You gotta serve somebody...and it won't be me.

In a day when it seems music is pudgy with the steroids of ego, it is
refreshing to listen to pure poetry woven into song but not
emasculated by sound. I loved that the band would soften their
instruments when Dylan would play a few notes on his harmonica. The
music was fantastic but not at the expense of the words. Dylan can
weave together words like few others can even dream of doing. His
words move me, a few times I even felt tears form. That is the power
of communication...when words become flesh.

Dylan didn't suffocate his music with himself. He came out, played,
introduced his friends that were making fire with him and left.
At first it all seemed quite detached but I realized it was an
offering from one that had learned to give without expecting much if
anything in return. We had come, that was enough. He played and sang,
that was enough. We want art to be about the person. We want to be
the focus of the performance, show us we are important, sing to us,
play for us, talk to us...and in the end...bow to us. Or...become a
manifestation of all our self seeking idolatry and make the stage
your own altar and force us to worship you....we love it so. It
really is depraved.

Dylan didn't do that...it was as if he was free in a way that seemed
so strange in the face of so many artists that have turned the art
into a anthropocentric experience. At the end the band came to the
center of the stage and just stood there facing the crowd. They
didn't smile, say anything and definitely didn't bow to us and then
they walked off the stage. Of course people stomped their feet,
screamed, clapped and tried with all their might to lure them back to
us...but he didn't come....He left.

He was free to just walk away from the stage...Oh that more people
could come to that place in their craft. I loved it.