Review of Bob Dylan/Paul Simon at Pepsi Arena Tuesday night 7/20/99

by Seth Rogovoy

(ALBANY, N.Y., July 21, 1999) - Lightning didn't strike nor did fireworks ignite when '60s icons Bob Dylan and Paul Simon joined forces on a handful of songs at the Pepsi Arena on Tuesday night. In fact, what on paper might have seemed like a stroke of promotional genius - pitting the two folk-rock visionaries together for the first time in their careers for a barnstorming tour of the nation - turned out to be anti-climactic from the get-go.

Not only did the three-song duet portion of the show - including a medley of Buddy Holly's "That'll Be the Day'' and Dion's "The Wanderer" -- sink like a stone under the leaden weight of the two singers' incompatibility. Coming at the end of Bob Dylan's fiery opening set, which roared to a climax with encore performances of "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Blowin' in the Wind," it stopped the show dead in its tracks, as the audience had yet to be primed for the summit meeting of the folk-poets.

Dylan himself was in fine form during the show, seemingly catering to two constituencies at the same time: ardent fans who came to hear him play rare gems like "Desolation Row," a harmonica-laced "Mama You Been on My Mind" and "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight," and long missing-in-action baby-boomers drawn by the novelty of getting Dylan and Simon in one neat package, for whom he played a generous sampling of greatest hits including "Maggie's Farm," "All Along the Watchtower," "Tangled Up in Blue," as well as the aforementioned pair of '60s anthems.

Flanked by a trio of handsome, guitar- and bass-wielding gunslingers, all dressed in variations on country and western suits and topcoats, Dylan spat out his rootsy song-poems with his trademark wit and vinegar. While the mercurial prophet seemed in a good mood, enjoying the camaraderie of his fellow musicians and the adoration of the crowd, he underlined the graver aspects of his material.

While "My Back Pages" was tender, wistful, even nostalgic, his phrasing on "All Along the Watchtower" emphasized the its darker subtext. Through the easygoing country-swing of "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight," he turned deceptively innocent phrases like, "Kick your shoes off, do not fear," into the equivalent of a rapper's sexual boast. Even "Maggie's Farm" was invested with an Elvis Presley-like sneer atop a "Mystery Train"-enhanced rockabilly beat.

The fans in the crowd were treated to a stark, stripped-down version of "Not Dark Yet," off Dylan's Grammy-winning "Time Out of Mind" album from a few year's back, followed by the hard-rocking concert staple "Silvio," fueled by Rolling Stones-ish riffs supplied by Dylan's new rhythm guitarist, Charlie Sexton.

Paul Simon couldn't have looked or sounded more out of place than he did when he joined Dylan's ensemble at the end of their set. The contrast between Dylan's dapper crew and Simon the shlump, dressed in a baseball cap, T-shirt and faded jeans, symbolized the musical gulf that separated the two. Their Dion/Buddy Holly medley was sandwiched in between an overwrought version of Simon's "Sound of Silence" taken at a snail's pace, and a throwaway version of Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door," noteworthy only for Dylan's inventive lyrical twist, "I hear you knockin' but you can't come in."

Simon took the lead on all of the duets, with Dylan trying his best to improvise his way around Simon's rote readings, but this wasn't harmony -- it was more like oil and water. Their voices never blended, instead merely leaving a listener longing for Art Garfunkel's sweet, soaring tenor.

After a brief intermission, Simon took the stage with his 12-member ensemble in a program heavy on songs from his world-beat albums, "Graceland" and "Rhythm of the Saints." While the pop orchestra played faithful renditions of these bubbling, shimmering, African-influenced compositions, the arrangements seemed stuck in time. What was vital and exciting music a decade ago now seems overblown and cliché, kind of a late-'80s version of vintage-'70s prog-rock, even down to the drum solos.

Perhaps it was the stark contrast between their approaches which made this program a noble failure. Whereas Dylan seems to continually dig deeper and deeper into the well for the kernel at the essence of his material, Simon didn't seem interested in doing anything more than reprising his stage show from 10 years ago. It certainly had its high points, including a Cajun-spiced "Mrs. Robinson," a salsa-infused "Late in the Evening" and an energetic, horn-fueled "You Can Call Me Al" that had the entire arena boogie-ing at the end.

But one would have thought or hoped that Simon might have taken a cue from Dylan and, for example, reinvestigated the country roots of his own "Graceland" in order to reveal something new about the song. Simon is the only songwriter who can make Dylan's lyrics seem minimalist in comparison, but the bombastic arrangements - however authentically rooted they were in the vital rhythms of Southern Africa and Brazil - ultimately suffocate the material and overwhelm the self-effacing singer-songwriter.

It was a lost opportunity for Simon to stake a claim as anything other than a nostalgia act at the end of the century, and a failed chance for Dylan and Simon to synthesize their disparate talents into something new and unique. Chalk it up to just another detour along the road of Bob Dylan's "never-ending tour."

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