Frozen in time, held captive by the wilderness, looking like an icicle in a bakery, the legendary Bob Dylan takes another bite of his banana and tomato bagel whilst subconsciously grinning, crumbs cascading down his whiskery, powder-ridden chin, settling like snowflakes on his T-Shirt emblazoned with the logo, “Too cool for school, but I went anyway”. He had it all, he had written some of the greatest songs in history, but could not beat his addiction to salted, buttered, frozen popcorn. The Betty Ford clinic had thrown everything they knew at him, including socks, rocks, frocks and clocks – but he blocks, absorbs the shocks and takes all the knocks… the wily old fox.
Beer and pretzels rained down on the aging songsmith and he poked his tongue out lazily, catching splashes of the amber fluid whilst the pretzels bounced on the wooden floor as if jiving to some invisible music played on a fiddle by the devil himself. Naturally, there was nothing Bob could do apart from fade in and out of view repeatedly except to those looking at him through windows of their souls. He opened his grimy mouth, as if to speak, and twenty-thousand ears craned skyward, listening intently for any wisdom Bob may choose to deliver, but all they heard was the sound of a mosquito scratching its arse intently, a grasshopper humming ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ in its sleep and a small, silent, pronounced belch from the great man himself, which smelled of Feta cheese… and that was it. The show was over before it had even begun. The crowd were disappointed, naturally, but everyone agreed that it was distinctly preferable to most of the other live performances Bob had given in 2011.
Bob Dylan will be appearing at a venue near YOU! But I honestly wouldn’t bother. He’s a bit shit live. But infinitely better than dead.