Initially, visually, "Bob Dylan Unplugged" is a little confusing – at least at first because it seems that Bob seems confused too – maybe he’s between fashion periods. I think that’s it. After all, it’s November, 1994 and he’s performing his “Bob Dylan Unplugged” and hence here we are. But back to what I was saying: Bob – there he is, wearing his big black RayBans, a black and white polka-dotted shirt that looks exactly like the one from the mid-sixties era and the one he’s wearing in Eat the Document, so this means that so far, Bob has two elements that I recognize as iconic Bob. He also has his harmonica on his neck. So far, I know this Bob. But what happened to that lovely mop of curls? There is a tug-of-war going on here; we know the Bob of now – the cowboy Bob and we expect as well, because he’s giving us in part, Bob of some other era. It’s confusing.

So here I’ve given you the first glance elements, here are the rest that come quickly (visually): over the polka-dotted shirt, Bob wears a long-black cowboy style jacket-coat with silk detailing by the large lapels. He also wears wide-leg trousers (gone are the hip peg-leg pants of the sixties and the pointy boots that I loved so much: they’ve been replaced by rounded toe black boots, that move in shuffle to the music.) And most of all, and this is what will get anyone who has not (I’ve seen Bob enough times since then to know the difference, but if you have not, this video is a shock) gone is the halo of lovely brown curls that have become part and parcel of Bob Dylan – the icon.

In fact, Dylan the icon, is not so much the Dylan of the now – not even the one I’m watching in this video, no matter how great the music (and it’s fantastic, as Dylan delivers and I promise to tell you), but how he looks will never be how we know Bob Dylan. We will always, most of us, associate Bob Dylan with the Dylan of the ‘60s which is why even at his concerts today the t-shirts they sell have images of Dylan with the halo of hair that I was just discussing and the ‘60s style clothes. Even Dylan knows enough…. but he’s always liked cowboy stuff, so hey, it’s his time to have his fun. How the hell are we to say one way or the other anyway?

All of this really becomes irrelevant because when Dylan flips up that harmonica for the first time for the song Shooting Star and that sliver flash moves between his lips and the clear, bright sound comes out, he has us melting and moving at the same time. Physics dictates this is not possible, but then, all things Dylan would naturally defy the laws of physics, since Dylan has long defied the laws of pretty much everything….

The band here I’ve never seen before, but they could have been his band of the time – no doubt, they are especially good and shine but do not out-shine Dylan, which is key. What interests me is that before Dylan chimes in with the first note of “The Times They Are A-Changin’” the song is absolutely not recognizable at all. I wonder if that has ever happened before given the song’s popularity. As to the actual rendition here, it’s not bad, but it’s not good either, and it pains me to write that.

“Love Minus Zero/No Limit” and “Dignity” are both incredible for a mix of softness and passion that is also heard in Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door, which is even more intense – likely the most intense, and also with a fantastic harmonica solo here that is right on key. Of all, it seems that the most sincere, and who can judge the sincerity but Dylan himself – certainly I can only guess – but Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door would be the guess. There’s something about his voice here that is pleading and questioning and sad and with a realization that things have passed (in the same way that we hear in “It’s Not Dark Yet”). It’s just another, earlier, way of saying the same thing perhaps. Singing it here though, you can actually see Dylan shaking as he sings certain parts – almost as if his heart is beating fast as an oven-bird in its nest. It’s good to see him, by the end of the song, so into it, that he’s smiling.

All that said, one can’t help but be left sad here. No matter how much we reassure Dylan with our writings, with our loyalty, with our applause, with the tickets we buy up, with the absurd things we would do and the lengths that I (maybe you too) would go to for him just to reassure, reassure, it never seems like enough. So we keep doing our best.

We are rewarded after Knocking On Heaven’s Door with a fantastic rendition of Like A Rolling Stone that is calmer than any other I’ve heard – calmer in that Dylan is not belting it out like he used to, but then, there is something sort of conversational and sarcastic about the way this version is spoken/sung. I like the lilting up and down here, but what I like more, is watching Dylan’s face as he gets to the parts that are really, really nasty just to see how much he really means it… Do you want to make a deal? How does it feel?

Dylan’s sneer, the way he grits his teeth, the very way certain words are sung all tell us something about how much he means it here. Just how pissed off are you Bob? How much do you mean it? That he says like a “complete unknown” in especially quiet tones and whenever he says “you” is also spoken in an almost hush, it is almost as if the person barely exists. It’s just another fuck you, as if the song itself were not itself already a big enough fuck you. Of course, the song has always been a fuck you, both to Dylan at some point in his life, and clearly to some other. Yes, there is disagreement that Like A Rolling Stone was ever self-reflexive – that is, that Dylan meant it at all as a song, at least partially, to himself. It seems though like an almost too shallow read to not consider this at least a factor. Take another listen; I think the lyrics bear out that Dylan is also speaking to himself. More interesting, and perhaps backing up this point, is that the recent Scorcese documentary is entitled “No Direction Home.”

There is so much here that is good, that it would be a shame for any Dylan fan or anyone interested in Dylan to miss this DVD. I hope Dylan never really unplugs for any real length of time. For as long as he can, I want him to wail, belt it out, talk it out, shuffle behind his keyboard, or, oh god, I remember the footage from Don’t Look Back in which he plays the piano and you can’t take your eyes off those hands because there is such force and power there; the way he raises his palms – those long, spatulate fingers off the keyboard. Small wonder that these days, Dylan has opted to take his place behind the keyboard on stage and set aside his guitar at least for a while. If only I could get closer, close enough, as close as the lens in Don’t Look Back, if I could be Pennebaker and see the Dylan then or now, and watch those hands – as I did here as they moved across the strings, I would be content forever.