Bob Dylan in Madrid: sullen, resilient and unique

He went on stage at 21.45 p.m. and left at 23.30 p.m. In total, 105 minutes in which he said neither hello nor goodbye. He mumbled three or four "thank yous" here and there. He performed neither Like a Rolling Stone, nor Knockin' On Heaven's Door, nor Blowin' in the Wind, nor Hurricane. In short: none of his classics sounded. Nor do I blow its emblematic harmonica. He demanded that the piano (the only instrument he played) be placed four meters away from the edge of the stage, where he took refuge throughout the night. Was it Bob Dylan or his reflection? Who knows. And, despite all that said, it was a weighty concert, with a lot to tell and flashes of brilliance. It happened last night at the beginning of the musical cycle Noches del Botánico, in Madrid, and was the first concert of a tour that will have 11 more dates in Spain (the next one today again on this stage). It rained a lot together before we started. But the water stopped as soon as the legend of Duluth began to sing. 2,200 people, all seated, sold out.

It should be noted that this chronicle has been written from foreigners, because the teacher did not allow press accreditations for photographers or chroniclers. Hence, the image with which we illustrate the piece dates from 2019, from his concert in London's Hyde Park. There is no other option. Mobile phones were also banned, which all spectators put in sealed bags that were only opened when the music stopped.

Dylan does not want what happens in his recitals to be told in a schizoid attitude that provides more eccentricity to the character. But even if he does not want to, we must narrate this twilight Dylan, nothing complacent, intimate, bluesy, aged (82 years), in some phase even playful. He offered a basically blues concert based on his latest work (the juicy Rough and Rowdy Ways, 2020) and without hardly looking back. And it was warm and even fun. He was accompanied by a good band (drums, two guitars, bass and another musician who played steelguitar and violin) that surrounded the protagonist and remained almost always static, without taking his eye off the boss's hands. In some phases there was a ramshackle instrumental development, a relief in an era where concerts already come from the studio with a sound as perfect as it is unnatural. Last night it was the other way around: mismatches, failures, improvisation arose. Normal things that happen when humans are in charge. He, always at the piano, standing, singing, although when he did not have to use his voice he took the opportunity to sit for a few seconds and rest. But he was seen fit at 82. We would all sign his figures: he plays an average of 100 concerts a year.

The stage was sober, with a brown backdrop and little else. The musicians came out dressed in black and only a few lights in the background broke with the general gloom. Neither screens nor mandangas. Dylan put on a show as if he were painting on canvas the picture of his life. He spoke of muses, of black riders riding a narrow road, of lonely men who miss that girl who broke his heart, of crossing the Rubicon despite the risks involved on the other side... Dylan told Dylan's story on a more intimate level last night. As he sings in the lyrics I Contain Multitudes, theme of his last album that he offered in the first part of the concert, "I interpret the songs of the experience like William Blake and I do not have to apologize because everything is flowing".

We must talk about his voice, full of nuances, with those habitual inflections of his so imitated and with rough edges that confer both beauty and truth. Despite the wear and tear, he was plethoric. He traversed the blues with a robustly resilient voice. At times a grim haze seemed to reach the spectators. It was his pleading voice in old age and full of biting humor.

He included in the repertoire almost all his latest work, Rough and Rowdy Ways: songs like Black Rider, Goodbye Jimmy Reed, Key West or the beautifulMother of Muses. And then chopped songs from albums like Nashville Skyline, from which he made To Be Alone With You; John Wesley Harding, from whom he reeled off I'll Be Your Baby Tonight, or Slow Train Coming, where he chose Gotta Serve Somebody.

A china in the shoe

And it is that the veteran musician did not make it easy, and that was the interesting thing, an attitude that his fans, accustomed to steep roads, assume as part of their devotion to the legend. For Bob Dylan it would be extremely easy to interpret a handful of classics, be sympathetic on stage, prepare a speech full of platitudes and even smile. But he doesn't belong in this mortal and well-off world; he also doesn't want to look like Mick Jagger or Bruce Springsteen, who give the audience what they want. No: Dylan is a Chinese in the shoe, uncomfortable, unfriendly, that will make you suffer and will make you rethink why the hell an expense of 120 euros for being there, under the drizzle, waiting for him to play a Like A Rolling Stone that will never come. And yet, it is very worthwhile. At this point in his career nothing is at stake when he gets on stage. You play to be consistent with yourself. And it is.

He ended the concert with Every Grand of Sand, a notable song from the loose album Shot Of Love, from his Christian stage. A psalm far from chosen at random where he recites: "At the moment of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need, when the pool of tears under my feet floods every newborn seed, there is a dying voice within me that reaches somewhere." What a sensational ending: the dying voice that reaches somewhere. Last night to 2,200 privileged. There are 11 dates left; If you can, don't miss it.

Just outside the venue, a street musician began to perform Dylan songs. Many of the attendees stayed to listen to Mr. Tambourine Man. It was the closest they came to enjoying a classic Dylan song.