Tuesday, October 24
Eight
Just back from taking my son to see Bob Dylan and His Band down in Denver at the Fillmore, a converted ice hockey arena that now serves as what feels like some sort of urban roadhouse, or downtown honky tonk. They've covered what once was ice with floor, and it's all general admission standing room under about six or eight big funky blue-purple gorgeous chandeliers. There are small bars all over the place around the outside of what would've been the rink, and an elevated platform for viewing the stage at one end. K and I saw Oingo Boingo there some 18 years ago, when it was operated under a different name, with the stage at the other end. (That was a great concert, by the way.)
The band looked great: Dylan in an all black cowboy suit, black boots and a black hat. His five-piece band looked cool in matching maroon cowboy suits, black boots and a variety of black hats. And they sounded exactly like you'd expect them to sound: tight, well practiced and like the best-ever house band, cranking through the country rock, country swing, rock and blues progressions, all backing up Dylan's wacked voice, his electric piano and the harmonica. When he played solos on his piano, he hunched over like a gunslinger. He's got a lot of songs to work with, obvioiusly, and they mostly played newer stuff, so it wasn't a particularly familiar set to us, but then we're not huge fans.
We hung around for about ninety minutes. We stood up close near the front on the right side on the elevated edges for the first five or six songs, looking over various shorter old people, then wandered backwards, ending up looking straight at the band and Bob from the far end of the house. Good people watching, from my 15-year old to old hippies and everywhere inbetween, skewing towards the older end of the spectrum. Everyone was talking to each other, and it was surprisingly loud, as if Dylan and his boys were just another house band, albeit high-end and superior sounding and as famous as they come. Outside, there were four big luxury buses and one semi-tractor-trailer waiting to take the band on to Lincoln, Neb., where they play tomorrow, then on to Chicago. They are tight. I think C had fun; if nothing else, he can one day tell his kids or grand-kids that he saw The Great Bob Dylan, live, once upon a time.
As can I, now.
Eight days to go 'til NanoWrimo.
PS, on a personal note, my mom died two years ago today. So if your mom's still with us, do me (and her) a favor and give her a call and tell her about your day.
The band looked great: Dylan in an all black cowboy suit, black boots and a black hat. His five-piece band looked cool in matching maroon cowboy suits, black boots and a variety of black hats. And they sounded exactly like you'd expect them to sound: tight, well practiced and like the best-ever house band, cranking through the country rock, country swing, rock and blues progressions, all backing up Dylan's wacked voice, his electric piano and the harmonica. When he played solos on his piano, he hunched over like a gunslinger. He's got a lot of songs to work with, obvioiusly, and they mostly played newer stuff, so it wasn't a particularly familiar set to us, but then we're not huge fans.
We hung around for about ninety minutes. We stood up close near the front on the right side on the elevated edges for the first five or six songs, looking over various shorter old people, then wandered backwards, ending up looking straight at the band and Bob from the far end of the house. Good people watching, from my 15-year old to old hippies and everywhere inbetween, skewing towards the older end of the spectrum. Everyone was talking to each other, and it was surprisingly loud, as if Dylan and his boys were just another house band, albeit high-end and superior sounding and as famous as they come. Outside, there were four big luxury buses and one semi-tractor-trailer waiting to take the band on to Lincoln, Neb., where they play tomorrow, then on to Chicago. They are tight. I think C had fun; if nothing else, he can one day tell his kids or grand-kids that he saw The Great Bob Dylan, live, once upon a time.
As can I, now.
Eight days to go 'til NanoWrimo.
PS, on a personal note, my mom died two years ago today. So if your mom's still with us, do me (and her) a favor and give her a call and tell her about your day.
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