You'll See Through Angel's Eyes

 by your fearless reporter Thornswrath  

  There is a grove I know 

Where the bones lie 

A place where more than virginity dies

And I can take you there
You'll see through angel's eyes
Just in time to see the Lord of Death Rise...

   So states  the  Revenant and High Priest of Cancerslug,  Alex "the Wolfman" Story, teller of the darkest tales throbbing deep underneath the innocuous streets of the trashed and gentrified sectors of cities sprouting across this ruined and flourishing landscape of America since before most of the younguns reading this today were even born.    

    It's been over 27 years that the Slugcult was formed from within the bowels of Alabama, and I don't want to assume anything about the actual or specific origins of this legendary underground rock'n'roll punk band other than to say, we all know they hail from Huntsville.  Only the dark reverend himself Mr. Story knows the true tale and specific details.  Nevertheless, please humor me and go along with the flow as I relate to you the little I do know in regards to not just this small yet relentless force among extreme enthusiasts and practitioners of sonic dysfunction amid the occult arts of the vast battlegrounds of the American punk and metal underground scene, but to be clear, I want to focus on just the latest eight bands I witnessed over the course of one week here in Salt Lake's dingy, grimy scene including one show at the pristine above ground, well manicured landscape of Red Butte Gardens.  

   So take my hand and be led into the pulsing heartbeat of what I myself consider the best music going on at this particular cross hairs in the history of our lives, and accept this rare opportunity to see the world through my eyes.  It's been awhile since I last reported here.  Suffice it to say, I attended three shows beginning Monday, August 10 at Aces High Saloon and ending exactly one week later, on Mon Aug 17 with a raucous clarion call from the elite forces of darkness back at that same notorious punk and metal dive bar, which has earned its reputation as the pivotal small venue to see the best extreme metal and punk bands this side of the Louisiana bijou. With a capacity to fit 200 people, and its one pool table and four old school pinball machines, with only three or four booths and maybe seven or eight stools braced along its bar, Aces High is the place in Salt Lake where you will always find the local tattooed and heavy metal warrior jacketed rockers and misfits congregate on a nightly basis.  

    I caught wind from a video that Coleman Williams posted on Facebook stating that IV and the Strange Band were embarking on a roughly one month tour (from early August to early September) covering approximately 20 dates.  Salt Lake City was about the fourth or fifth show, hitting Aces High Saloon on a Monday night, August 10 to be exact.  There was no way that I was going to miss out on another opportunity to see Coleman and Co., which for this "Oddballs & Outlaws" tour featured the retrofitted "string band" consisting of Jared on bass, Kiley on lead guitar, Coleman on his Epiphone acoustic guitar, and none other than Joe Perreze (of the Goddamn Gallows) on the banjo.  

   When I arrived at Aces High on Monday, Aug 10 to catch IV and the Strange Band for the fourth time, I realized I forgot my backpack with my notebooks and pens, so I asked the bartender, Kenny if she had any pens or paper I could borrow.  She had one black gelpen which she kindly lent me, and so I decided to use the small stack of napkins in front of me to jot down notes of the evening.    

[Page 1]

Mon, Aug 10 Clownvis "Juggalo" Presley w/ IV & the Strange Band @ ACES HIGH SALOON

COUGAR GOLD opened w/ a rowdy rendition of their own home grown rockabilly style — and cut off midway thru 1st song... So I forgot to bring my backpack w/ notebooks & pens, now I'm writing this review on a napkin w/ a Z-grip black ink pen the waitress lent me (Kenny).

I just messaged a slew of peeps on FB to git on down here... we'll see if I get any bites, fishin' for strange folk.

Dylan, tall 'n lanky with a Betty Boop tattoo on his right shoulder on guitar and vox, with Lucius on the standup acoustic bass and Julio (I think) on drums wearin' a metallic T-shirt. They covered Horton Heat Don't Bring Baby to the Liquor store, and now Dylan's ripping through Hank Williams Move It On Over w/his Gibson, fiery leads while Lucius sings & bangs out his relentless bass attack.

[Page 2] 

They launched into an original called Bottom Shelf Man, and the bar kept filling up with more patrons. Someone bought shots for Dylan & Lucius, and after they tossed 'em back to cheers from the crowd, their playing loosened up for the last song of their set.

CLOWNVIS on next opened w/ Viva Las Vegas after tellin' us Salt Lake City was his favorite city in the United States! He don't like traffic jams. Next song: Trafficula, about a vampire that only comes out in traffic. Crazy concept, but scary nonetheless.

