The Agganis Arena at Boston University is large – pretty large anyway, with raked seating and crimson backed chairs and seats that line the flat base of the floor. It seems worthy of Dylan more than the show I saw this summer at a baseball field in Pawtuckett Rhode Island where Dylan played, which was a terrific show and set-list (so don’t get me wrong, this was a great show), and while Dylan may like base-ball and all, it didn’t seem grand enough to me, but then,. maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

Yes, the baseball field tour was laid back and that was good. I reviewed it well because the set-list was excellent, the crowd was good and Dylan was on. He was in good mood and the set-list was excellent – totally different from what I heard the other night, however….

….Sunday November 12^th, when I arrive at the Agganis Arena, I ask one of the female ushers if she has seen Dylan on this night. It seems unlikely but hey, she works there so who knows. She says Yes. So, I ask Is he in a good mood? Yes, she tells me.

Dylan always performs better when he’s in a good mood. If he’s in a pissy mood, you’ll get a pissy show – that’s probably true for all of us, I suppose if we were in his boots, but it’s not what I want tonight. Call me selfish, but it’s just not what I want for me, for you, or for Dylan himself. I want a good show. Actually, I want an amazing show because I’ve gotten used to this with Dylan. The usher tells me she saw him laughing – a good sign. I have to tell you here, at this point, I feel some twinge of jealousy. What I would give to see Dylan in person laughing, having fun. It’s one thing to watch Pennebaker, but Dylan himself… damn, baby.

The opening band, The Raconteurs are good but so over-amplified that I couldn’t understand a word of what the lead singer was saying, or singing rather. All I know is that he sort of looks like the lead singer of The Cure sans make-up – at least from a distance and even through binoculars. Maybe he doesn’t really look a thing like that, but to me he does. But then, my vision is seriously impaired. Who knows. I’m not there for them anyway. I’m there for Dylan so it really isn’t important to me.

The lead singer bounces around the stage, waving his guitar about. He’s big on this. He’s big on the crotch guitar thing. It’s not that they are bad, it’s just that I can’t tell if they are any good. Some people seem to like them so maybe they are good, it’s just that I can’t give you any assessment other than what the lead singer looks like and that I can’t hear a word he’s saying – not one single lyric – because not only does he scream, but he shouts over the din of his band, making the whole thing impossible. I can’t say I’m not sorry when they leave the stage. I’m just not. Some people are there to see the warm-up act, so they must be good in their own right then. To the untrained ear, they just sound bloody loud, leaving me with a ringing in the ear.

After an intermission, the usual Dylan announcement is made – that voice overlay that we hear, anticipate, wait for and have come to expect before the man himself will get on stage (whose voice is that anyway, does anyone know and would someone please tell me?), and we know then, after this announcement, that the man himself is about to be stage front and center, this time, behind a silver keyboard.

It is then that the crowd picks up. Velvet covered chairs flip back into position, the crowd stands and cheers and screams, arms wave and clap, girls scream, down at the front of the stage, wafts of pot and cigarettes send great plumes of grey smoke in the air above the stage lights and there he is: the man of the moment. As they said in one Newport folk festival, “He’s yours, Bob Dylan”

He is ours, or as is pointed out in No Direction Home, ‘Everybody wanted a piece of Bobby” Yup. We still do. Many of us anyway. Sure, we wanted him in the mid-sixties – perhaps in a different way, but we’ve wanted him through every decade and the ways in which we want him have morphed just as he has changed and morphed with each album, changing his personality and sound, leaving it such that neither he nor we are ever bored. If Dylan won’t settle, then neither can or should we. He is a master of reinvention I may miss the Dylan of a certain era, but that’s wholly my problem and I have records to take me back, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like the Dylan of the now. In fact, I fully embrace the Dylan of the now as much as I would do embrace the Dylan of the then.

Tonight, he is dressed in his long black coat – a semi-cowboy outfit – the Dylan of the Wild, Wild West (I’m told he loves this and always has, and I think back and I suppose in ways he bears this out). He is wearing black banks with gold piping, that long black coat with a tail that he favors these days, a gold lame shirt (barely visible beneath the jacket) a black (sort of) cowboy hat that’s not really a cowboy hat but close enough, and black boots that are certainly not his sixties mod boots for they stretch well past the ankle – I can see them stretch the length of his leg past his shin as he moves and twists behind is keyboard.

