Extra! Extra! Legend Has Fun!

By Rick Horowitz

I'm not here to lie to you, to spin some fantastical tale out of strands of nothing. I'm simply here to pass along the news. So believe me if you dare, doubt me if you must, but:

I saw Dylan smiling.

Bob Dylan. On a stage. Smiling. Not 25 feet away. Not 12 hours ago. Smiling.

Is nothing sacred?

There he was, our stern and solemn songsmith of the 60s (and the 70s and the 80s and...), guitar in hand, the normal mix of gravel, goo and battery acid on his vocal cords. He was close enough to inspect, nearly close enough to touch, and if you didn't know better, didn't know that Bob Dylan on a stage gives you the music and only the music (and sometimes only barely that), if you didn't know that you never, never get behind the Bob Dylan mask -- well, you'd swear the guy was actually enjoying himself!

This wasn't like the last time. At least I don't think it was like the last time.

The last time I saw Bob Dylan (I was just an infant, of course), he was playing with some nondescript bunch of musicians called The Band, playing in some two-bit basketball arena in New York -- Madison Square something-or-other.

It was momentous, Dylan back on tour after years in seclusion. It was An Event. ("Is that Yoko down there?") He spat out the words, pounded on the notes. From up in the cheap seats, at least, he looked motionless. He sounded severe. Was he angry? Scared to death? Who knew? But we were having a much better time than he was.

That was last time. And this time? Better seats, in a smaller hall, in a smaller city. For Dylan, just another night on the road. But the man rocked! The man positively boogied!

More or less. We are talking about Bob Dylan here. So it was slow getting started, and you had to pay attention.

The teeth were first -- a few teeth suddenly breaking free, Humphrey Bogart-style, between bursts of lyrics. It could have been pleasure. It could have been gas.

Then the legs started twitching -- a little knock-kneed thing between verses, a tiny hip shake during the jams.

He cocked an eyebrow. A snippet of irony in a lyric he'd crafted years ago caught his fancy, and he looked into the second row and cocked his eyebrow to let them know he got it, too, and he still liked it.

Then the legs again -- little rambles across the stage to stare into the eyes of his sidemen, deep crouches behind his microphone as the drums and guitars grabbed for extra volume. Thirty seconds more, and he'd have been doing Chuck Berry's duck walk.

Then more teeth. The crowd was lapping up the old stuff and the new stuff, going crazier by the minute, and now there were more teeth -- and not just those quick Bogart flashes either, but authentic, certifiable smiles.

And then, right at the very end, with the crowd on its feet and the cheers throbbing and the place totally electric --

He grinned. Bob Dylan grinned. He waved. He even -- can I say this? -- laughed!

I saw Bob Dylan laugh.

They'll be repealing gravity next.

11/15/97