Then a short, vulgar rendition of "Reading Rainbow." Next: Those Crazy Redbox Nights. He tossed Redbox DVDs out into the audience. Then he sang Clown Motel — a real place (rm # 222). He's the most magical clown in the world. He performed a couple of tricks including the disappearing banana trick. He tossed a giant inflatable banana out and we bounced it around, that was really fun.  

[Page 3] 

Then Clownvis covered Creep, great rendition actually. He used his clown horn instead of the crunchy guitar riffs. Thom Yorke oughta just gift him the song.

He closed w/ a toast & the theme song from CHEERS. Then encore: Rhinestone Cowboy. Great set. Consider me a fan.

—> Then he finished w/ one more: "And now, the end is near, so I face the final curtain..." yes: My Way.  Then he tossed the big inflatable banana out in the crowd one more time to a final rowdy refrain of Rhinestone Cowboy. Up next: IV & the Strange Band! 

   Well it turns out that a good portion of the Monday night patrons made themselves scarce after CLOWNVIS's admittedly packed and entertaining set, clearing out the capacity to about half of what it was, so I strolled on over to the front center of the stage with my drink (Red Bull and Coke, as I quit drinking alcohol several years ago) + my trusty pen and stack o' napkins. 

[Page 4]

  Good turnout "...tonight's pretty fuckin' awesome..." said Coleman, then went into Whippoorwill (new song). (Then another) New song..."it's a trouble, livin' in your bubble"... Then the "stab you in the eye til it makes you wanna cry" song off Southern Circus. Coleman has a 6-string Epiphone. Banjo's a Gretsch; then the electric guitar & stand up acoustic bass, so that's what he meant by a "stringband." Then the "little birds," song, "Well hell boy, you better fly high." It's Joe Perez from the Goddamn Gallows on banjo! I thought I'd seen him before... Coleman gave a wonderful speech re: fam history, then Son of Sin. Then the song about Rochelle, their beat up, run down ol' shortbus travelin' van... they are tearin it up! Next a clown song for Clownvis, "it may sound silly, but I don't care, happy go happy happy go lucky," then a banjo solo from Joe P.

[Page 5]

  Mikey Classic got the next song dedicated to him, Coleman passed his advice along, "I keep a hand on the door..." -> 'Don't let people get your goat—cuz if you do, they win.' They met ~21 yrs ago at the Muse, Nashville OG punk club where Misfits etc. used to play, the next day it was torn down w/ a pizza place replacing it. Then the Hare's Blood song off their 1st album, classick song "Now I'm here to drift into the night..."; the Rhymin' Auditorium, w/ a dirty soaked bar alley, next song's about gettin' fucked up in that alley (Since Nashville's the most gentrified city in America, now). "Looks real old... feels damn cold..." new song: "who the fuck's to say that I should care." Next Hang Dawg w/ a moving speech for all our critters... that goddamn Hang Dog... Hoo, wooo! Next "I've got an angel on my mind... that's why I'm walkin'..." Ends w/ his gr. grandaddy's song Trooper's Hill, about his dog Truman. 🖤

   All I can really say about that show is that IV and the Strange Band represent one hundred percent the true die hard spirit of the underground, in every way.  Ain't no one out there with their attention stolen by their smartphones or doomscrolling through the blurred cyberscape of life even has the remotest clue nor can they be given an opportunity to catch the scent in the wind that Hank 3 has a legitimately awesome son with a burning heart pumping the family bloodline through his veins and a voice to sing his stories to small captive audiences throughout the rundown dive bars and lonely venues of the land.  From coast to coast and sea to churning sea, he's been hauling his instruments and equipment in Rochelle without the greater majority of country western fans having the slightest clue, and I'll tell you what, I'm happy this is getting reported on my equally obscure as fuck blog tucked away in the darkest corner of the web, here amid the encroaching oblivion of my Blogdom of Thorns.  And that's because I prefer it this way, and honestly, I'd bet my bottom dollar Coleman would more or less agree with me on this.  

