I have had to come to this
city called Salt Lake and with a two-tier silhouette of jagged
buildings set against a mountainous background sculpted with canyons,
to reconnect with the desire that drove me to start this story three
years ago. And last night’s Dylan concert at the Eccles Theater
was something of a dreamlike movie, a film from another time edited
upon a familiar soundtrack, embroidered with a host of little lights
that shone like stars over the auditorium. It was I who added the
final surprise to the plot.
I had bought a ticket in the
central section of the first row, slightly to the left of the piano,
to see how, on yet another night, Dylan takes cover behind it as if
cloaked in a glass robe. And with a bit of luck, to try to get a
photograph of him with some rare expression. I waited until the
second encore, and as the chords of the Ballad Of A Thin Man
struck up, I opened the bag whose contents when I came in had caused
such amazement at the security checkpoint. During the fourth verse, I
put the top hat on.
Several voices behind me
complained, but I managed to stand still until, on taking centre
stage for the “final bow”, Dylan spotted me. It would have been
the perfect moment to take the perfect photo; that snapshot of time
standing still and an expression of astonishment that took both of us
back to that summer night in 67 on which a biblical bet allowed me to
win that tall black hat. Then Dylan called me innocent, and idiot
too. I don’t know what he must have thought last night on
recognizing that old trophy on my head. When I began to raise it in a
gesture of greeting, he had already turned round to leave the stage.
I didn’t even get my camera out.
Perfect pictures never get
to be taken, not with any kind of device, but they are tattooed
behind our eyelids. Like Dylan’s voice.
Tonight I’ll go back to
the Eccles Theater to attend his second concert in Salt Lake
City, this time in the first box on the left. I’ll try to get a
message to him beforehand, perhaps some of his favorite flowers too.
Oh,
what a lonely soul am I,
Stranded high and dry
By a melancholy mood
Stranded high and dry
By a melancholy mood
