Bob Does Farm Aid

Heading for another joint

One thing Dylan never does is treat showcase gigs as anything unusual. Fellow Substacker and Dylan aficionado John Nogo just wrote a thoughtful piece speculating on Bob’s Farm Aid 40 appearance, which might be the last time we see him broadcasting to world-wide audience, but who knows what’s up Bob’s sleeves? The thing is, it’s always just another gig for Bob, and he plays what he’s been playing lately, no matter when or what the occasion, no matter the pomp. So, the man in effect responsible for Farm Aid, because of the remark he made at Live Aid about maybe giving just a little of the money to struggling American farmers, came out after a brief introduction by John Mellencamp, calling him he was one of the greatest songwriters and very funny guy. Dylan and band played five songs, Bob mysteriously hiding behind his piano in near dark, as he’s been doing lately - why, no one has any idea. They played the songs the way they’ve been playing them recently, another gig.

But what great interpretations, what mastery! No flash, just the circumstance of yet another refining, revisioning of his songs. It’s what he does, always renewing, never repeating, going on to play another joint.

All Along the Watchtower was the opener, and it’s become sublime, with gorgeous guitar, added chord changes on the third and fourth lines of each verse. It’s as if those chord changes had always been there, should have always been there, but they were hidden in the song, and Bob eventually decided to unveil them. This is the thing about his musical expansion, it’s endless, and the songs bear up to that constant change, adaptable, growing.

I Can Tell is a Bo Diddley rocking blues, and goddamn, what a crackin’ great band, biting blues guitar licks, and Dylan in his time-worn voice still aching and castigating as he sings, “I can tell, I know you don’t love me no more,” like his heart was broken yesterday.

Then, To Ramona, lilting, jaunty Tex-Mexy, still a lesson in pointed honesty, until the last revealing turn-around line, “Someday maybe, who knows, baby, I’ll come and make crying to you.”

Highway 61 is another refashioning of the classic that he’s played so many times he couldn’t possibly remember. It started loose, spooky, subdued, then locked into the rollicking blues it is, with new descending lead lines in the verse and descending chord changes on the outro, again, changes that ought to have been there always, as wedded to the song as if it’s a first version, as familiar as they are novel. It’s an astounding thing he does.

Finishing with Don’t Think Twice, played with a bowed bass and taken into a old timey jazz mode, I heard echos of Stephen Foster, rendering it tender, wistful, a lovely harmonica solo taking it out, removing the cutting edge, yes, over time we find we forgive.

Just another show in Dylan’s never ending touring life, one he’ll take to heaven’s door, a spectacular musical migration over decades, over countries over the landscape of everchanging America that point to an enduring honesty, a wellspring of hope and pain and joy and truth that never will run dry. And never be the show they expected.