   He's a born American storyteller who's been obsessed with the underground music scene since he was at least fourteen, when he saw The Goddamn Gallows perform in Nashville at the Muse, and met up with Mikey Classic who gave him the best advice anyone could possibly get, about not letting anyone ever get your goat - all worked up and angry at 'em - on account of the simple fact that if you do - you let 'em win.  That explains his chill, down to Earth attitude, and let me tell ya, if you haven't learned this lesson in life, maybe take it into account and give it a try.  Works wonders on your blood pressure and it will steer you through the storms of life on a journey filled with all the strange wonders and attractions this world has to offer.  Remember what The Professor said, "the point of the journey is not to arrive."  

      So maybe fine tune your electronic device's radar to pick up on IV and the Strange Band, follow 'em on Instagram or Facebook, and the next time they launch on one of their obscure little tours, you'll get the opportunity to hear their songs and listen to Coleman extol some of his down home country wisdom, which in my estimation's worth more than all the reels you could scroll through in a year.  

   So if you're in Nevada and can make it to Reno, they're playing tonight at the Cypress Music Venue, and then they'll drive on over to Folsom, California tomorrow, Aug 22, with twelve more shows as they make their way through San Diego, Las Vegas, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas, wrapping it up in Oklahoma, Missouri, Tennessee and ending with a Bang in Louisville, Kentucky on September 5th, at the Whirling Tiger.  Don't say I didn't clue you in. 

    Stay tuned for Part II of my 3-part review covering IV and the Strange Band, Jesse Welles, and Cancerslug, all three of which are still on tour even as I write this.  I was going to make this one ginormous, long, thirty page review for y'all to scroll through, but I decided to have some mercy on your poor, tired souls (and give myself a break, too).  After all, this forum allows me to continue with Part 2 later on, so I'll hyperlink the End Piece Thumbnail to continue this insanely long coverage of my past week seeing shows here in the Salt Lake underground.   I'm happy I saw Jesse Welles with supporting band Ratboy, at the far more posh (and above ground) venue Red Butte Gardens.  Still, for all the spotlight and glory that stage offers, I think Jesse Welles remains relatively underground, for the time being, mirroring a young Robert Zimmerman, with his acoustic guitar and harmonica and vivid protest songs, suitable for our scrolling-to-oblivion era of a generation hopelessly addicted to our cellphones while the world apparently burns at the behest of ruthless opportunists seizing the reins of power politically to line their pockets at the expense of the people.  I can see this young man following in the footsteps of commercial success like The Devil Makes Three and Billy Strings, etc.  and he certainly deserves it, but I'll tell you all about it in part 2 of this expose.  Part 3 will cover the Monday, August 17 blackmetal show at Aces feat. Cancerslug with our own Chasmlurk opening for the notorious Profanatica.  That's as underground as it gets.  \m/ 

I Live Here In Kill City

 by  roving reporter   Shaun "Thornswrath" Lawton 

I drove out to the Graywhale in Taylorsville, shopping for some used CDs to get some Xmas presents for ?? ????, cuz our car, the good ol' 2013 Chevy Volt, the Skibidi Skooter, comes equipped with a CD player, a rare thing to find in automobiles, these days.  It's the greatest car I ever owned, being an electric hybrid, it runs silent, making it into the ideal stereo on wheels. 

     

    I came across two Iggy albums, the quintessential first album he released in 1975, without the Stooges, KILL CITY, w/ James Williamson (who granted, had earned his Stooge stripes by appearing on the seminal Raw Power, released the year before), and the 1999 album Avenue B, produced by Don Was*.  But back to KILL CITY, in its own right arguably a Stooges release, despite the absence of Dave Alexander and Ron and Scott Asheton, still, the album in my view remains the natural follow-up and proper evolution of the down and dirty sound the godfathers of punk had established.  

*Avenue B, we'll get back to later. For now, this article strictly deals with the legendary KILL CITY.

   Right off the bat, the album leaps into a snarling rock'n'roll attitude, with Iggy crooning "It's a playground to the rich, but it's a loaded gun to me," the jagged rhythmic riffs punctuated by backup clappers and vocals, leaving zero room for doubt this picks up straight from where Raw Power left off.  It's a short title track that introduces the album perfectly in 2 min and 20 seconds.  Next we get Sell Your Love, which slows down with some late night jazzy saxophone offset with Iggy's vocal register dropping to begin serenading the listener with the backstreet dealings that go on in this dangerous section of the city that never sleeps.  The drums and sax and all the instrumentation, including backup vocals, intertwine in perfect synchronicity while Iggy sighs and moans about life on the streets of Kill City.  

