Bob Dylan – Rough and Rowdy Ways at Motorpoint Arena Review

One day, but hopefully not soon, you’ll turn to a loved one and say: “I went to a Bob Dylan gig.” And when they ask “What was he like?” you’ll only have “I don’t know, I left because the lighting was bad” as your memory. Accept the shortcomings of the big arena experience. Should Dylan tour the Rough and Rowdy Ways show at these massive venues? The argument is futile, he still has the demand to do so. Those infuriated by these Dylan performances are either expecting him to sound identical to the studio recordings of sixty years ago or for him to tap-dance his way to the front and thank the audience for being there while regaling them with intimate details of the past. Anyone who has listened to Dylan knows the latter will not and has never happened. Why expect it from his performance at Motorpoint Arena? Because the divide between audience expectation and audience demand grows larger.  

For those who know what to expect from Dylan at this juncture of his career, Rough and Rowdy Ways will be a classy display of fundamentally changed instrumentals on established songs. Even the contemporary material of his late-stage masterpiece finds enough of a difference to warrant experiencing time and again. A far better sound mix than that of the Liverpool performance and a much stronger Dylan at the core. He booms over the sharp playing style, piecing together bluesy and often staggering overhauls of classic tracks like When I Paint My Masterpiece and show closer Every Grain of Sand. Where stagnation may loom for those on repeat listens of this show, to the few who are gearing up for another night of Rough and Rowdy Ways, there is enough of a difference made in the instrumental variation to warrant heading for seconds.  

Opening hits All Along the Watchtower and It Ain’t Me, Babe still paints a welcome picture, a way to ease those fans who are there for the hits into a show which is bound to make them leave well before a titan-like Desolation Row performance is delivered. Truly the peak of this tour is the inclusion of his Highway 61 Revisited standout – and the delivery here has a croaked clarity to it. Pounding away at a grand piano, shifting uncomfortably from side to side when not behind the piano, he does not feel at home on the stage as much as he used to. Part of the lacklustre lighting, the lack of screens and the no phones order is not so much a way to keep your eyes on the stage as much as it is a chance for Dylan to recede into the background, to take cover behind exploring these classic songs and contemporary sparks.  

He could not be clearer on stage than he is here. Where the point of the show is to profile the Rough and Rowdy Ways efforts, Black Rider still feels a tad underwhelming but it does have to contend with following up an astonishing, pop culture-riffing I Contain Multitudes, the deity-defying putdowns of False Prophet, and a classic hit of When I Paint My Masterpiece. It feels like a weak link in an otherwise perfect show. His new materials, which are not so new anymore as the gun towards half a decade since release, are fitting in nicely to the fabric of his live performances which never extend themselves while in the UK. Seventeen songs in the same order and out by nine-thirty. Perfect. Dylan is a shimmering powerhouse on the stage once more and, with the right mixing and volume control for this show, brings thunderous work to the stage.  

Floating, tender riffs for It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue and I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You benefit from this shock clarity. Where many may be expecting Dylan to rush and ramble his way through his stage works, there is a touching clarity and power behind his voice. It may have been an off night in Liverpool where the strained, tinnitus-rattled ears push through to get to the core of the song, but the Motorpoint Arena allows for Dylan to echo right to the back, to crush those chattering few. His blues-adjacent work, the stripped-back presentation of musicians and their muse, comes to life when sat next to a man on a planet of his own cocaine-making, chewing on orange slices as his eyes dart back and forth, looking for his wife. It certainly adds a new layer to Key West (Philosopher Pirate), the swashbuckling Dylan not yet ready to hang up his culturally refined cutlass. A stunning set. Expect no less from what remains of Rough and Rowdy Ways.