For the whole of the concert, Dylan remains behind that silver keyboard. He’s comfortable there – legs moving in time to the music, his black booted feet moving almost non-stop. The other day I just watched No Direction Home (again) and I was transfixed by his hands and those long piano fingers and how he played so intensely, banging away and unable to stop moving. He wasn’t so different last night, pounding at the key board, except when he played his harmonica, only now, no neck harness; the silver harmonica was simply held between his two palms.

As to the pounding on the keyboard and those long, pale hands, sure, like Dylan himself, his hands may have aged, but this hasn’t stopped him from pounding those keys just as hard – they were raised as high as he ever as if he simply could not, cannot, control the passion behind the songs he writes. It’s good to know that the passion and intensity behind the music is still there. I like that Dylan never gives up.

The show opened with “Sweet Marie” which was rather unexpected – a great opener to be sure, but not one that I, anyway, expected, and I was both surprised and glad. The set-list was, overall, a good mix. It kept the crowd moving and happy. Almost everyone in mostly packed auditorium was in constant motion, save for a few stiff bodies – others mostly danced to the music, particularly people down on the floor (not that this didn’t stop people from dancing in the upper seats), though less so.

It’s an odd thing to go to a Dylan concert, and I’ve said this before, to go and just sit in a velvet backed chair and not move. And I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. A guy who looked remarkably like Moby came along (he worked there) singled out the woman in front of me (who was still as a board and not moving) and said to her, “How can you just sit there! It’s fucking Bob Dylan! You’re stiff as a board! How can you just sit there! It’s Bob Dylan… You paid for this… I got in for free and I’m moving… You PAID!”

It was as if he himself were personally insulted. I knew what he meant. It’s not that I didn’t feel badly for her. Maybe she was too shy. Maybe she felt too old for this, I don’t know. Maybe she felt that things have changed and they have. It’s seems odd to me too. How can we, any of us, sit still for Bob? It is a strange construct, but then, so is time… as he says, It’s Not Dark Yet, But It’s Getting’ There.

I was not on the floor front and center (for which I hate myself for there was a time when I would have been. I would have been screaming and shouting and trying just anything to get back stage and often succeeding – yes, really.) But I didn’t. No, I wasn’t like Lady Stiff in front of me, but nor was I stage front and center and something about that bothers me. It bothers me because it says I’m getting older… But then, so is Dylan.

The crowd itself was an interesting mix; you had, of course, your aging hippies (of which I am not part of that crowd), you had your Boston University kids at age 19-20 or so (which I found just weird, but then, Modern Times just came out so maybe that’s not so weird – it seems weird, but who am I to say), and then you had really young kids who couldn’t be more than young teenagers at most and I wondered what the McFuck they were doing there.

Did they even know a Dylan song other than those they had heard on Modern Times I wondered. Did they know “Sweet Marie”? “Visions of Johanna”? It’s “Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding… ho ho ho)”, and what about “Highway 61 Revisited”? What about the much more obscure stuff like “Apple Suckling Tree”? No, he didn’t play all of those songs, before you ask, you can see the set-list at the end of the piece… and maybe he catered the list to the crowd, but I did wonder how many of the older Dylan songs the crowd knew. It’s not our right to ‘claim’ Dylan, for no-one can or should do that, and yet we do.

Look, I’m not passing a judgment here. It’s not to say that they ought or should know these songs; I’m not ‘out-fanning’ any fan, because I don’t even see myself as a fan because at this point, my interest is so obsessive and so much more professional by now that one transcends that and I’m sure you can relate. It’s more a curiosity than anything else. Who would pay almost $80 bucks for a ticket for music that they hardly know? Of course, I could well be wrong. Of course I could be wrong. I’m wrong about all kinds of things. I don’t, however, think I’m entirely wrong about this.

From Modern Times, “When the Deal Goes Down” was incredible, I’ll say that. It got an incredible response from the crowd and was one of the sweeter songs of the night. It was also, like “Sweet Marie” one of the more sincere of the set, which is not to say he didn’t mean the set, only that this one seemed, probably because it is from the new album, closer to him… that’s the right word… just closer in some way, likely because the music is newer and hence, fresher.

The stadium itself is dark, save for the long rows of steps that lead to the well-raked seats that lend a pretty good view of the stage to every seat, so your not craning over anyone’s big head. The narrow steps that lead to the seats are dimly and lit, a sort of shimmering gold that doesn’t interfere with the overall darkness in which Dylan performs.

