Every Bob Dylan concert arrives with the same set of complaints attached to it. He does not sing the songs the way people remember them. He rearranges them beyond recognition. He ignores audience expectations. Sometimes he barely acknowledges the existence of his own greatest hits. All of this is true. It is also part of what makes latter-day Dylan such a fascinating performer.
For Dylan has never treated songs as museum pieces. A composition is not something to be preserved under glass but something to be reshaped, reinterpreted and occasionally dismantled altogether. Familiar material reappears in startling new forms. "Blowin' in the Wind" becomes a waltz. "All Along the Watchtower" emerges transformed. The arrangements may change beyond recognition, yet the songs somehow reveal new dimensions in the process. Dylan is not interested in reproducing old recordings. He is interested in finding out what remains when everything familiar has been stripped away.
The same philosophy informs his then-current exploration of the Great American Songbook. On paper, it seems an unlikely fit. These are songs historically associated with technically gifted vocalists such as Frank Sinatra, and Dylan has never been mistaken for a traditional singer. But technical perfection was never his gift. He is a stylist, a storyteller and an interpreter. Rather than competing with the great vocalists who came before him, he approaches the material from another angle, searching for character, mood and meaning.
Supporting him is one of the finest bands of his later career, anchored by the ever-reliable Charlie Sexton on guitar. Together they navigate a musical landscape where rock, country, jazz and Dixieland swing coexist naturally, providing the ideal setting for Dylan's restless imagination.
As had become his habit by this stage of the Never Ending Tour, Dylan spends much of the evening seated behind the piano. Then, every so often, he steps forward into the spotlight. No guitar, no theatrical gesture, no attempt to recreate a younger version of himself. Just a singer standing before an audience, interpreting songs that have become part of America's cultural fabric, some written by others, some written by him, all bearing his unmistakable stamp. The voice may have changed. The songs certainly have. The art remains unmistakably Bob Dylan.
