• Bob Dylan @ The O2

    Abr 28 2009, 9h33

    Sat 25 Apr – Bob DylanOn Saturday I caught Bob in action for the 38th time.

    I have to say I'm not a big fan of the O2 although it is supposed to have one of the most sophisticated set of acoustics of any venue in the world (their claim not mine) I always find the sound there a little muddy especially for vocals and tonight was no exception.

    Dylan hit the stage with a cracking bluesy verion Of 'Maggies Farm' of which I heard the 1st verse before the engineers lost it in a ball of mic feedback, then it was too loud, then too soft it was well into the 3rd song of the set before the vocals came through in an audiable manner.

    The set consisted of the above mentioned 'Maggie's Farm', a waltzy 'The Times are A Changing' followed by a sombre 'Things Have Changes' and an odd waltz through 'The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carrol' which I think lost some of the impact of this stark class tale. 'Rollin and Tumblin'', and 'The Levee's Gonna Break were given a solid bluesy thumping with a throwaway 'Workingman's Blues #2' trundling after. There were lovely versions of 'Thunder On The Mountain', 'Spirit On The Water' and 'Til I Fell In Love With You' followed with a taut and poignant version of 'The Ballad Of Hollis Brown'. Radically altered (different from 2 years ago) 'Chimes Of Freedom Flashing', 'Highway 61 Revisited' and the chunky 'Like A Rollin' Stone' closed the evening.

    The Encore was a fairly straight rendering of the Hendrix version of Dylan's All Along The Watchtower and another drastically altered version of 'Blowin' In The Wind'

    Overall I've seen better shows but I've been to much, much worse and my main crib about the night (apart from the dreadfull sound, may the engineers balls turn square and fester at the edges) was that 1/2 the people in the corporate box that I'd paid to be in were not interested in what was happening on stage and talked loudly during every number only to break off at the end of every song to applaud wildly, whistle and shout as if they had absorbed every phrase.
  • It's

    Set 17 2007, 16h21


    It can start with a shudder
    Sometimes, it’s like oil, devious
    Smells of old horse hair sofas,
    Asparagus scented piss
    Sloe gin.

    It can be slow, openly visual,
    Showy in its mirth
    Or in 4/4 time
    Quick and visceral with a
    Defined purpose
    An aphrodisiac agenda

    It no longer comes at night,
    Too obvious, too knowing.
    It finds me in my car,
    At my desk,
    Talking on the phone
    Writing letters or
    Sitting in the park

    It has no colour but
    It’s always there waiting
    Solid, tangible, it has no reason,
    Except that
    That I give it.
    Busy days are no companion.
    The PC not a refuge
    And time no ally
  • Lunchtime At The Park

    Set 17 2007, 16h18

    I take the car a half mile there.
    Sometimes walking, alone.
    Sometimes thinking, alone.
    Sometimes listening, alone.
    Sometimes watching, alone.
    Always smoking, L&B Gold.

    The dogs have no Lowery sense
    The are stillborn on tartan tethers,
    Lost to their owners diffident gaze
    They ramble on squirrel scratched paths
    From scent to sent a polite decent.

    They are TV fat, play football badly
    With a great enthusiasm, dancing for
    The specter of Premier fitness, wave arms that
    Are pointless and made ready for their dull
    But faux rewarding lives. It’s the spirit of
    The Game an opiate to too many.

    Blue hair not punk but maybe one time…
    They share in doubt, rumors and lies,
    Thrive on the spectacle of the loss of
    Something they cannot remember, out
    Of reach in the corrugation of years.

    No children, No mothers with prams, No squalling babies
    No kitchen sink angst just the faint ghost of what once was.