   The third song launches right in to straight up razor sharp unleashed fury with what might be my favorite track, Beyond the Law, it sounds like an outtake from Raw Power itself, with the Sales brothers, Hunt and Tony Scott providing their low end drums & bass for the first time with Iggy (before moving on to Lust For Life and The Idiot, and then of course performing their duties for David Bowie in his forward looking outfit TIN MACHINE, but that's another story I can get to later in this digital rag). 

      I Got Nothing to say, except this album has been in my rotation enough this year to the point my blood has soaked it up and it's ringing in my bones, filling me with that same feeling Lou Reed's stellar live album Rock 'n' Roll Animal used to do, but hearing Iggy wail away on these tunes, backed up with such flashy effectiveness by John "The Rookie" Harden on a blasting, sultry sax and James Williamson unleashing his guitar to rival the prowling sleek animal ferocity he showcased on Raw Power, except now on KILL CITY, Iggy really sounds like a beast freed from his cage, evoking a sound that conjures shades of Bobby Zimmerman and the Rolling Stones yet somehow keeping it all his own.  

  Music like this doesn't just push your buttons and tickle your fancy on a first listen, no you have to fucking get down in the dirt and live with this music until it penetrates it's raw ferocity and soulful intent deep into your bones and heart, slamming through your veins with the forcefulness of a tide of fresh oxygen to dispel the poisonous CO2 and liberating you with the one ingredient I think Iggy made his own from the get go:  FREEDOM.  He conjures the spirit of freedom like no one else, because he lived and prowled the streets beyond the law, on his own terms, believing in nothing but the pure moment in time that he rode like an expert surfer on the incoming waves of circumstance. 

   These cats really got it together to release something special, a time capsule from 1975 that captures all the deranged excitement and visceral power of stalking the streets for the alluring musk of femme fatales and riding high on all the alcohol and drugs one could get their hands on.  It's the special and private domain of flaming youth, captured on disc in no uncertain terms with a musical force to be reckoned with, all these fifty years later, in 2025.  Iggy, James, Troy, Brian, Hunt, Fox, Steve, The Rookie and Gayna, providing backing vocals.  What a crew. 

I was ten years old when this album dropped, an innocent kid with a bowl haircut, who couldn't even imagine such wildness existed in music, much less in life.  I was captivated by Don McLean's American Pie at the time, asking my parents for coins to feed the jukebox at this Chinese Restaurant my Dad used to take us to in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, the Nanking.  It featured the long version of American Pie, and I loved that song so much, it was a tradition every time we ate there. 

   I can see how kids today who only got the CD of this album might wonder about tracks 6 and 7: Night Theme, and Night Theme (reprise), short, barely over a minute long instrumental pieces that bring the excitement and pace down, well in retrospect it should become obvious that Night Theme ends side 1 of the vinyl LP, and when you flip the record over, side 2 begins with it's reprise, a nifty sort of Nightfall and beddy-bye time, if you will, to then move on to Consolation Prize, moving into the next day on side 2, where the party never ends. 

   Listen up, if you haven't taken the time to either revisit, or listen to this album for the first time, just remember it's a real trip, culminating with the final track Master Charge, whose music has truly evolved into an electronic merger with a soulful guitar plus saxophone theme that brings the whole sordid journey to a satisfying conclusion.  It's a thoughtful rendering of what seems to be a 24 hour stint of partying in the glory days of what might be a long lost youth for some of us, but if you're still in your early twenties, and want to go back in time and visit Kill City, this album will really take you there.  

  After listening to it enough times, I've found an extra special place in my heart for it, it's just a total trip, from the first song to the last, which virtually amounts to an audial movie, leaving the listener spellbound and satisfied when the end credits roll, and the music fades out, feeling like the tide will never return with such bounties again.    

7 songs for spiders revolution dawns

 by roving reporter thornswrath 

  

     the eagerly and long awaited new album from Dax Riggs, 7 songs for spiders, released on Fat Possum Records, arrived at my doorstep today breaking a fifteen year silence since Say Goodnight To The World dropped back in 2010. That's the year I got married, on April Fool's, following my heart like I always do.

    Boy does this album deliver the goods and live up to the hype.
It's everything any die hard could have ever dreamed and more so. If you know, you know. This album belongs on the perfect soundtrack for our endtimes, along with agents of oblivion, deadboy and the elephantmen, and the veritable resurgence of a new punk revolution as the terrestrial gears shift into the new post-political paradigm of Earth with the shattering intensity brought upon us by the technological singularity. We've made it this far so you know together we can pull through anything the great and sinister unknown may throw at us. In the meantime this record, at a short running length of 28 minutes, is just what the doctor ordered in terms of what our highest expectations could bring.

