Ladies and Gentlemen, the Poet Laureate of Rock'n'Roll (and other bullshit)

So, the short version is: I'm watching Bob Dylan play, and his people have issued a very stern edict that no photos may be taken of Mr. Dylan, at all, by anyone. I didn't intend to take any, until I saw the house security people actually going into the crowd to yell at people to put down their cell phone cameras OR ELSE. It was totally absurd. BD was 50 yards from the closest barricade, and his tour manager guy was pointing out teenage hippies for the security folks to shake down. I couldn't resist.

The first couple of shots are of the JumboTron and the utter cock of a security guard who yelled at a very sweet young kid with a camera. The others are from the other side of the stage, and are significant not only because they're kind of out of focus (though still better than the AP or Reuters wire photos, which were clearly snagged from the same spot), but because they were snapped within five feet of the guy who was leading the charge to intimidate the people in the crowd who wanted to get a little snap of their hero to post on their blog.

Dicks.

Oh yeah, Dylan was great. He can't sing anymore and the new arrangements of his songs (incl. Maggie's Farm, Hwy 61 Revisited, Don't Think Twice, Like a Rolling Stone, Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues, Positively 4th Street, All Along the Watchtowr) were so boogie/swing-ed out that you could be forgiven for thinking he was making fun of himself, there's just no denying his irreducible Dylanness. He really seemed to be enjoying himself. That matters. And he didn't play "Down in the Flood," which seemed like an obvious choice. He never makes the obvious choice. Even now.