Zimmy and Jimmy

Robert Allen Zimmerman made his return to the Mill City last night, and did what most of his loyal fans expected of him, that is, doing virtually nothing you would expect.

Full disclosure:  I've been a long-time Bob Dylan fan, but never ventured out to one of his shows until recent years.

I grew up in a household where my older brother Jimmy - the only human on the face of the Earth whose singing voice can  make Bob Dylan's sound like a dulcet Andrea Bocelli - would incessantly sing the Dylan tunes off key, tennis-racket-turned-guitar-in-hand, his massive earphones preventing him from hearing us bemoan his lack of singing ability.  Seriously, it's because of Jimmy, arguably the biggest Dylan fan I know, that my entire family spent decades cringing at the release of a new Dylan album because it meant hours of off-key caterwauling.

Blood on the Tracks in our house was how we catergorized Jimmy's coverage of any new release.

Street Legal?  Not on D Street.

It's Alright, Ma was not just a song, it was mantra we used to reassure our mother on hearing the Chimes of Freedom ringing upstairs.

Rolling Thunder Revue became a Rolling Eyes Revue in our house.

You get the point.

So naturally, who do I go to see Dylan perform live alongside?  Victoria Secret's OTHER spokesman, my brother Jimmy.

The two of us had picked up Dylan's latest, the Tempest, a few weeks back, and truth be told, I rather quite enjoy it.  But it helps to see a Dylan show alongside a walking catalogue of his discography, as Jimmy can rattle off each song's name, along with the album from whence it hails, as well as the release year and the subsequent tour details.

Last night's gig at the Tsongas Center featured a decent helping of the new stuff, sprinkled with very few of the so-called "oldies" and crowd favorites, along with a smattering of songs from throughout his storied 50 year career.

Some quick observations, and diehard Dylanites, bear with me, these aren't criticisms (well, the last one is), these are just my version of liner notes.

If you would have told me prior to the show that Lucky Wilbury himself would not once touch a guitar throughout the show, I'd have said that's a World Gone Wrong.

What was up with the mirrors scattered around the stage?

Great, subdued but solid performance from his Masters of War on-stage with him.

A challenge to any of the attendees: can you remember Dylan speaking ONE SINGLE WORD to the thousands of Infidels gathered in Desolation Row in front of him? 

Great to hear faves like Tangled Up in Blue, Visions of Johanna, All Along the Watchtower, and Ballad of a Thin Man.

 What was up with that tour bus of protesters/activitists out front?  Many thought it was Dylan's own bus, though it wasn't.  Their ritualistic circle of dance and chanting and frivolity post-show was a tad unsettling.  And seriously, to the folks leafletting everyone afterwards lamenting Dylan's diversion from the 1960s songs of protests, GET OVER IT!  IT WAS OVER FORTY YEARS AGO!

But lastly, my only gripe of the night.  It wasn't the show's duration, clocking in at one hour, forty minutes.  Cut the guy some slack, he's 71, for crying out loud.  It was the ONE SONG ENCORE!  Seriously, he kinda left us Blowin' in the Wind with that one.  Many expected him to come back out and do at least one more, possibly his anthemic Like a Rolling Stone.  But hearing what I've heard about Dylan, that's probably exactly why he DIDN'T do just that.

All in all, good times.  It's a pretty special night when you get to see a music legend in your own hometown.  And I'm not talking about my brother, Jimmy.