     I'm happy to include a brand spankin' new album in my 30 albums challenge, so yes in case you're among the lost legion who never heard of acid bath or dax riggs, this album is a modern day masterpiece and was just released today, I preordered it and it arrived with impeccable timing. the stars lined up for me again, boy am I not surprised. This is the only daks album that I haven't had him sign, yet. Just wait'll he comes to Salt Lake, I hope he hits up Aces High because that would be perfect. Hope to see you there. I'll try and work my underground booking sorcery and get him to tour with IV & the Strange Band or something.

A new cycle of the same ol' same ol' begins. Best strap in. We're in for one helluva ride. Don't follow the bouncing ball, people. Stay focused on your own life, your own dreams. Everything has always been not as it seems, and it's no different today. Step away from all the screens and live your best life. Hang on to yourself or your significant other or wife.

As good ol' Billy Yeats once said:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand. . .

 That haunting opening melody that starts off the second track, Sunshine Felt the Darkness Smile, captures perfectly the short, sharp shock of spirit this album injects into the scene. 

   It's really something to hear him singing with a full band backing in a perfect complementary manner, lush and velvety enough to be felt getting swallowed by the darkness, with exactly the amount of haunted reverb and cascading tremulous lines dropping like ripened fruit from the gathering shadows of a darkening garden.  The moon's prevalent over this familiar courtyard of desolate tunes, yet there's that underlying defiant hope that saturates these blues, the lingering spirit of having survived leaves an echoing impression that we may have actually just been haunted by a ghost. It's what records are when you stop and think about it deeply enough.  The ghosts of John Lennon and David Bowie are kept alive in the shiny reflective depths of grooved vinyl records.  The exquisite vibrations captured with infinitesimal detail separating the sound of Beethoven from Pink Floyd reveals an astonishing variety of sonic terrain, the music of the spheres divided into microtones. 

    

After spinning 7 songs for spiders, I don't know in a sort of unattachment from the experience, as if I were removing a suction tight sealed scuba mask and shaking out from under the weight of the tank, a gasp of clean air and I realized I was crying, an emotional tide from having just listened to daks.  

   I went ahead and flipped it back to side A and began the seven songs all over again.  deceiver is a great tune to start it all, a perfect little carousel ride into Dax's nocturnal dream world. 

    When Graveyard Soul begins, that's it, when he sings you lost your junkyard smile, it captures the spirit of my own memory of who I was back in my twenties discovering Boston and the strange  hyperactive rhythms interacting with all my friends and the Grubs that got caught up in our underground society.  You know, I owe this musical discovery to none other than my dear friend Gareth Allen, he turned me onto Acid Bath back when I lived three doors down from him on Douglas St, all of twenty years ago.  When The Kite String Pops remains to this day among the very few most impactful albums in my long life of obsessing over rock and roll music.  Not only is it the meanest, rawest, most primal and stripped down sounding band in the land, but there's a psychedelic soulfulness to their unleashed fury that in my view remains pretty unmatched to this day.  And I've always appreciated all of Dax's side projects and sojourns. From seeing him perform as deadboy & the elephantmen all those years ago at Club Sound in the back of Bricks with Wolfmother and maybe Pelican, I can't exactly recall offhand.  

    It's good to have him back, and to know Acid Bath are going to give it a go. This year's kicking off to a delirious start.  I've seen a few reels of Sammy and Dax and them getting pumped up to play, so I hope they got a good positive energy going together and manage to keep it together, committing to at least another couple of years or three of touring smaller dive venues across the land just waiting to book them.  Aces High Saloon here in Salt Lake City for example would be the perfect place. Or S&S Productions could book them at the Urban Lounge or Club Metro.   I managed to get Cancerslug booked at Aces High last year, and then they happened to land on Valentines Day, here. What are the chances.

      I told you the stars always line up for me so I'm going to email S&S Presents and Aces and see if I can get a show with Cancerslug, IV & the Strange Band and Dax Riggs, because that would be the trifecta for me, like some voodoo magic borne of the raw quantum chaos of my mind control.  

