Re: Bill Wyman on Bob Dylan
Date: June 26, 2005 15:20
Gosh, I hope that no copyright rules are being bent by posting this.
Dylan Gives the People What He Wants
By BILL WYMAN
Published: June 12, 2005
The theater, 70 miles north of Lansing, Mich., was big
and boomy and boxy, and a third empty. The fans sat,
six to a side, at long tables perpendicular to the
stage. A few dozen yards away, slot machines jangled,
lights flashed, cards snapped. Onstage, the
frail-looking singer hunched over the keyboard and
bleated out a tune that the patient audience strained
to recognize. The singer, dressed as he always is in
courtly dark garb, said little to the audience, though
once or twice he emerged from behind the keyboard to
play a harmonica solo from center stage.
The place was the Soaring Eagle Casino and Resort, and
it was an odd rock 'n' roll show. But it was the kind
of show and the kind of site that Bob Dylan has
increasingly made his own.
Mr. Dylan, 64, plays big cities, of course. (In April
he played five nights in Manhattan.) But more and
more, he is choosing stranger settings: state fairs,
corporate events, urban street fairs and casinos (from
Indian casinos like the Turning Stone in Verona, N.Y.,
and the Soaring Eagle to more traditional ones in Las
Vegas and Reno). He is now in the middle of his second
summer barnstorming tour of minor-league baseball
fields, like the Osceola County Stadium in Kissimmee,
Fla., with Willie Nelson in tow.
Mr. Dylan may be in the final phase of his long and
iconoclastic life as a star, and for it he has chosen
a very long and very iconoclastic tour: 1,700 shows
and counting, beginning in 1988. Caught in an artistic
crisis then, he decided to defibrillate his career and
go back on the road. Accompanied by a small combo, he
reintroduced himself to fans, sporting a lean energy
and a commitment to exploring his nonpareil song
catalog. He shows no signs of slowing down, though he
has lately replaced the guitar he has played for more
than 45 years with a keyboard, causing speculation
that back problems might be responsible for the
switch. (Through Mr. Dylan's publicist at Columbia
Records, his management said playing keyboards was
"just his musical preference" and declined to comment
otherwise for this article.) Mr. Dylan has turned his
act into one of the weirdest road shows in rock. He
rarely speaks to the crowd, and when he does, his
remarks are often gnomic throwaways. ("I had a big
brass bed, but I sold it!") He plays some of his
best-known songs, but often in contrarian, almost
unrecognizable versions, as if to dampen their
anthemic qualities. He highlights recent compositions
more than most of his 60's coevals, but these, too,
are delivered as highly stylized, singsongy chants. He
strives to play as many kinds of places as possible,
even playing successive nights in different theaters
and clubs in large cities.
In other words, Mr. Dylan seems to have developed an
unparalleled commitment to sharing his art, but only
on his own very specific terms.
Of course, a hundred shows a year is not unheard of in
the rock world; some well-known figures, Mr. Nelson
and B. B. King among them, play even more shows than
Mr. Dylan. But no performer of similar stature has
exhibited his decades-spanning commitment to the
stage. Acts like Bruce Springsteen, the Rolling Stones
and U2 tend to tour every two or three years as part
of a grandly themed marketing package, complete with a
new album, an intricate publicity strategy, tractor
trailers to carry their massive stage sets; later
there is souvenir bric-a-brac like a live album or an
HBO special for later DVD release.
Mr. Dylan does none of that. There are no themes,
little publicity and no tractor trailers; he just
plays shows. The writer Paul Williams, who founded
Crawdaddy, arguably the first rock magazine, in 1966,
said Mr. Dylan's focus had moved away from recording
in the last few decades. "This is his art form," he
said, "the performing."
These shows have none of the strict choreography of
the modern rock concert. Major touring acts will
charge hundreds of dollars for a tightly scripted
performance, with one or two opportunities for
spontaneity. By contrast, Mr. Dylan's small ensemble
plays confidently during each set's few anchors, but
watches somewhat warily during the rest of the show,
as Mr. Dylan decides which part of his huge repertory
to sample next.
