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Nashville River Stages May 5, 2001 By Peter Cronin Gazing out over a sardine-tight crowd of 30,000 from his center-stage perch on the Cumberland River, Bob Dylan was looking at a very different Nashville skyline than the one immortalized on the back cover of his 1969 album of the same name. But hey, that was 32 years ago; things have changed. This sure wasn't the same Dylan I saw with the Band in '74. Back then he was so full of fire he tagged every line of every song with an ear-splitting roller-coaster roar ("You say you love me, and you're thinkin' of me, but you know you could be ... wwwrrrrrroonnnnnnggg..."). I saw him again in '89. On that tour he hid behind a big-brimmed hat and just stunk up the place, delivering each radically rearranged song in an indecipherable mumble that had even the most devoted fans wondering what tune was landing on their ears. No, this is the 21st century Bob, with a Grammy, Golden Globe, and Oscar in his knapsack. Standing center stage, he seemed fairly mellow, quite content in the dark suit and Doc Holiday tie that has often been his uniform on this "never-ending" tour. As one of those sardines, I found it a bit harder to feel mellow, and I caught the first couple of songs sandwiched between food carts reeking of fried rice and corn dogs (if corn dogs run free, why not me?). From my perch, about a football field away from the stage, I could hear Dylan and company - guitarists Charlie Sexton and Larry Campbell, bassist Tony Garnier, and drummer David Kemper - but I couldn't see them. They opened acoustically with a nice take on Elizabeth Cotton's "Oh Babe, It Ain't No Lie," falling together slowly before launching into a satisfying, march-time version of "Mr. Tambourine Man." Then they followed that with a dobro-charged and nearly unrecognizable "Masters of War." I did a little pogo and caught a glimpse of the star strapping on his black Stratocaster. Nobody booed. Grabbing a $5 beer, I pushed my way through the throng and was rewarded with a full view of the stage and a decent sound mix. After years on the road, Dylan has morphed into the non-singer he's often been accused of being, and he gargled and coughed his way through a fairly straight-ahead version of "Tangled Up in Blue." Flanked by his guitar slingers, the star made the mistake of hogging the six-string solo spotlight, noodling his way, Willie Nelson-like, through three entire verses of almost every song. Sexton and Campbell, meanwhile, hammered at the rhythm like caged animals, snapping several strings in the process. "This World Can't Stand Long," an old Roy Acuff country hit, was next, followed by a rocking, electrified "Down in the Flood," cast in the mold of Cream's "Crossroads." Dylan regained the crowd's full attention with a gentle, loping take on "Positively 4th Street," the caustic lyric strangely out of place in an arrangement that brought to mind the Bee Gees' "To Love Somebody." Campbell sat down at the pedal steel for Oh Mercy's "Where Teardrops Fall," an evening highlight, and the rowdy, just-like-the-record version of "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" that closed the set. The band members took their bows, returning for a four-song encore and kicking things into high gear with a spirited "Things Have Changed." Sixty years of age and four decades into his career, Dylan can still produce a bona fide catchy tune, and the masses responded accordingly. With a full moon overhead and the fully lighted General Jackson riverboat gliding behind the stage, it was hard not to get caught up in the communal vibe as Dylan and band delivered the one-two punch of "Like a Rolling Stone" and a harmony-rich "Knockin' on Heaven's Door." With Sexton and Campbell finally set free, the band was soaring for the first time all night as it closed things out with a raging, guitar-fueled "Highway 61 Revisited." Dylan played a shorter set than he's been performing lately, probably necessitated by the festival setting. Squeezed onto a tight bill that included relative youngsters like Train, the Black Crowes, and Evan and Jaron, he certainly didn't outsing or outplay any of them. But he easily outclassed them all. As the General Jackson made its way downriver, the crowd began to thin out and head home - exhausted, satiated, and perhaps more than a little perplexed by the legendary artist they'd just seen and heard. It's nice to know that some things haven't changed. |
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