Bob Dylan 2000.03.27 in Las Vegas, Nevada
Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino, House Of Blues, 3950 Las Vegas Blvd. S., 1500 tickets
Date: Thu, 29 Jun 2000 11:35:44 -0700 From: email@example.com (roderick smith) Reply-To: firstname.lastname@example.org To: email@example.com Subject: Vegas Review Las Vegas Notes: Twenty nine years had passed since I had seen a show in Vegas. In 1971 I stole into the Hilton dressed as a busboy and caught two Elvis Shows. I had to scramble back to school in New York with five bucks in my pocket. Now I'm back with three credit cards and miles of river under the bridge to see the other king at the House of Blues at the Mandalay Casino. Vegas hasn't changed much. Hot, sun dazed pilgrims, staggering from one warehouse to another. The same fantasy, sex and money. So you come to the House of Blues and are surprised that they have contrived an amusement facility that you can actually believe in. A rock and roll fantasy theater! Loaded to gill with marvelous looking American primitive paintings celebrating the wonder of the three and four chord progressions. Basic in your face images. Carved bits of faux Americana everywhere. Huge Bali shadow show cut out windows on high with orange luminous light from beyond enveloping the balcony and casting everything into a juke box world. I'm a believer! On with the show. And what a show it was. "Duncan and Brady" is the perfect warm-up. The chorus line, "been on the job too long.." pulls everyone from the bar. The magician is at it again. Forget those clowns with white tigers and gold cages, this act ain't smoke and mirrors. It launches itself like a rocket and we all hang on for dear sweet life. This troubadour lives in kaleidoscope dream and we just pear in, squinting in the light, trying to absorb the warmth and somehow never seem to get enough. The songs pile up on each other like old drawings stacked on desk. You no sooner see one then another is knocking you senseless. By now even accidental tourists who stumbled into this strange circus have that odd look upon their faces. Their cheeks have lifted up, a child like smile is creeping, they don't blink. For the old customers, it's dust in the face once again as we hurry on to stay close to the Tambourine Man.
The show seems to end all too soon. Dylan has his men stand in a clean straight line across the stage, he in the middle, hand on hip, a slight fidgeting. They are all dead pan in their expressions. They stare into the roar that rolls upon them. What an incredible bit of theater Mr. Dylan has now contrived. The "mobile" has become motionless. We are the music now. With our voices, our hands we descend upon our muse and embrace him. It's quite a moment really. After all these years. Saw a shooting star tonight and I thought of you. Roderick Smith