With a five-man band that rocked loosely enough to follow his vocals, Dylan croaked along in a gravely voice much of the night. His voice at 67 is perfect for the bluesy numbers. It's not so perfect for the slower songs.
Dylan was dressed in a white wide-brimmed hat and black suit, looking like an itinerant rabbinical preacher of the 1800s Wild West.
He did move as he sang, played keyboard and harmonica. He even did a brief bit of footwork, but otherwise Dylan was a somber presence.
He gave two hours, with encore, no opening act. Dylan introduced the band, but said nothing else the audience.
After the show, Greg and I were a little peeved that he didn't even thank the crowd. But that's how he is. He is a silent enigma, an icon.
Dylan played a few classics, which he's tweaked just enough to make fresh. Plus many new songs.
At the end, the crowd was stomping and clapping for more. Dylan stood at the edge of the stage with his band, wavering back and forth excitedly, maybe even smiling, before leaving.