Rage against the dying of the light
Mr Jinx
the realities of the Never Ending Tour (so called).
It was on the final date of the Brixton five night residency in 2005.
Oddly enough that final night was an anticlimax. As shows go it was
flat. The third night had been the pick of the litter and there had
been some tremendous individual performances on the other nights but
the last night somehow never took off. It fell flat.
I had been queuing in the cold and rain for about four hours when
suddenly a side door opened and a few of us were let in to the front,
the rail. This seemed a random happening. We had no particular right
to be there but that night we just got lucky. I had to pinch myself.
So there I was, on the rail - nothing between me and where Dylan would
stand, just ten feet in front of the stage. I had never been in that
position before. I didn't know whether to be pleased or not. I even
considered moving back but something kept me there.
Dylan came out with the band and they launched into their set. Not
much was working. Dylan kept trying but somehow the magic would not
come. Anyhow, they struck up It's Alright Ma and it was then that I
finally understood what the Never Ending Tour was about.
There was something brutal, bestial, dark and even unpleasant about
what I witnessed in those moments. Bob was facing me directly and
howling into my face. I could see the spittle coming from his mouth.
His eyes seemed milky and far away as he summoned up the lines. I
could feel the bass drum pounding in my chest and I could see Dylan
jerking his shoulders this way and that to emphasise the rhythm of
what he was barking out into the hall. He seemed possessed like a
fascist dictator. It was like an incantation or a summoning of
something primal. There was little attractive about it. Listening
back to the discs of the show I can hear a routine performance of It's
Alright Ma but facing the sheer physicality of it at such close
quarters was utterly overwhelming. I saw the toll the whole process
took upon Dylan. I saw the lines on his face and the veins in his neck
standing out. I saw the way he had to screw himself up and hurl
himself bodily into the song just to project it. And having seen
that ... well, let's just say it was like being on a battlefield and
feeling the thunder of the horses hooves rather than standing on a
hilltop and surveying the scene in the valley below.
I am in no doubt about what a monumental endeavour Dylan's live
performances are even when, like this one, they do not reach the
heights of great art. As we come to the end of a decade of touring I
have to salute the man for what he has achieved. I am not talking
about his artistic achievements here, just his bloody-minded
perseverance as he approaches 70 and he continues to rage against the
dying of the light. It is bloody and raw in the heart of the NET. It
must be painful and headache-inducing for our man sometimes but by God
he does not flinch.
Mr Jinx