Bob Dylan

Fleadh 2004, London Finsbury Park Sunday June 20, 2004

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When youโ€™ve got something like 500 songs in your repertoire, it just gets too complicated to make set-lists. Between numbers?sometimes even halfway through the previous song?Bob Dylan shuffles across the stage and lets his band know what he fancies playing next. A check on one of the many Dylan websites, expectingrain.com, prior to his appearance at this yearโ€™s Fleadh reveals that Dylanโ€™s previous five concerts have featured 50 different songs, including such surprises as โ€œIf Dogs Run Freeโ€ (from 1970โ€™s New Morning) and Townes Van Zandtโ€™s โ€œPancho & Leftyโ€. In the event, at Finsbury Park, he plays neither. But every night is a new Bob experience, and he has plenty of other surprises up his sleeve.

The first is the presence of Ronnie Wood throughout the set. With Dylan to the left of stage on keyboards, as during last autumnโ€™s tour, Wood?the only one of the band not dressed in black?forms a crunching three-pronged guitar line-up with Larry Campbell and recent recruit Stu Kimball, who has replaced Charlie Sexton. It lends the sound real attack, a rich, churning, blues-laden noise, like a cross between Highway 61 Revisited and Exile On Main St.

The second surprise is the dominance of songs from 2001โ€™s Love & Theft, with โ€œLonesome Day Bluesโ€, โ€œTweedle Dee & Tweedle Dumโ€, โ€œHigh Water (For Charley Patton)โ€, โ€œHonest With Meโ€ and โ€œSummer Daysโ€ constituting a third of the set.

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This is fitting because?although few seem to have noticed?Love & Theft is the most fun record Dylan has ever made, a riot of hilarious throwaway lines and neat tricks. And up on stage tonight, Bob is out to enjoy himself. He clearly likes having Woody around, and the mood is almost frolicsome. Last autumn, he was moving so stiffly you had to keep wondering if he was going to fall over. Yet here he is at the end of a two-hour set, skipping across the stage as he joins the band to take his final bow. I was so much older then, Iโ€™m younger than that now, indeed.

A spritely โ€œDown Along The Coveโ€ is a great opener that gives notice of his intent. โ€œItโ€™s All Over Now, Baby Blueโ€ is at first barely recognisable in a countryish arrangement, but lovely. โ€œDesolation Rowโ€ finds Dylan toying with the lyrics (โ€œyouโ€™re in the wrong ROOM my friend, youโ€™d better HURRY UP AND leaveโ€). But heโ€™s in total command. Around the fourth verse, Woody takes the song off in the direction of some cod reggae rhythm. Bob waits to see where it will go?and then when itโ€™s gone far enough pulls it back into shape with a few stabs of his keyboard. This is not one of his perfunctory, heads-down-and-see-you-at-the-end shows. The voice is passionate and urgent without ever sounding strident, and 40 minutes in heโ€™s still only completed five numbers.

โ€œPositively Fourth Streetโ€ is a revelation, slowed down so that all the anger is turned to disappointment and the viciousness to regret as Woody graces the song with an elegiac solo. Then, as twilight falls, Dylan walks across to the band and instructs them to play โ€œNot Dark Yetโ€. The crowd instantly recognises it, and the song raises one of the biggest cheers of the night. Of all the great songs on his last two albums, this is the one that has become a centrepiece of his canon, ranking alongside his finest compositions. He concludes with a storming rockabilly romp on โ€œSummer Daysโ€, before encoring with โ€œLike A Rolling Stoneโ€.

Thereโ€™s been no โ€œMr Tambourine Manโ€ or โ€œAll Along The Watchtowerโ€ or โ€œDonโ€™t Think Twiceโ€. But heโ€™s got several hundred more where they came from, and nobody leaves Finsbury Park disappointed.

Earlier, both Fleadh stages had hosted a troop of Dylan disciples. Tim Burgess could hardly contain his excitement and was maybe a little overawed, for The Charlatansโ€™ set failed to ignite in the wet conditions, until Woody joined them to crank out the familiar riff of The Facesโ€™ โ€œStay With Meโ€. Counting Crows fared better with the weather, and their rootsy blend of classic American rock raised spirits, while John Prine entranced with his wit and a voice that sounded almost as deliciously cracked as Bobโ€™s own.