Bob Dylan – This World Can’t Stand Long Review

Classics of the American songbook became staples of Bob Dylan’s setlist around 2000. The turn of the century kindled something in him which, like Time Out of Mind just three years before, inspired a new and shockingly strong route of artistic style. From Glasgow to Reno, This World Can’t Stand Long became a frequent feature of the live setup Dylan was part of. The Roy Acuff version may be the best-remembered, but with some quiet whoops and hollers, a swing of country acoustics embedded on stage, the Dylan renditions have a cool, new perspective. Details of the horrible modern world have moulded Dylan’s songwriting for the last twenty-five years. He is keen to display not an anger at the world around us but an acceptance of it as another set of fears which prevailed in the 1960s, changed in the 1970s, and twice more in the decades to follow.  

How we tackle these tones is independent of Dylan’s performance but he finds some love and joy in the consistency of these worries. Bereft of ideas we can turn to Ron Perlman who spoke the words “war never changes,” for a game about how the concept of death remains irrespective of the moving parts. It is much the same for This World Can’t Stand Long, a song to which Dylan lends a keen and croaky voice. Instrumental satisfaction reigns throughout though it is not the point. A wider context piles on. This is as strong and immovable a song as Masters of War or Tramp Down the Dirt, the latter an Elvis Costello number that, even with its specifics, feels righteous and remarkable in modern contexts. Such is the case for This World Can’t Stand Long, a brutally effective working of it from Dylan should be no surprise.  

We should, as Dylan sings here, know the world cannot stand long. It is the perpetual anxiety which forms when taking an interest in the world. All through history there has been a sense of conflict and now it is amplified, dangerously close to being fulfilled and in some cases, has been fulfilled, continually so. We can take as much a breather as we like in the sounds of This World Can’t Stand Long, whatever the case, whenever the time, it remains uncomfortable. This discomfort comes through quality playing, though, a sense of a prevailing attitude and an ongoing effectiveness in the fear it creates. But this fear is not for the sake of peddling some song or other insight, it is simply a fact of life.  

How we compartmentalise it, be it through song or worry, is found in This World Can’t Stand Long. An open book of a song, one where the attitude and atmosphere are not beholden to the meaning but the effect it has on a listener. Dylan’s work with this song, and frequent appearances on his live shows of the early 2000s, is an interesting and often dynamic retelling. There is a soft suggestion of hope in his wordplay and, better still, the instrumental stylings feel staggeringly upbeat for a song which suggests all-out destruction is one wrong move away. It still stands tall twenty-five or so years on from its performances here, and there is little doubt of its further influence as the years keep rolling.