You wouldn’t expect so much difficulty when trying to give away a free ticket to see a rock legend. But this weekend it seemed impossible.
Having overestimated our own popularity and the general public’s interest in Bob Dylan, two friends and I took four tickets to the FleetCenter Saturday night. Along the way, we bumped into one final prospect, a friend who also passed on the offer, citing previously made plans to watch a predictable two-hour commercial for the misunderstood and not-so-evil-after-all Eminem. Acknowledging the absurdity of his decision, he noted that it would simply be wrong to ditch his waiting friends. Admirable. Foolish. We wished him well and continued onward through the rain.
Despite being one of the most important and relevant musicians alive, Bob Dylan generates an astonishingly low level of interest. Shows for his ‘Never Ending Tour’ rarely sell out and in the mainstream media, he is all but ignored. Rolling Stone recently ran a brief clip about the current leg of his tour. It was roughly half the size of the ‘Piercing Road Map’ included in a six-page cover story devoted to teen skank-princess Christina Aguilera.
Yet with little fanfare, Dylan continues to tour and record provocative and chillingly prophetic music. On Sept. 11, 2001, he released his latest album, ‘Love and Theft,’ a moving collection of music filled with eerie, casual allusions to death, war and apocalyptic destruction. ‘Sky full of fire, pain pouring down’ is one of many lyrics that resonated far too clearly on that day. But despite Dylan’s stature, the album’s odd timing and its inspirational message of endurance amidst tragedy, more Americans found consolation in the vapid Enrique Iglesias anthem ‘I Will Be Your Hero, Baby.’
Different strokes for different folks, I guess. The point is, considering his many accomplishments, Dylan still manages to fly well below the pop culture machine’s expansive radar. And such relative obscurity has allowed him to mature and perform with a level of dignity and creative freedom enjoyed by very few aging rock stars.
Unlike the Stones, he doesn’t headline extravagant self-indulgent farewell tours. Unlike Springsteen, he can be seen for less than $75. He doesn’t ride in the back of a Jaguar with Sting and he doesn’t need to constantly reinvent himself with Madonna. His career has yet to be hijacked by the drunken frat boys who ruined Jimmy Buffett years ago. And you will rarely see him purse his lips like Aerosmith’s Joe Perry in a sad, misguided attempt to appear young and sexy.
Last week, Michael Jackson continued his ambitious pursuit for the competitive title of Most Disturbing Aged Rock Star. During a trial proceeding, a judge asked him to remove his surgical mask, causing the courtroom to gasp in horror. Terrifying documentation of his face, ravaged by excessive plastic surgery, made a powerful argument for the exclusion of cameras in the courtroom. The Thriller has been reduced to a pathetic figure. A pitiful, freaky bleached shadow of his former greatness.
Of course, Dylan’s pretty freaky-looking himself. But there’s a sincere charm to his appearance. Little effort is made to hide or dress up the fact that he’s a 62-year-old man who’s spent the last 40 on the road. The wear and tear shows, as much in his face as it does in his voice.
At the conclusion of any Dylan show, you inevitably hear people complain about his notoriously shoddy singing capabilities. And it’s certainly true that he occasionally misses the desired note or forgets a lyric. However, this is largely the appeal of these concerts. The voice of an honest and ragged traveler, unaffected by computers or pretense, offering joyfully poetic and thoughtful music.
More importantly, it is the imperfect voice of a legend. Very few people can transcend the ultimately trivial nature of their existence. Very few can be the best at their job. Those few people do exist though, and it’s a fascinating pleasure to watch them even through failure. In 2002, David Letterman flubs jokes, Michael Jordan blows dunks and Bob Dylan misses notes. But they’re all still driven to keep going, and the comfort with which they expose their vulnerabilities makes for their most courageous and admirable performances.
Dylan’s motivation to keep the ‘Never Ending Tour’ rolling remains a mystery to most. He doesn’t need the money, and his place in history is locked and secure. Perhaps his descent into anonymity is a welcome relief from the God-like ‘voice of the counter-culture’ label he’d lived with for most of his life. He is now free to burst into town, set up gear, sing what he wants and move on traveling to the next city oblivious to the world around him.
But even Dylan must be aware of how special this phase of his career is. In a rare moment of dialogue with the FleetCenter crowd, he alluded to the modern-day highbrow equivalent of Jimmy Buffett. After finishing his song ‘High Water,’ Dylan joked, ‘Wait until Dave Matthews covers that one.’ He knows that Dave Matthews is out there playing ‘All Along the Watchtower,’ and he knows that like so many, the music industry grabbed Dave, mass-produced him and forever altered his career. Dylan seems grateful to have somehow avoided such a fate, and joyful to be free of its constraints.
If no one’s noticing, that’s all the better.