I cannot recall feeling the Royal Albert Hall more alive with restless anticipation minutes before the arrival of an artist. Neither can I think of a more joyous roar erupting when the main attraction shuffles onto the stage a few moments after his band start up. This crowd are ready for Bob Dylan on the final night of his tour but respectful too, this may be the most attentive Dylan audience I have ever sat in. The tangible sense is that we are about to witness something major. There are many whispers that this could be his last UK performance or maybe even his final bow altogether. Consequently, there are many here among us who, more than usual for a Dylan show, have already seen earlier nights on the tour but are returning for fear of missing out on something potentially quite special. The man himself, of course, is paying no mind to such speculations at all; from the moment he arrives on that stage, things are very much business as usual.
Normal service these days for Bob means a setlist with far fewer changes than the days of old; in fact, a quick glance online shows that the inclusion of nine songs from Rough And Rowdy Ways has been the standard for this latest UK trek with a sprinkling of classics. Where for other artists, that repetition would lead to a slick, well-drilled presentation, with Dylan, the impression that he is still searching within the songs, still picking away at the mechanisms in order to unlock fresh meaning and emotion, firmly remains. At times, the gently lit band can appear to hesitate for a beat, looking to their leader to follow whichever direction he may be pushing in. That is especially apparent on the opening All Along The Watchtower, nowadays played with the verse order changed, and it is the only song tonight where the playing and singing seem a little tentative. From there on in however, there is an assuredness to the performing. If this is to be the final show built around the material from his last album, it seems they are collectively determined to go out on a high.
Bob continues to stare down any physical limitations his 83-year-old frame may be inflicting on-stage movements. He will often begin a song with a little wander away from his grand piano, then take a step or two forward for an opening verse and hint at a little dynamic knee crouch, but then he quickly returns to a dramatic lean against the piano or more frequently hits the keys with purpose and flare for the remainder of the song. That is a real revelation tonight; his piano playing does appear to have advanced dramatically from the basic chord bashing of early concert recordings. Nowadays, the piano is every bit the lead instrument, and the playing is a beautiful mixture of honky-tonk, stride, and blues with many ascensions and descensions rolling and tumbling forth alongside some pretty decent improvised solos. The other thing that holds this crowd in ways that may not have been the case twenty or thirty years ago is the strength and melodic conviction in Bob’s singing. Around the time of Good As I Been To You, people were seriously writing off his voice as ‘shot’, so to hear that exact same instrument in 2024 being a thing of such lush tone and even dynamic restraint is a remarkable and quite unexpected development.
The whole 100-minute set hits a pitch quite early on, meaning that highlights arrive in plentiful supply throughout. I am especially mesmerised by My Own Version Of You, which he plays almost solo, like a piano ballad, allowing time and air to wholly inhabit and chew on the lyrics while the band offer subtle dynamics sitting just behind Bob and his glissando keys at all times. Key West (Philosopher Pirate) hangs similarly suspended in a dream-like realm ahead of the mid-paced Jim Keltner drums, grounding the song with empathetic tenderness. Of the older tracks, It’s All Over Now Baby Blue carries an added poignancy as a piano ballad. That old Dylan-watching motif of a song reaching a few lines in before certain audience members recognise it remains; tonight, It Ain’t Me Babe was elusively deceptive from the outset. All the same Desolation Row works remarkably well at a rockabilly referencing canter while the closing rendition of Every Grain Of Sand, resplendent in its inclusion of powerful harmonica passages, is maybe the closest performance we get all night to a song played in its most recognisable original version. The standing ovation that follows feels particularly apt, but Bob has no interest in making more of this moment than any other night. He waits a beat to receive the adulation, then, with barely a nod or a wave, is the first to depart. If this were to be the last time, how wonderful for it to have been an occasion of such realised engagement with the music; still, you sense that Bob Dylan has no intention of arriving at his destination any time soon; the man will always move on.
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