Last night, Bob Dylan played in the Fargo Civic Center. The place was jammers, filled with people of every age, and the general excitement was showing on the faces gathered before the stage. A common question throughout the crowd was 'have you seen him before?' Most said yes. One particularly enthusiastic fellow claims an amazing twenty three Dylan shows, and had just come back from three shows, in a row, in different states. Now, that's a fan.
The lights dimmed and out came the band, and the man himself. All dressed in black, hair slicked back, facial hair carved into dark shapes, crowd roaring in front of them, they looked like magicians from vaudeville, a cross between bluesmen and gypsies. The stage lights up front threw their shadows onto the back wall, a hovering, jolting crowd of menacing figures in broad-rimmed hats. Pure, old-fashioned stagecraft.
Dylan himself, bare-headed, opened his throat to let out a voice so gravelly, you'd swear he was gargling stones. Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat, Girl From the North Country, Things Have Changed, Tangled Up In Blue. The band worked tightly, musicians giving one another the nod when moving into solos, always keeping an eye on Bob. Dylan himself moved back and forth across the stage, from guitar to piano to harmonica, seeming to decide at the moment what instrument he'd play next. His vocal delivery smoothed out over the course of the concert, and he smiled into the microphone as the lyrics came.
A couple, easily in their 70s, danced the night away, and danced their way out of the auditorium at the end of the concert. A couple of teenagers nearby did the same.
After the show, standing on the lawn, you could watch everyone come streaming out of the doors, and look over the faces of people who'd seen a living legend up close. Some singing,, some drunk, some tired... all smiling.
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