Lagniappe

Lagniappe is a little bit of extra, given for free.
And I think that's an appropriate name for what I want to do here this morning.
First off, I want to quote Syd who left a comment on my post about Dylan:

He hasn't picked up a guitar at a concert for a while. I think that he is arthritic and simply can't play anymore. He never was much of a guitarist. He changes all the melodies for the songs. That's fine with me. I think that Bob can't stop touring. It is the never ending tour afterall. And if he stops, well, he just might give up life. I think that it is a bit like being in the presence of some ancient artifact. It is much prized and so mysterious. I dig him.

Now see- that is exactly how I feel about Dylan, too. And I even said to Mr. Moon that perhaps he is arthritic and that it hurts to play guitar. I certainly do understand that possibility.

And the sound sucked at the Civic Center. Totally sucked. Not Dylan's fault or the band's fault.
And we were too far from the stage. Our seats were not bad, really, and we were far, far from the nose-bleed section. But I guess in having had that life-altering experience seeing Dylan in 1999, being so close we could practically look up his nose, and the fact that he played the shit out of his guitar then (really, Syd, he did) and that I could SEE his mind working, could see his hands working, could see his band working to follow him so well...last night couldn't help but be somewhat of a disappointment.

But I what I wanted to say this morning is that I respect the shit out of that man. He puts on those cool clothes every night, adjusts his hat, lines up with his band and files onstage, takes his place behind the keyboard and lets 'er rip.
He wrote the music of my life, or at least a good bit of it. The best bits, perhaps. He gave and he gave and he gave to the world and he's still out there giving, the way he does.

He is not a touchy-feely kind of musician. I don't think he gives a crap if the audience likes him. He is not Bruce Springsteen who somehow makes every person in that audience feel as if Bruce is singing directly to him or her. He is not B.B. King who can inspire daddy-less daughters to feel as if finally and at last, they have found their father.

He is Bob Dylan. He has paid his dues and he still puts on the suit and at the end of the concert, he lines up with the musicians again and he mumbles something and they all file off and even if his words are, for the most part, unintelligible, they came out of the throat of the man who wrote some of the best lines ever written, set to music or not.

And complaining about a Bob Dylan concert is perhaps a little like saying, "Whoa. Shakespeare really wasn't on tonight, was he? Didn't you think he was off a bit? Not at the top of his game?"

You're right, Syd, and you put it so well- he is prized and mysterious and I dig him too. And I am glad I got the chance to go hear and see him once more. He is a working man with a working man's ethic, it would seem to me, which, when you cross that with a living legend, is something worth putting a bra on for. To bring it down to the Ms. Moon level, at least.

And I'm glad I did.

Everything Dylan gives us at this point is lagniappe- a bit of extra, given for free. Sure, we paid for the tickets but the fact that he's still giving us the option to do that, still putting that suit on every night, is extra that he certainly does not have to give.

And which I received last night gladly. And gratefully.

So. There's my follow-up review and post. Your lagniappe.

Love...Ms. Moon