo Bar. But my bet is that Bob's old, and he did a show in Denver just last night. Warm water with lemon and a little honey is my bet. And then on to Chicago.

Go safely, old troubador.

Comments

[Kat]

I'd always wondered what a pterodactyl sounded like. Speaking of Festivus, your post about Friends and physical comedy brought Seinfeld to mind almost immediately.