Ravaged In The Corn - Reviews
A POWERFUL SINGER
Bob Dylan walked on to the stage and sang at Festival Hall last night without any preliminaries. In a black and brown bold patterned tweed suit with blue and white polka-dotted shirt he looked so young, so slight, white-faced and sad.
Singing through his teeth in the nasal voice familiar from his records, his head to one side, blinking, but straight-faced, he hardly moved.
The singer and songwriter from Minnesota, who has won world acclamation, seemed a boy of dreams - some of them sour - and fragility.
His use of words and stress on the unexpected is impressive and contrasts with the piercing harshness of his harmonica, which he played together with the guitar.
In sharp contrast to the first half, his second half of the programme introduced Melbourne to his invention, folk-rock, with a great blast of noise.
Like a marionette, his now-mobile face framed by all that fine hair, Dylan strutted and stomped and obviously enjoyed himself despite the hostility he poured out, particularly when he took to the piano for 'Something's Happening And You Don't Know What It Is, Do You Mr. Jones?'.
[the Age, April 20, 1966]
IT'S DYLAN THE DEVASTATING
by Howard Palmer
Place: Festival Hall Show: Bob Dylan
Bob Dylan is a challenge to the previous generation; he is the independence of the new generation, with no declaration. Take it or leave it. He doesn't care.
He is the poet of his generation, and as such had to look around for the most effective host to support his art and spread it about. With profit.
He has foud all this by attaching art (and his words are part of the expression of art) to the popular din and the magic pass-key to acceptance - the guitar.
Bob Dylan cares as little for these hosts he inhabits as he does for opposition or criticism.
His writing (his songs) show a deep understanding of human motives. It is ruthless - cutting, but not cruel.
It simply is.
He does not explain, excuse, accuse or take any stand. He observes and states. No comment.
Which makes him devastating when you can hear his windy, nasal voice.
In the first half of the programme he is alone and you hear everything, for the silence is so intense as to be felt. Only Brubeck had this silence.
The second half is all din.
His sincerity creates a tension, so that he becomes precious, and this is his only vulnerable point.
[Melbourne Sun, April 20?, 1966]
BOB DYLAN DESTROYS HIS LEGEND IN MELBOURNE
CONCERT STRICTLY DULLSVILLE
Alone on stage for an hour duration of the first half - which incidentally was over a quarter of an hour late in commencing - Dylan monotonously and untunefully slowly belted out his numbers, accompanying himself on a guitar and harmonica. The harmonica playing was the best part of his act.
His manner towards his audience bordered on insolence. More than once he had a fit of spluttering and coughing, which he seemed to delight in doing right into the mike...
[on the second half... ]
The sound of the organ lent a sweetness to the music, that made pleasurable listening. And Dylan's voice, half-drowned by the backing, didn't seem so bad. And one could also hear the words.
But he annoyed the audience by taking time to tune up on the guitars so that on two occasions he received a slow handclap... Throughout his performance, considering the number of people present, the applause was lukewarm, and there were no requests for encores at the end. In fact, Dylan left the stage without [??] - and no-one seemed bothered about this. The performance caught was on the second night. It's understood that at the opening performance there was considerable booing from the audience.
[Variety, April ? 1966]
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