Looking over the crowd, the aisles stretch down like spider legs or narrow highways that all lead to the same crowded intersection. All about, people furtively light up joints which they pass around when nobody is looking, or they think nobody is looking. A guy in the row in front of us almost gets caught when an usher comes in and shines her flashlight on him but by the time she does this, the joint is out and he is saved.

This time, this show, I see nobody kicked out and remarkably, not a big police presence here this time, unlike Rhode Island where there was a notable police t presence who hassled the crowd a lot, turning anyone who looked in the least suspect but here again, I didn’t seem them actually find anything or anyone kicked out. Gone are the days when people used to toss joints up on stage.

Back to Dylan – he was full on. Which is to say, he was ‘On.’ He can be great but only when he wants to be and anyone who has followed him surely knows this. If he’s not in top form or a good mood, forget about it. As Joan Baez pointed out in No Direction Home, it was part of ‘her job’ to keep him in a ‘good mood’ during the 66 tour to make sure he performed his best.

With no Joan Baez there as the happy cheering clown, who does this job now? Anyone? or is this strictly up to BD himself (he’s a big boy, after all, needs no court jester)? Whatever the matter, he was certainly on last night. He did not seem over-amplified as did the warm-up band – so more mellow, though as ever, Dylan changes the rendition of every song he sings, so it is sometimes hard to say right away what he is singing unless you really know Dylan well, in which case you’ll pick it up in the first few notes, like Highway 61 Revisited (another unexpected song, I thought) but one I was glad for.

I was glad specifically for Highway 61 Revisited not only because I love the song but because my husband just finished an entire book about the album which is fresh off press and published by Continuum in their 33 1/3 series (great series and recommended to anyone interested in music), with the title simply “Highway 61 Revisited” by Mark Polizzotti. Yes, buy it. It’s good. No, I’m not that biased. If it sucked, I would say so. Really. If you're interested, click here for the full list of the 33 1/3 series, which should direct you to the site.

As for the encore, Dylan made us work for it – a real tease. He didn’t come back on stage in a couple of minutes. He made us wait and wait. So we waited. But I’m always waiting for Dylan. Indeed, he’s always was and still is the clown, the vagabond, the jokester, the song and dance man.

The crowd screamed (and screamed.) We clapped. Shouted his name (“Come on Bobby! Bob! Come on! More (and then More!) After a few minutes of this, I really started to wonder if Dylan really was going to do an encore.

We pounded the floor and when the screaming would cease for a moment or two, a whole other group (present company included) start a new round of chanting and screaming. We certainly waited longer than the baseball field tours – but it was worth it, even if we did have to work for it, and when he did come back on stage, damn baby, it was so worth it, and the crowd went wild. A scream from the crowd and one can only imagine the validation that comes with and from this for the performer.

Dylan gave us three encores, well worth the wait, and note, he was received by thunderous applauses and a standing ovation. The list: “Thunder on the Mountain,” “Like a Rolling Stone” (thank god.) and yes, “All Along the Watchtower.” The dancing and truly happy crowd were glad and grateful for all three and all three songs. I’d say that this was likely the best version I that I personally have heard (in person) of “All Along the Watchtower.” It certainly got the crowd moving.

It’s interesting – Dylan has always sang “Like a Rolling Stone” differently in every concert. Without a doubt, after so many years of singing one song, one must surely grow weary of it, yet the crowd calls for it. I wonder, does it piss him off that it remains one of his trademark songs? Dylan never sang “Like a Rolling Stone” or really any song the same as when he cut it on the album or in the studio.

I do miss the Dylan who could wail “Like a Rolling Stone, belt it out with that voice of his, singing it with sarcasm, dripping with with irony, with many a mood, and last night was no exception as to mood anyway for each time, there is a different mood.

As to last night’s was a quiet rendition in some ways. The crowd seemed to carry the chorus a fair amount, chiming in with the “How does it feel” but they missed the mar, unable to capture the real Dylan-esque “How does it feeeeeeel” which I personally love and miss, but I make my peace with this because I like the new Dylan because I continue to and have liked every iteration of Dylan from version 1.0 all the way through whatever iteration of Dylan we are at now.

At first glance or listen, the lyrics to “Like a Rolling Stone” at face value may well be sound like an embittered cover about a break-up or relationship which is the standard definition that I’ve heard and hear all the time, but I insist or continue on this, that beneath it all, if you really listen and get into and analyze each word Dylan is as much singing to himself as he is anyone else (we could sit and talk about this for hours if you are a die-hard like I am.)

