Man in the north country: Bob Dylan at the Frost Amphitheater

Mannequins and a bust of a woman sit on stage as the scent of marijuana wafts through the air. Dylan fans across six decades are trading stories about the man they have come to see: their first show, when and where, what period of his career he was in, and how tonight’s performance was “supposed to be a good one.”

Over the past year I have become a much bigger Bob Dylan fan than I was from my father’s musical education. I picked up harmonica, bought a holder so I could play guitar and blow, and have allowed my naturally curly hair to grow long and bushy. Nothing, however, adds as much depth as seeing an artist in the flesh and seeing their humanity on stage, quirks and all.

Bob Dylan is a mythic figure in music: seemingly reclusive, and portraying an interesting, thoroughly lived life with his image. A far cry from the baby-faced Midwesterner who led the folk movement of the early 1960’s. He and his band gave off the obvious impression of experienced musicians, Dylan cradling his guitar with ease like a mother holding her third child while the bassist laid down his hot grooves with jazz-like precision. 

Dylan’s character comes through in his live performance. He sporadically grinned throughout the show, revealing the overwhelming joy that stems from following one’s passion. Though his lyrics have influenced my own criticisms of the United States, I cannot help feeling that he embodies the American Dream more clearly than most: a young boy from a cold Midwestern town decides to follow his dreams and escapes the fate of the small town to make a lasting difference doing what he loves most. His goofiness also shines through; the wise old man I saw on stage still had an awkward little dance that sometimes stopped, as if he got lost in his own world and snapped back into reality.

The people present were from all over the age spectrum: elders who probably lived through the same eras of change that Dylan did, nostalgic middle-aged folks whose parents exposed them to his music, and 21st century jesters like myself, harmonica in pocket, just in case the absurd dream of a signature could be realized. 

Of course, that did not happen. However, the harmonica playing on stage etched itself into my mind better than any signature could have. After opening with a mellow rendition of “It Ain’t Me Babe” and the rousing “Highway 61 Revisited,” Dylan busted out his mouth organ for “A Simple Twist of Fate.” 

I wept.

I had only cried at a concert once before, during Paul McCartney’s playing “The End,” but more because of the song’s personal meaning to me rather than by the raw, live emotional sway. This was the power of musical magnificence at work. And the show only increased in quality as the night went on, with a touching performance of later Dylan masterpiece “Lenny Bruce,” as well as a slower rendition of “Girl From The North Country” that engulfed the crowd in silent nostalgia. The encore’s version of “Ballad of a Thin Man” was more upbeat than expected, but Dylan turned the downer of a tune into a playful interaction with the crowd, which, when followed by “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry,” perfectly closed out the night.

This concert was a refreshing reminder of how different Bob Dylan truly is. We are in a time much like the 1960s, full of protest and desire for social change, and we can look back to Dylan and the other artists he influenced that spoke up against and criticized society and its hypocrisies. Unlike the Beatles and some of his other 60s songwriting peers, Bob is not as commonly cited as an influence, and it is time for his Nobel Prize-winning works get more attention from young artists so they can better comment on our times.

Article by Stanley Quiros