Bob Dylan/ Elvis Costello Vex Freedom Hall

When I got home last night from Bob Dylan’s latest landing in Louisville, I put on Modern Times. Frankly I hadn’t listened to his last album much. Like most releases these days, by any artist for that matter, it didn’t grab me immediately, so I placed it on the shelf with the myriad of other Dylans.

But as I listened with new ears, which I’m doing again this morning as I write, last night’s gig makes perfect sense.

I feel I’m in the minority.

Simply stated, the greatest songwriter in the history of the English language is acting his age. Bob is shuffling along, musing about human frailties, fantasizing about Negro songstresses, tossing aside pithy bon mots like he’s still got a warehouse full ( “I used to care/ But all that’s changed”) and using his smoky voice to almost piano bar effect. His band is tight, and they were having a lot of fun, even if the crowd was restless and less than fully tuned in.

I understand why the relatively sparse assemblage at Freedom Hall mumbled and grumbled for the most part. Despite the early hour — the three act show started at 7:00 on the dot — the crowd started to thin out several songs into Dylan’s set. Dylan is always the trickster. Which means that our expectations are often dashed. As my pal Ben said, “All I want is to hear Blood on the Tracks all the way through, original versions.” Ben didn’t get his wish. Neither did most others.

Oh there were a few lighter-waving chestnuts. “Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat.” “Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll,” but as a dirge. He spit out “Don’t Think Twice.” But frankly that makes sense since the tune has been mistaken from the get go as some sort of lullaby. It’s a screed. Even “Masters of War” was sung without a snarl.

Which is not to mention the spate of recent and obscure Dylan tunes, with which the crowd obviously was unfamiliar. Those were the core of the show.

Anyhow, the gal behind us advised as how this was her first Dylan concert, before emphasizing it would be “her last.” Ben was apologetic when he said he’d always stood up for live Dylan despite his exotic ways, but “this one is hard to take.”

At least the crowd didn’t boo. They did when Dylan played Louisville Gardens back in the day on his first electric tour. “We want the real Dylan,” one guy shouted. Bob, younger then, more petulant, retorted, “Kiss my ass.” Truth be told, the real Dylan showed up last night, just like he did back when after first plugging in.

He’s not a spring chicken, nor easily caged, this Dylan guy. So his take on “Like A Rolling Stone,” the encore, can’t be the same anthemic rave up we remember from when it changed music radio. It’s more patient, more reserved, more introspective.

Anyhow, personally, I enjoyed the show, esoteric as it was. There was a time years ago, when I vowed I’d never go hear him again. Fortunately, I broke that promise. It’s always a crap shoot. I didn’t especially enjoy his last gig here at Slugger Field. I passed on a later gig in Lexington. Dylan is always his own guy. He’s in what can only be termed “lounge mode.” What you hear is what you get. Anybody expecting classic “Just Like A Woman” had to be bummed.

I went this time only because Elvis Costello — the Cole Porter of our time — set the stage for Dylan. Othewise I’d have taken a pass.

Speaking of Costello’s set, it was way too short. That such an incredible talent is not a headliner is a sad state of affairs. He alluded to that during comments between songs. The music biz is so wacked. But that’s another story for another time.

Anyway a little Elvis Costello beats nothing. He opened with “Angels Want To Wear My Red Shoes” and never faltered. I’ll say this for the guy, he’s still full of piss and vinegar. He channeled Bo Diddley, but, as most Brit rockers do, with a rave up of Buddy Holly’s “Not Fade Away.” It smoked. (But not as smokin’ as the mens room, where way too many cigarettes were burned with impunity.)

The biggest disappointment of the evening was that Dylan didn’t consider bringing Costello on stage for a duet or two. Guess it wasn’t part of the plan.

Bottom line: I found the concert pleasant. Problem with that — at least for many in the audience — is one expects apocalyptic from Bob Dylan. The disappointment of many in the crowd was as much due to their expectations as the performance. Dylan didn’t mail it in. His ensemble was tight. On some songs, he was Tom Waits. On others, he crooned. It made me smile. Not my favorite concert of his, but far from the worst.

As usual, Bob Dylan did his thing.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Just the same as it ever was.

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