Bob Dylan on the “greatest live act” he has ever seen
There are certain live acts that rattle adrenaline loose in a musical maelstrom and others that seem like solo orchestras. Some can turn a spotlight into a flickering candle, others are like a human carnival. According to Jimmy Page, the experience of watching Bob Dylan perform was so profound that he was looking for the other invisible 999 versions of him hidden behind the one-man symphony on stage. He seemed to contain multitudes.
“In May 1965 I experienced the genius of Bob at the Albert Hall,” the Led Zeppelin guitarist wrote as part of an Instagram post. “He accompanied himself on acoustic guitar and cascaded images and words from such songs as ‘It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)’ and ‘She Belongs To Me’ to a mesmerised audience. It was life-changing.”
With Page’s own outfit, the great Led Zep, considered one of the all-time best live acts, his praise for Bob Dylan is elevated to the next level. When the greats reserve high praise for another, it is always something to behold. For Dylan to have awed, so humbly, a guitarist famed for reaching for the heavens on stage and sometimes grabbing a fistful, is testimony to the folk star’s seamless command. Alas, Dylan’s brilliance wasn’t just divine, he had his influences too.
“I like Charles Aznavour a lot,” Dylan told Rolling Stone, “I saw him in sixty-something, at Carnegie Hall, and he just blew my brains out. I went there with somebody who was French, not knowing what I was getting myself into.” Aznavour was a French-Armenian singer and lyricist known for his billowing tenor voice. He was a troubadour in the traditional sense and the performer, often touted as the male counterpart to Edith Piaf, clearly wowed the unsuspecting Dylan with his cavalcade of words—something Dylan himself would emulate.
However, it was not Aznavour that Dylan ascribed his highest praise, but rather the blues icon Howlin’ Wolf. “Howlin’ Wolf, to me, was the greatest live act,” the ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ singer explained, “Because he did not have to move a finger when he performed — if that’s what you’d call it, ‘performing.’”
This adulation has seemingly been ratified by just about everyone who ever saw the howling blues monolith play. He took to the stage at well over six foot and a hefty 300lbs. He stared his audience down. Then he figuratively grabbed them by the lapelles. As fellow bluesman Cub Koda testified, “No one could match Howlin’ Wolf for the singular ability to rock the house down to the foundation while simultaneously scaring its patrons out of its wits.”
Dylan went on to add that he was impressed by the natural way that Howlin’ Wolf could rattle the rafters without ever trying to summon any gimmicks or effrontery. “I don’t like people that jump around,” Dylan explained. “When people think about Elvis moving around — he didn’t jump around. He moved with grace.”
For anyone thinking that he may have been poking a finger at the eponymous hot-footing frontman Mick Jagger, he also clarified that he didn’t intend for his condemning of any onstage jiving to come across in a mean-spirited way. “I love Mick Jagger. I mean, I go back a long ways with him, and I always wish him the best,” he said. “But to see him jumping around like he does — I don’t give a shit in what age, from Altamont to RFK Stadium — you don’t have to do that, man.”
Before concluding that the cool stylings of the blues will always prove the most effective way to perform in his revered opinion. “It’s still hipper and cooler to be Ray Charles, sittin’ at the piano, not movin’ shit. And still getting across, you know? Pushing rhythm and soul across. It’s got nothin’ to do with jumping around. I mean, what could it possibly have to do with jumping around?”
This is something that Dylan has sincerely clung to over the years. His most recent tour has seen him sit behind his own upright piano, his fuzzy head barely visible over the upper panel, and any audience interaction usually limited to one shuffle into the spotlight and a humble bow. And yet when the luscious music breaks its flow for the merest second, you could hear a pin with a parachute drop onto a velvet haystack; just like the bluesman of old.
Any follower of Howlin’ Wolf’s simultaneously stirring and stoic performances would have to agree: sometimes less is more. If you have the rare ability that Howlin’ Wolf and a few other notable fellow blues performers had to pronounce timeless struggles and countering joys while sitting and supping on a beverage, then energy is better off conserved for the soul—one that old Howlin’ bared with all the readiness of a confession booth.
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