  

BOB DYLAN & HIS BAND BLEW US ALL AWAY AT DEER VALLEY MOUNTAIN SKI RESORT PARK CITY UTAH SUNDAY AUGUST 31 2008 ONCE UPON AN ENCHANTED EVENING I'LL NEVER FORGET

 by your blood rover Shaun Lawton 

   reporting for the Oscillating Oculus 

photo by Mathieu David

@ Deer Valley Mountain Ski Resort, Park City UTAH Sunday, August 31, 2008.

Here's the setlist on that electrifying, stormy evening: 



Rainy Day Women #12 & 35

When I Paint My Masterpiece

Stuck Inside A Mobile w/the Memphis Blues Again

It's NoT DaRk yeT

DON'T THINK TWICE, IT'S ALRIGHT

a MILLION miles

DESOLATION ROW

The Levee's Gunna Break

she belongs to me

Honest With Me

Simple Twist of FATE

HIGHWAY 61 Revisited

QUEEN JANE Approximately

THUNDER ON THE MOUNTAIN

LIKE A ROLLING STONE


   Bob Dylan rocked our darned socks off. Damn that was a blazing blistering set to help a crowd withstand torrential rains, but no amount of bad weather could put a damper on Bob Dylan or his band's set this evening. They just seared their way through song after song — 15 in all, I think — yes, most likely a foreshortened set due to the inclement weather, but it just made songs like 'The Levee's Gunna Break' all the better.

   The fact it all started with 'Rainy Day Women #12 & 35' was just perfect. My sweetheart and I were well-prepared this time for an outdoor lawn show. We bought these low-slung back-pack chairs and these 2 overlarge wicked windproof, rainbow-colored umbrellas so when the downpours came (and boy did they ever come) we were sittin' pretty high and dry. We had a bottle of very nice Sonoma county wine we'd been saving since last year's vacation, which we poured into these medieval metal goblets. We enjoyed sesame water crackers with goat cheese as well as some Greek and Chinese food. No sooner than Bob was singing 'Everybody Must Get Stoned' at the show's start in the rain did I begin to dance; this was not the slow rollicking beat with brass instruments version your Dad remembers, but more of a wicked fiery Hellbilly ride.

   Bob loves nothing more than changing up the arrangement of his songs, and it was quite evident in the next song 'Stuck Inside A Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again', a much quicker and upbeat version which got me on my feet and dancing in no time flat. Bob's band really got into the swing of things. Before my mind could catch up with what was actually happening to us all, 'It's Not Dark Yet' began, and it was so pitch-perfect. It was a brisk and tense delivery of a heartfelt anthem and was really quite moving. Then the rain finally stopped, some clouds parted, and we spied a section of blue sky up there above the mountains. You gotta understand Deer Valley is a ski resort catering to the rich and, yes, famous. It is clear and beautiful up at that elevation. We were lucky the sun broke through because it would remain relatively sunny and dry for over the next hour and nine songs or so. Everyone began pouring their libations of wine and bringing out their fancy picnic meals and whatnot. Shasta and I broke out the gourmet dark chocolate w/bits of ginger in it and quaffed more red wine while Bob Dylan and his band began jamming out an intro to the next song, which struck a familiar chord yet was being played too fast to be immediately recognized. I started dancing my ass off to this song, and before I knew it, realized I was twisting to 'Don't Think Twice, It's Alright'!

   It was then and there during this 5th song that a feeling of Awesomeness struck like a bolt of lightning from above, this was one of Bob's ON nights! Every song he played was uncut, and if anything, an extended version from the original. His band was ON it, jamming this unbelievable fusion of down home country ragtime, rock'n'roll, periodically injected with elements of swing, jazz, and Mississippi delta blues. Gone was the old folk element Dylan cut his teeth on; these here versions were fully electrified and transformed beyond their classic guises into something far more electric & dynamic.

   His Bobness pretty much stood in one spot sporting this nice Stetson hat and these black pants with a silver stripe down the sides of the legs, he was all got up good'n'proper like the Man in Black oughta be. I couldn't quite tell if he ever played a guitar or not — most of the night I was letting go gyrating and having a grand ol' time — but his voice shone through the dizzying arrangement of musical stylings in a crisp nasal tone that, although a bit raspier than it used to be, nonetheless managed to carry the songs through to their respective ends. The energy Bob and his band instilled in the crowd was palpable and electric, everyone was going nuts.

