BOB DYLAN: ROUGH AND ROWDY WAYS
Beacon Theatre, 2124 Broadway at 74th St., November 19–21
Capitol Theatre, Port Chester, November 23-24
www.bobdylan.com
After being off the road for nearly two years because of the pandemic lockdown, Bob Dylan’s never-ending tour is back in action, returning to the Beacon Theatre this weekend in support of the Nobel Prize winner’s latest record, 2020’s phenomenal Rough and Rowdy Ways. Dylan rarely speaks to the audience during his live shows, except to introduce his crack band — and, on November 19, to celebrate that New York City is open again — but he had a lot to say in his setlist choices, essentially acknowledging that, at eighty, he might have only so much time left to do this.
He starts with 1971’s “Watching the River Flow,” declaring, “Oh, this ol’ river keeps on rollin’, though / No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow / And as long as it does I’ll just sit here / And watch the river flow . . . I’ll sit down on this bank of sand / And watch the river flow.” The ninety-minute concert concludes with 1981’s “Every Grain of Sand,” in which Dylan admits, “Don’t have the inclination to look back on any mistake / Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break / In the fury of the moment I can see the Master’s hand / In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.” (Although in past tours Dylan and the band would come out for two encores, he stopped doing that after the first two November concerts this year.)
He’s taking stock of his life, poignantly and publicly, right in front of our eyes — even though we can barely see him. The lighting keeps Dylan in a shadowy darkness, as if he doesn’t want us to see him clearly. As has been his desire for many years, no photography is allowed, and Beacon employees enforce that rule with vigor. He remains mostly behind his piano, which has now been turned so we cannot see his hands playing it, as we could in the past. He stands uncomfortably, at times reaching out his right hand to grasp the top of the piano for balance. (He no longer plays the guitar or harmonica, perhaps because of arthritis.) When he emerges briefly to croon at the back of the stage — he used to come front and center — as he does during the old Frank Sinatra standard “Melancholy Mood,” he is slightly hunched over and barely moves his feet. He pleads, “Pity me and break the chains / The chains that bind me / Won’t you release me, set me free?”
Dylan and the band are all dressed in black: Bob Britt and Doug Lancio on guitars, Tony Garnier on upright and electric bass, Donnie Herron on pedal steel, violin, and accordion, and Charlie Drayton on drums. They all keep a close eye on Bob as he signals them like a gentle conductor. During an aggressive “Gotta Serve Somebody,” he looked into the audience a few times; I thought I saw a smile or two, but my wife thought they were grimaces. “You might be a rock ’n’ roll addict prancing on the stage . . . But you’re gonna have to serve somebody,” he sings, with nary a prance.
Even given all that, Dylan is a marvel. His raspy voice, well rested from the long break, sounds better than it has in years. His enunciation is precise, his phrasing as strong as ever. He continually reinvents his old songs, which are barely recognizable at first, reconfiguring them with a bluesy jump jazz, transforming the Beacon into a rollicking juke joint. His version of “When I Paint My Masterpiece,” one of only three tunes repeated from his 2019 Beacon shows, is, indeed, a masterpiece.
He plays eight of the ten tracks from Rough and Rowdy Ways, and aside from the meandering and curious “Key West (Philosopher Pirate),” they sound triumphant, from the ballad “I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You” to the propulsive “False Prophet,” feeling right at home with “Early Roman Kings” from 2012’s Tempest and a smoking version of 1967’s “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight.” He also surprises with the relatively rare “To Be Alone with You,” from 1969’s Nashville Skyline.
For the first time in many moons, the tour, which heads to Port Chester after the Beacon gigs, has a name, after the new album, and an end date, 2024. The album title itself is a nod to Jimmie Rodgers’s and Merle Haggard’s “My Rough and Ready Ways,” in which the latter explains, “Somehow I can’t give up / My good old rambling ways / Lord, the railroad trains are calling me away.”
If only one thing is plainly evident from Friday night’s show, it’s that Dylan loves playing live, has to play live, in front of an audience. (Even his bizarre livestreamed pandemic show, Shadow Kingdom, was performed to a small, mysterious crowd, and included five of the older songs being played on this tour.) “I’ll lose my mind if you don’t come with me,” he sings in “I Contain Multitudes,” continuing, “Tell me, what’s next? What shall we do? . . . What more can I tell you? I sleep with life and death in the same bed.” With Dylan, there’s always more to be told.
