...
Sometimes it was placement, as in following the opening invocation with
the rarely played and well-sung "Song to Woody" (as in Guthrie) -
...

http://www.ocregister.com/show/dylan01022cci4.shtml (link has expired)

(the whole article)

There never need be reasons to hear what Bob Dylan has to say.

Permit a bit of hyperbolic critic-speak even lapsed fans might abide by,
though it probably would make the man himself sneer: The most incisively
poetic voice of his (or any) generation, and arguably the most important
American songwriter of the past century, Dylan is timeless. And his best
work - those wicked thoughts that come when you least expect them,
simultaneously cryptic and open-faced, hallucinogenically surreal and
bluntly real - those songs speak to every crisis of the heart, every struggle
of the mind.

Right now there are all too many reasons to turn to Dylan. For insight and
wisdom - the sort we anticipate from the guy who penned "The Times
They Are A-Changin'" before they drastically did. For the solace and
uneasy uplift his venomous but compassionate songs provide.

For shelter from the storm.

It can't be helped: The times - just as they did in the '60s, though for
different reasons - dictate that we come to Dylan with expectations.

And we should know better than to have expectations.

Regardless that he's a wizened, seen-it-all 60-year-old with enough carte
blanche to be the country's official dissenting opinion, this is still the same
Dylan who, shrouding his stance in riddles, often has distanced himself
from political discourse when it gets intense. Who certainly will perform for
a good cause but rarely will speak directly to it. Who would rather be
viewed as an entertainer than educator or orator.

That's his prerogative.

It should come as no surprise, then, that if you came to his Staples Center
gig Friday night looking for meaning, just a small something to put
Operation Enduring Freedom in sensible context - an unfair burden for the
artist, to be sure - well, you had to do the work. Apart from thanking the
crowd and introducing his band - that great band, spearheaded by two
guitarists, cool Texan Charlie Sexton and Zappa look-alike Larry
Campbell - Dylan made only one other remark.

And, this being Dylan, I'm not entirely sure what he said. Sounded like this:
"I heard Madonna was here a few weeks ago. Said 'think global.' I'd ask
you to rethink that." But don't hold me to it - and even if it were exact, I
couldn't explain.

As always, the message was where you found it. Sometimes he made it
explicit. Kicking off with a bluegrass spiritual, for instance, called "Wait for
the Light to Shine." "Pull yourself together," it says, "keep looking for the
sign." Or the extra line he added to the end of each chorus of "Knockin' on
Heaven's Door": "Just like so many times before."

Sometimes it was in choices. "Masters of War," with a chilly backing
straight out of a David Lynch flick. "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue,"
performed with such zeal no one would dare call him on his sloppy
three-note solos. Titles that speak for themselves: "Most Likely You Go
Your Way and I'll Go Mine," "Blowin' in the Wind," "Things Have
Changed." And another folk tune, one whose protagonist declares "I'm
here searching for his grave."

Sometimes it was placement, as in following the opening invocation with
the rarely played and well-sung "Song to Woody" (as in Guthrie) - and
after that an inspired reading of "It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding),"
turned darker courtesy of raspy emphasis and a country rumble like a
sinister "Wake Up Little Susie." He flubbed a line in it, by the way, but not
one that mattered. Not "he not busy being born is busy dying," nor "don't
hate nothing at all except hatred."

It was deep - if you wanted it to be. But only a fool would consider it
conceptual. If it were, I'm not sure how the four gems from "Love and
Theft" fit in, though they felt like classics, especially the weather-beaten
fragility of "Sugar Baby."

Besides, does ol' wily harmonica-huffing Bob really try to be so
complicated anymore? Aren't his Lewis Carroll days behind him? He's just
singing songs - very American songs - right?

Could be. But consider the night's crowd-pleasing, Cheshire cat
conclusion: "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35."

Its message, if you've forgotten: "Everybody must get stoned."

<center><FONT COLOR="#000080">--- Edited 4 times, lastly by janet on Nov 29, 2001 ---</FONT></center>

Is this the same concert where he had trouble getting past security and wasn't going to be allowed in?

No. That happened in Oregon.
http://www.ananova.com/entertainment/story/sm_423732.html?menu=