Dylan and the Provincial Craic Vacuum

Been meaning to update this for a while, but what with not being unemployed anymore - although that might not be the case for too much longer - I can't laze about in the library or up in Queen's titting around on a publicly-owned computer. But this morning I find myself in Terry's living room, with lots of sun happening outside, and I wouldn't mind delaying walking home and getting the fuck fried out of me.
's been an odd month, this one. Strange being able to afford to do things again. Even went down to the Dublin to see the Dylan on the 5th there. Although apparently I saw him on the wrong night (bastard typical) because the next night was the end of his tour or some such guff.
I went down with my brother, whose student loan had just come in, the lucky prick, and so was bankrolling the expedition. We got off the bus at four or so, and stationed ourselves in the first bar with an offy attached. Drinking in the street in central Dublin is a lot easier than I thought it would be. Then to the O2 for a bit of Bob.
I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I was pleasantly surprised; he played with two guitarists, a bassist and drummer, and a mentalist who switched between lap steel, banjo, guitar and I believe accordion at one point. The man himself was mostly on organ with occasional harmonica, and picked up a guitar for Don't Think Twice, It's Alright. Now I'd heard he sits at the side now, facing the band and hiding behind an organ (Zimmerman-frame?), but I didn't really expect to enjoy it. Which I did. Hugely. It was as organised and regimented a set as you'd expect from a man who's been touring solid for forty-odd years, treading the knife-edge between trying to affect people and make a statement, and just knocking it out, going through the motions. I was standing somewhere near this guy, and it sounded great. The major letdown of the evening was the crowd. Of course you're not going to see the same angry young man as you would have in the sixties or even the seventies. But for God's sake, try to enjoy the spectacle when one of the best songwriters ever gives a performance, and appreciate it for what it is. Don't fucking talk over it, maybe dance a little, and for crying out loud TURN ROUND AND WATCH THE STAGE. At times I felt like I was the only one paying attention. And I wouldn't call myself a big fan.
That may have been it though- I went in with pretty low expectations and enjoyed myself more than I thought I would, with a very danceable bluesy set with some well-worked versions of classics and, I'm told, the live debut of a track from the new album. It would have been easy to be disillusioned if you went in with high hopes. For one, he was doing a very good club singer impression. Two, he finished at about 10PM, and that's after three encore tunes. But anyone who goes to see Dylan for his vocal gymnastics is a spoon, and although he probably should have had a support act, I thought a two-hour set of that standard was good value.
After the man himself me and the brother cleared off to a slightly sweaty bar which had rock on the jukebox and a decent stout, and got quietly twatted in a corner. Then we hopped in a taxi to Rathmines, where the rich fuckers live, and snuck into Trinity's halls, which were fucking palatial compared to the borstal I stayed in on the Malone Road. But I suppose at five grand a year it'd need to be. There we drank Bavaria with Scruff (Derry fella who's down there getting a proper education), and I slept on a busted airbed. Dublin's an incredibly nice town if you have money in your pocket. I was only there for a day, but it convinced me I'm going to have to live there at some point. It struck me when I was there that I'd never lived in a properly big city; Belfast may be self-contained and horribly full of its own importance, but a big city it isn't. Johnny Tiernan played And So I Watch You From Afar in Lavery's the other night, and I've never seen a more smug self-congratulatory circle jerk in my life. I think that typified Belfast for me. I'm certainly not alone in the view that nine out of ten bands here are pointless. I know we shouldn't slate local talent, that we should give it the help and the props it deserves, but people here have a very skewed view of what's talent and what's dross. I'd love to say that's the last time I'll be in Lav's, but I'd be lying. Because that's where the tail is. And that's what really matters, after all.