On Shonda Rhimes, and Standing at the Bob Dylan Concert

I just read Shonda Rhimes’ book “Year of Yes,” after hearing her talk about it on Oprah’s SuperSoul podcast. It’s about taking a year to say “yes” to more experiences and opportunities. Also, part of it is about learning to say “yes” to saying “no.” (So basically, how to say “no”). And I was able to apply that lesson yesterday…

Last night, I went to see Bob Dylan at the Beacon Theatre. It was my 7th time seeing him perform, and my 3rd consecutive time in the front row (because once you sit in the front row, you can’t go back. At that point, you’re Front Row Jones, and you just have to accept the fact that Bob Dylan is your drug).

I love sitting in the front row for Dylan, because if you lean forward just a little and block out the people sitting opposite you, it’s like stepping into this magical world where you’re the only one there, and he’s performing just for you.

I also love that at all Dylan shows, there is a hard-and-fast rule that you cannot use your cell phone or take any photos. It’s genius. At most concerts, everyone has their phone out and is watching the whole thing through a tiny screen, trying to capture a moment that they’re already there for. I admit that I do it too, to an extent — I’ll usually just try to snap one good photo and then put it away, but even that’s distracting, because you’re thinking about when to do it, if the photo’s good enough, should I take a quick video…? At Dylan concerts, no — they will kick you out. It allows you to just turn the phone off and *experience* the show first-hand. So to turn around and witness a sea of people watching a concert with their eyeballs — is amazing.

Anyway, the show opened with Mavis Staples, who is so fun and high energy — she banters with the crowd, she sets up all her songs, she wants the audience to participate. In that way, she’s a perfect complement to Dylan.

Dylan walks out, goes straight to work. He stands behind the piano, and launches right into “Things Have Changed.” No banter. No hello. No goodbye. At the end of the concert, the lights go down, and he and his band gather in the center of the stage. The lights come back up and Dylan stands and strikes a series of poses, hand on hip, one leg pointed out. Then the lights go back down, and he’s gone.

Dylan doesn’t say a word to you, he only sings them.

And he sounded great last night. Maybe the best I’ve heard his voice. I think all his recent albums of Frank Sinatra covers have helped — when he sings those, you can tell he really cares about hitting those notes, and hearing those lyrics. If I had to guess, it’s because in his mind, he’s borrowing those songs — they’re not his, and you sense he wants to leave them the way he found them. As opposed to his own songs, which he freely alters, changing the tempo, the style, the cadence, and in some cases, like “Tangled Up In Blue,” the words.

But he had all his vocal mannerisms working last night — the snarl of the lyric “out on Highway 61,” the gentle croak of “Why Try to Change Me Now,” the classic Dylan nasal phrasing in his slowed-down ragtime version of “Blowin’ in the Wind” that changes the word “in” to “eeeeeeeen.” He also did “Desolation Row” and closed with “Ballad of a Thin Man,” which were both amazing.

Now, hold on, I’m about to get to my Year of Yes thing…

Dylan has three main positions on stage.

1. Standing at the Mic. For his more recent Sinatra covers, he’ll cross over to center stage, grab the mic stand and dip it like it’s his dance partner, then carefully coo into it like he’s a ’50s crooner.

2. Standing Behind the Piano. For his more upbeat songs, he’ll stand behind the piano — backlit, so the lights shine through his hair like his Greatest Hits album cover, creating an artificial halo. It’s also funny seeing his upper torso and his legs separated by the body of the piano, because they’re doing two totally different things. It’s almost like one of those video editing tricks, where the top panel is a doddering senior citizen banging staccato notes on the keys, but the bottom panel is the frenetic dancing legs of a much younger man.

3. Sitting at the Piano. For his slower songs, he’ll sit behind the piano. And this is where my “Year of Saying Yes to Saying No” comes in…

When he’s sitting, the people in the first few rows cannot see him. All you see is a tuft of hair bobbing up and down from behind the piano. During his second song, “It Ain’t Me, Babe,” he sits down. So I stand up to see him, expecting many others in front to follow suit. But save for a few, no one does. A minute into the song, I hear someone say “Sit down!” I turn and see this couple, motioning angrily for me to sit. I hate confrontation, so I sit. And I watch hair. And I’m pretty mad. And I shouldn’t be mad — I’m seeing my favorite artist of all time from the front row — this should be a joyous experience. So I decide then and there to say “yes” to saying “no” to sitting down. If standing up is the difference between watching 3 inches of hair and seeing actual words come out of Bob Dylan’s face, then hell yes I’m gonna stand up!

So the next time he sits at the piano, a few songs later, I stand up, and I make a conscious decision to enjoy myself and to not care what the people behind me think. Because they can stand up too. And they should stand up! Everyone should stand up! If they’re anything like me, they paid a shit-ton of money to see Bob Dylan, so you’d think they’d actually want to *see* him.

When Dylan sat for “Tangled Up In Blue,” I stood again, and the man sitting to my left (who brought binoculars to his seat in the front row) tapped me and said “I can’t see when you’re standing” so I motioned to him, “then stand up,” and he groaned and said “there’s people behind you too,” so I shook my head “no” and again motioned that they are more than welcome to stand up. It’s Bob fucking Dylan and he’s playing “Tangled Up In Blue” — if you can’t get up for that, why are you here?

But he sits. Most sit for the entirety of the show, until Dylan leaves and they stand up and cheer for him to come back out for an encore so they can sit down again.

Me, I give Dylan a standing ovation after every song. Most of the time, I’m the only one. But I don’t care. He’s Bob Dylan. I will honor and respect him. I’m sure he doesn’t see me stand, and I doubt he’d care, but he’s old and it always might be the last time you see him, and I want to show how much I love him. And I enjoyed the hell out of the rest of the show, all because I said “yes” to saying “no.”

***

After the show, on the way out of the venue, I was talking to one of the other fans who actually stood and enjoyed themselves during the show. Turns out there’s a whole cadre of Dylan fans who travel from all over the world to see his shows. I thought I had seen a lot of shows at 7 — most of these fans have seen over 100! They invited me to a nearby bar, where they all meet after the NYC shows and talk about Bob. Normally I’d pass, but since this is the Year of Yes, I went. I met Dylan fans from everywhere from Rhode Island to Canada to Sweden. You’d probably think “Wow, these people must not have much of a life if they’ve seen this many Dylan shows.” But it’s quite the opposite. I met people who travel to India twice a year to help underprivileged children, I met teachers, I met one woman who told a beautiful story: she gave up her son for adoption when she was 14, and then two decades later, looked him up and found him — she reached out to the parents, not knowing what to expect, but the parents were welcoming and loving and non-threatened, said they’ve been thinking about her every day, and that she had given them the most amazing gift with her son. Since then, she has reconnected with her son (also a Dylan fan), and he sends her Mother’s Day cards, and her two younger kids are now friends with him, and it’s like having two families. And now she works with adopted children and birth parents to facilitate connections and manage expectations.

I wouldn’t have met these amazing Bob Dylan fans if I hadn’t said “yes.” And I wouldn’t have enjoyed the Bob Dylan concert if I hadn’t said “no.” And as with most things in life, it’s all thanks to Shonda Rhimes.