Last night’s rendition was hardly a belt out (as my husband said to me, “Dylan has no ‘belt’ left in him.) Damn, baby. I liked the Dylan of ‘66. I liked the guy who could belt out “Like a Rolling Stone” dripping with sarcasm and sing “How does it feeeeeel” I like that he sang this after the “Judas” comment and I like how he said “I don’t belieeeeveee youuuu….” and then sang it as a big fuck you and I admit, I liked the inherent sarcasm of the fuck you-Judas rendition because that ass didn’t know what he had and I liked that Dylan gave it back to him in spades. Screw me, but I liked it.

But last night there was no fuck you and that’s okay because the crowd was happy for this Dylan and we now expect and accept that he will change , hence there was and is no reason for any dripping pithy sarcasm anymore … or now anyway. There was no-one shouting “Judas.”

“It’s All Over Now Baby Blue, another of those songs in which I think there exists a double meaning (at least) and that speaks to a relationship, yes, but more than this… a double check of the lyrics, or maybe you’ve memorized them, but I think it follows - adds up.

Dylan is nothing if not complicated – too complicated to keep most of his songs anyway so simple. Sure, there are a few toss-offs in his repertoire, no doubt, but it’s songs like “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue” and “Like a Rolling Stone” and oh Christ, the list goes on and on, have at least a double meaning. But is or was he “Judas” – not in my book. Never.

These are not simple songs. But then again, in No Direction Home, Joan Baez (who has a great sense of humor as she looks back on her time with Dylan in the 60s) notes that Dylan would say to her after she would ask him What does this song mean, Bobby, he would say (and this is not verbatim) something along the lines of ‘I don’t know what the fuck the it means… (laughs) but years from now all these fuckin people will be writin’ about what they mean and I dunno what the fuck they mean… (laughs again)…’ (that’s not a verbatim quote but it’s something along those lines) and he was right. Here we are, doing exactly that.

Dylan, in the final account, never betrayed us. The perception at the time may have been such, but Dylan never claimed to be anything other than just who he was. He played roles – he played Woody Guthrie pretty well. He was a great mimic and did what he had to do to get where he wanted to get “the stepping stones” he wrote of, but even those he left behind as he became a phenomena all his own. He never claimed to be part of the protest movement. More, Dylan never claimed to write protest songs and when asked about this, Dylan coyly quipped sarcastically in a London interview in the mid-sixties was “All I ever do is protest,” which is not the same thing as “I write protest songs.”

In fact, it is quite the opposite. It is I protest that you say I write protest songs. I protest the labels that you lay on me. It is Dylan’s refusal to be defined or boxed in and hey, who can blame him (I don’t much like it either) – a thing he never did like. As Dylan said, “ I define nothing. Not beauty, not patriotism. I take each thing as it is, without prior rules about what it should be.”

That said, I think Dylan has always been coy (witness his early interviews of the sixties, and even those since) – I believe he knows or knew at the time he was writing exactly what he some of the lyrics to his more intense songs were about, at least in some cases. You don’t write a song like “A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall” and not have some idea of what it means. I find that hard to believe. It’s always been hard to pin Dylan down and that’s okay. I remember one reviewer saying to Dylan “Are you ever not on stage?” I can’t remember what Dylan replied, but I know it wasn’t pretty, or perhaps it was blank and Pennebaker cut to the next shot. In either case, we never got a real answer.

What do know with absolute certainty is this: that for most of us, the Dylan we do get is the Dylan on stage is the Dylan we see on stage and the one we get through his music and his lyrics and therein lies all that he wants us to see. Lately, he speaks to us through his Theme Time radio program on XM Radio – perhaps more of Dylan then, which I find more revealing in some ways.

As to the Agganis show, it was pure Dylan. He was on. He seemed happy. He spoke to the crowd, introduced his band, took a great bow before a screaming crowd of mixed ages, and seemed truly grateful that we were there, just as we were grateful for his being there even now.

His boot heels are still wanderin’ – and thank god for that.

For the curious:

Absolutely Sweet Marie

Senor (Tales of Yankee Power)

Honest With Me

Positively 4^th Street

Masters of War

Til I Fell in Love with You

When the Deal Goes Down

Cold Irons Bound

Every Grain of Sand

Rollin’ and Tumblin’

Tangled Up in Blue

Nettie Moore

Highway 61 Revisited

Encore

Thunder on the Mountain

Like a Rolling Stone

All Along the Watchtower