Bob Dylan; October 27 and 29, 2009; Metro Centre (Rockford) and Aragon Ballroom (Chicago)

After several disappointing shows in row, I dragged my feet buying a ticket to Dylan’s Summerfest show. But I was certainly glad I did, as it was a revelation. With a terrific new record out, he seemed reinvigorated in July, taking center stage after spending the last several shows off to the side, as if he were no more remarkable than anyone else in the band. His voice was the best I had heard it in years, he was blowing the harmonica frequently, dancing, and (gasp) even playing guitar on a couple songs. So when the Rockford show was announced only a few weeks in advance of the date, I didn’t hesitate to buy a ticket even though I had already bought one pricey ticket for the first of three Aragon shows.

Nothing about that Summerfest show prepared me for the surprise I got that night. I heard the announcement that greets him every show, you know the one about disappearing into a drug haze, finding Jesus, and returning to make some of the best music of his career, as I was in the pretzel line, and I returned to our seats in the half empty Metro Centre just as the band took the stage. “Look,” Michelle said, “your boyfriend is in the band.” Now, I know Dylan’s current band, not as well as I knew the band that played my favorite shows in the late 90’s and early 2000’s, but I know them. And other than maybe the slightly cheesy, nothing-but-trouble bass player Tony Garnier, there is no one I would call my boyfriend. I looked, and holy freaking sh*t, Charlie Sexton is back in Bob’s band. It was the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten from someone who didn’t know they’d given me something.

If Bob seemed reinvigorated in July, he seemed twenty years younger tonight. His voice was clear and strong, every word intelligible, and he strolled from the keyboard to the mike stand to play harmonica with an extra spring in his step. The whole time Sexton seemed focused on him, often crouching down to make eye contact with him during the songs. Not only was Sexton easily the best guitar player Bob’s ever had- the rest just seemed to be going through the motions in comparison- but he is hands down the sexiest. When he played half a song crouched down with one long leg stretched out in front of him I almost passed out. No, really, I did, almost. And no one in the band wears their matching suits as well as he does. The show tonight and two nights later in Chicago were easily the equal of the eye-opener this summer.

They should have been even better, but the reason they weren’t was simply song selection. And that’s not his fault, its mine. I simply liked this summer’s set list better. It was good to hear new songs “My Wife’s Hometown” (as in “Hell is…”) in Chicago, and “Jolene” both nights, but “Ain’t Talkin’” from Modern Times is simply too long and redundant. I was I always prefer his earlier stuff, “Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright” and “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue” were great in Rockford and “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again” made the show for me in Chicago. Unfortunately, since I didn’t allow enough time for Chicago traffic I missed the first two songs at the Aragon. It wasn’t the end of the world, they were songs I’d seen live many times (“Watching the River Flow” and “Girl from the North Country”), but I’d rather had them over “The Levee’s Gonna Break” or the monotonous “Ain’t Talkin.”

Additionally the crowds were far from perfect. In Rockford, we were asked to sit down after several songs, which always annoys me when everyone had been standing at first. Once we sat all we could hear was the nonstop conversation between the couple behind us who spent twenty minutes locating a friend in the opposite bleachers, which eventually led to us standing in the walkway above our section with permission from the usher. Oh well, at least we got to stand. In Chicago one member of the drunken couple that had been talking too loud all show, eventually staggered to the floor and had to be helped out. Hard to believe people pay $60 to get drunk and not remember a show.

Still, these are petty complaints. The fact that these recent shows are as better than any I’ve seen in the last five years, and as good as those from my favorite era, has restored my belief that Dylan is still worth seeing, and certainly worth the fifty dollar plus tickets. Shoot, now that Charlie is back in the band it might even be worth a plane ticket.