"He would do anything from old folk songs, Civil
War-era songs, up to standards," said the guitarist G.
E. Smith, who played with Mr. Dylan at the start of
what has become known as the Never-Ending Tour. "I
remember once, we were playing in Hollywood, and he
played 'Moon River.' "
UNLIKE some of his peers, Mr. Dylan doesn't seem to be
motivated primarily by money. His ticket prices
average a bit over $40, according to Gary Bongiovanni,
editor of the concert industry magazine Pollstar;
that's significantly below the industry average. "Bob
is one guy who's realized it's not all about the
money," said Jerry Mickleson, of Jam Productions in
Chicago. "It's about making music and making people
happy. It's not about charging $100 a ticket."
For the Bob and Willie tour, in 2004, he added,
tickets were $45. This year, they were $49.50.
Still, finances may play a part in Mr. Dylan's touring
strategy. Casino shows are highly remunerative; the
Soaring Eagle had an uncharacteristically high $150
top ticket price, reflecting a high upfront fee for
the artist. He will never starve, but Mr. Dylan did
not come out of the 1960's and 70's with what could be
called McCartney money. Howard Sounes, in his Dylan
biography, "Down the Highway," writes that Mr. Dylan
has had four generations of Zimmermans and Dylans to
house at various times, besides two wives and, it
seems, the odd mistress. If Mr. Dylan plays 100 shows
a year before 4,000 fans at an average price of $40 a
ticket, he may walk away with more than $5 million
profit. And of course, that's on top of the million or
so albums he sells a year.
Yet money doesn't fully explain the restless nature of
the touring, and it certainly doesn't explain Mr.
Dylan's refusal to give the audience what it wants to
hear, his casual approach to publicity, the small
clubs or the costs involved in playing at different
sites in the same city. For some of his 1960's peers,
whose tours can gross in the nine figures, it's hardly
worth leaving the Hamptons for $5 million.
One clue to what Mr. Dylan is doing may be found in
the liner notes to "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan," one
of his early albums: "I don't carry myself yet the way
that Big Joe Williams, Woody Guthrie, Leadbelly and
Lightnin' Hopkins have carried themselves," he said.
"I hope to be able to someday, but they're older
people. I sometimes am able to do it, but it happens,
when it happens, unconsciously." These figures aren't
merely musical heroes; they're also counterpoints to
Mr. Dylan's casually decadent rock star peers, who
happily cater to their fans' demands. Unlike them, Mr.
Dylan offers the audience only what he thinks they
should want: an opportunity to see an artist work.
He has even become something of a proselytizer for the
road's healing powers. A call from Mr. Dylan
encouraged the singer Patti Smith to go back on the
road after a 16-year hiatus. "He told me I should
share what I do with the people," she said. "I think
that resonates with his philosophy."
The journey Mr. Dylan is on has eerie premonitions in
his songs, nowhere more so than in "Like a Rolling
Stone," whose refrain of "no direction home" can sound
both ominous and triumphant. "I think when he sang 'no
direction home,' he's talking about being lost, kind
of a stranger in a strange land," Mr. Williams said.
"And then ironically, it's how he chooses to live his
life."
Jonathan Cott, the author of "Dylan," said: "I've
thought about it, and I know it's a cliché, but I
think he finds himself on the road - 'finds' in both
senses of the word. I think for him the goal is the
road."
There is a final issue, and a more sensitive one,
given the singer's penchant for privacy. Beyond his
relatively well-chronicled relationship with his first
wife, Sara, little is known about his private life.
Until very recently, biographers were unfamiliar with
the basic details of his family, and many fans don't
know that Mr. Dylan was married for a second time, in
the '80's, to one of his gospel-era backup singers,
with whom he had a child.
The question, bluntly put, is what Mr. Dylan is
running away from, or to. At the height of his fame,
in the late 60's, he famously took himself off the
road for almost seven years to raise a family in
something approximating peace. What personal demons
could compel a man to spend his late 40's, then his
entire 50's and now his 60's, away from home?
"Is it running away or finding your own path?" Mr.
Cott asked. "I don't know."