Dylan, Death, and Mansfield (Sept 7, 2026)

Death was on my mind for a silly and embarrassing reason yesterday. Back in 1999 I took my first Dylan road trip to see him in Birmingham, Alabama with Brian Setzer on the tour he never said out loud was the commemorate Buddy Holly’s Winter Dance Party tour, but clearly was. Outside of that show there was a guy peddling bootleg tie-dyed shirts that said “Bob Dylan 99” over a picture from 1976. It was so hideous I wasn’t sure one would be enough. When I wore it to high school the next day the teacher affected not to recognize me in something so distinctly un-goth.

Well, now it’s my MOST goth shirt. Before the Hartford show I saw a woman wearing that exact shirt, and excitedly asked how the hell she had that same bootleg shirt I got in Alabama years ago. “It’s my dad’s,” she said.

Everyone around me cringed on my behalf, and I looked to see if the concession stand would sell me a big bowl of fiber or something, feeling the hot breath of death on the back of my neck.

So, feeling older than dirt and reeling from the Powerball loss, the next morning Britt and I went to the grave of Emily Dickinson, and I read some of her many death poems (you can sing “Because I could not stop for death” to the tune of “House of the Rising Sun.”) The cemetery was lovely, full of 18th century graves that seem to have been very well restored (most of them should look like a lump of wet sugar by now, but were totally legible). Dickinson’s grave was well kept, and while I was there I read her poem about knowing there’s been a death in the house across the street. What great imagery there is in that poem! The mattress being thrown out the window, the preacher arriving like the Man in the Long Black coat, the milliner coming, the reference to “the dark parade….” It gets to you the more you think about it. Someone in the house has died, and the family called for hat maker right away?

Several stones in the cemetery has epitaphs that were variations on the “prepare for death and follow me” poems  common to headstones of the era,  but one stone had a far simpler  “Amidst of life we are in death / Stop, reader & learn to die.” This of course made me think of “Let Me Die in My Footsteps,” “Some people thinking the end is close by / stead of learning to live they are learning to die / let me die in my footsteps / before I go down under the ground.”

That’s good advice. I shook off the morbid feelings and just enjoyed a drive through Massachusetts, enjoying the early fall scenery, a stop at a place that made blueberry cheesecake wine, and the adventure of seeing new places.

After all, even though Dylan is doing these shows dressed like Death incarnate, as Death appears in The Seventh Seal and Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey, the music coming from the stage isn’t notably somber or death-haunted. Hartford seemed less jaunty than Wantagh a month ago, and “Highway 61” had a new dark undertone that we all commented on in the pizza place parking lot after the show, but overall the visual vibes don’t carry over into the music. It was just a great show that happened to be a show where Bob was doing something weird. On the balance I’d rather see his face more, but I do love seeing shows where he does something weird.

Outlaw show venues aren’t exactly new places; if you’ve seen two, you’ve seen them all. This one reminded me of Pine Knob more than whatever the one in Phoenix was called, but they’re all the same. The vibes among the crowd can differ a bit by region, though. The overall vibe for the crowd at this venue was “muted color hippies.” Everyone looked like they were going to a pumpkin patch but didn’t want to make a whole thing of it. The amphitheater had about 60% of the capacity of the one in Hartford but felt far more crowded somehow. And in contrast to making me feel old, I kept meeting people who mentioned something from the 80s and added “Of course, that’s before you were born.” Glad I can still pass in the hall.

From our angle far to stage left, we were actually able to see Bob fairly well as he sat at the piano. He was still in the hoodie, but in a venue like this it’s worth noting that few people could have seen him no matter what he had on. Most of our section didn’t realize he had a hoodie on at all.  I mean, he COULD have gone up center stage now and then and let people have a look, but I kept thinking if Richie Havens in “Hearts of Fire” saying no one at the oldies show wants to hear the music, they just want to see how old the singers look. This way, everyone has to just listen.

So all there was to do was enjoy the music, and Bob made that easy tonight. If hiding under a hoodie and behind a music stand is a reflection of some dark mood on Bob’s part, it sure didn’t come off in the music. His voice seemed slightly rougher than in Hartford, which stands to reason on the third straight night, but he was leaning into the vocals, experimenting and playing, and often even giggling. More than last night, I felt like he was delighting in hiding away, getting a thrill out of getting away with something.

“Masters of War,” now with an echo effect, made for a strong opener. “To Ramona” was especially playful, with Bob seeming to find a new way to do every line.

Back behind us was a guy in a Skynyrd shirt who wasn’t into it. “Play some Hendrix!” he shouted. A second later Bob broke into a strong “Watchtower” with a particularly good “wind began to howwwwwllllllll,” but the guy wasn’t satisfied. “It’s supposed to be the OUTLAW tour,” he said. I have to figure that if people complain that you’re not being an outlaw correctly, you’re doing it right.

“Til I Fell in Love With You” was once again positively thunderous and should have shut anybody up, but the guys behind us walked out around this time. More fool them. “Desolation Row” had a bit more of a Chuck Berry beat to it, a bit more of a punk edge, and became a real highlight of the night, even though it was missing even more verses than usual (normally he does the Casanova verse, sometimes swapping it out for the Einstein verse; the last two nights he didn’t do either of them). Sometimes the song is apocalyptic, sometimes it’s a comedy routine, sometimes it’s a travelogue. Tonight it just rocked.

A howling “Love Sick” and stately “Share Your Love” followed.  During “Blind Willie McTell” I had one of those moments where, like a Dickinson poem, something new jumps out: the recently-added line goes “some of them died in battle / some survived as well.”  Is he talking about the same people? Some survived as well as died?

The descending guitar line kept the new “dark” vibes in “Highway 61” going, with Bob appearing to lean more into that side of this arrangement. It might have been the coolest “Highway 61” I ever saw, and led to one of the most emotional readings of “Don’t Think Twice” yet; since Phoenix the song has really evolved into a proper closer.

Bob never lowered the hoodie, but seemed to be in a downright playful, enthusiastic mood the whole night. He didn’t seem like he was hiding; if anything he seemed like he was more relaxed knowing that no one was going to get all that clear a photo of him. Honestly I had my phone out a lot; I had a better view if I zoomed WAY in. But the hood and the lights have become like a yondr pouch to Bob.

Of course, to many in the crowd, it was simply irresistible to claim that it wasn’t really him. After the set I heard one guy after another loudly insisting that it was an imposter, and anyone who believed that was really him had “blinders” on. Everything seems like a conspiracy if you’re really stupid.

My favorite take was a woman who said “That couldn’t have been him. His voice was way too clear!”

So that’s show number 90 for me, and I’m all done thinking about death, thank you very much. Thanks to Britt for the ride, and to Ray, False Prophet Michael, Harold Lepidus, and all the good people who traveled with me. Follow along as I continue on my road to 100!