Shot with love
Belfast, it seems, has just been shot with love
Colin Carberry, 02 Jul 2004
They say you can always spot the bad guy in a western – he’s the one in the jet-black hat. Well, judging by his flamboyantly sombre choice of headwear, Bob Dylan is letting us know that we should think carefully before turning our backs on him. Tonight, he’s squinting at us all from a distance– daring us to make up our minds and draw first.
As an old hand Judas, you would expect Dylan to have a firm handle on matters of betrayal. And, early on, so it proves – a rambunctious version of ‘Maggie’s Farm’ promises far more than the curiously under-whelming run-throughs of ‘Watching The River Flow’, ‘Seeing The Real You’ and, even, ‘Stuck Inside of Mobile’ can deliver.
However, just when you’re ready to pull the trigger, he shifts to a much grander, daunting stance - ‘Love Sick’ is an immense noir-ish, foul rag and bones shop blues, and yes, that is ‘Tears of Rage’ – that peerless, troubling lament for a nation tearing itself apart. We’re used to the delicate, heart-wrenching voice of Richard Manuel singing this – honeying the sentiments, somewhat. Having a sulphurous Dylan rasp through its lyrics is enough to discourage anyone applying for a Green Card.
We’ve barely recovered our composure when ‘Every Grain Of Sand’ starts up. And if the veils of The Odyssey don’t crack in half, it does seem that there’s sunlight flooding in from somewhere. Dylan’s greatest moment from the last 25 years given a dutifully reverent treatment.
By the time ‘The Ballad of Hollis Brown’, ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright, Ma’, ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ and ‘All Along The Watchtower’ have been and gone – ushering in mass sing-alongs and from where I’m sitting, no small amount of tears, there’s no question of who’s the fastest draw in town.
Dylan tips his hat and ambles off. Belfast, it seems, has just been shot with love.
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