   I proudly wore my original KoRn T-shirt, selected specifically for this show, and sported a Jester's Cap w/bells on — picture me dancing a crazy Peanut's Dance sped up to about 78rpms in this outfit, and you pretty much get the picture of Shaun @ Bob Dylan, 2008. Believe me when I tell you that throughout most of these rockin' tunes, the level of intensity in the musicianship was such that it afforded plenty of opportunities to break out in wild, spontaneous air-guitar soloes, and there was one point (during the song 'Honest With Me') where I gasped out loud in stunned disbelief on account of how much heavy momentum the jamming had acquired. Let me put it this way: there were a few moments wherein my imagination inserted speed metal leads to the music - it was that sick. \m/

   Needless to say, I kept exchanging astonished looks with the folks standing next to us. I had read somewhere that lately, Dylan's shows focus so much on his more recent material that some audience members get disappointed. Well at our show in Deer Valley that Sunday evening, nothing could be further from the truth. After just having heard 'Rainy Day Women', 'Stuck Inside a Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again', 'Don't Think Twice, It's Alright,' and 'Desolation Row', I was personally so blown away with the hits that I didn't care one whit any longer what Bob had in store for us; it was just that well-delivered, and each song provided ample opportunity for the various musicians to shine respectively with their instruments.

   So when 'You Belong To Me' played it was just another amazing classic song in a setlist chockfull of them, as far as I was concerned. I don't know which recent album the song 'Honest With Me' is from, but I will say it was the most rocking song of the night, just a scorcher through and through. And then Dylan dropped the bomb I had no idea was to come, and that was 'Simple Twist Of Fate'. I don't know about you all, but personally whereas I think 'Tangled Up In Blue' to be Dylan's greatest song, my mind has never been able to accommodate for both of these songs at the same time; When Simple Twist Of Fate plays, I forget all about Tangled Up In Blue, and vice-versa. Its the weirdest thing. Even the memory of Tangled Up In Blue was utterly annihilated while 'Simple Twist Of Fate' played, and all I could think was This has got to be the greatest song Dylan ever wrote...and I shouted as much when it was over: 'BEST SONG EVER,' I yelled out loud with devil horns thrown.

   Then the well-oiled machine that is Bob Dylan's band launched into 'Highway 61 Revisited', and it was around this time that I realized we were witnessing an evening of pure transcendence. You Dylan fans reading this by now can most likely perfectly-well understand how fully amazed I was by this point in the show. Every song had a really cool and unique arrangement; but more importantly, the band were so in sync with one another, they just jammed all the tunes with masterful finesse.

   The clouds had been gathering for awhile and the sun had been gradually obfuscated by the mountain line looming behind us when 'Queen Jane, Approximately' began to play. Shasta and I sensed the rain begin to fall again, so I started bustin' up our picnic and packing it all in. We grabbed our brightly colored umbrellas and popped them open just in time to catch the fatter rain drops beginning to drop. That's when Bob began on one tune I particularly enjoy from Modern Times — 'Thunder On The Mountain' — I don't know how he kept lobbing out these perfectly appropriate songs, but yeah the thunder that pealed down from the storm-laden night sky during this song could not have been more properly timed. And a hard rain began to fall, indeed.

   Of course I think everyone there was half-expecting Bob to actually sing this song ('A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall'). I personally was holding out with fingers crossed for 'Buckets Of Rain', one of my perennial favorites. But the final song of the evening that was delivered with almost apocalyptic fury was 'Like A Rolling Stone'. Do I even need to mention we weren't let down in the least? We're all howling "Without a HOME like a complete UNKNOWN... like a ROLLING STOOOONE..." up into the rain at night on a mountainside with hundreds of other people while Bob Dylan led us along was certainly a memory I will carry with me for awhile, yet. Just as soon as that song was done, Dylan tipped his hat and briskly exited stage left along with the rest of his band and all the spotlights went on. Nobody in the audience hesitated, we just grabbed our shit and began our mass exodus in the pouring rain, every single one of us all smiles and chattering excitedly and making our way for the gates, nevermind we were all drenched to the bone. The thunderstorm never once let up from that point on, it was like a soundtrack for the end credits. The time was about 9:45 pm, which meant Bob Dylan had played for two solid hours in the sun and the rain. I can't imagine being more shocked and satisfied than I felt at the end of this stellar show which Mr. Tambourine Man & his devoted band delivered to us all that last day of summer in Deer Valley, Utah, 2008.  In many key ways it stands out among the many mind-blowing concerts I've attended as the most enjoyable and gratifying I've had the good fortune to experience.  

   

~ Poet Laureate of the Soul ~