My senses have been stripped

"A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between he does what he wants to do."

I’m not a huge fan of the word enigma, especially when related to a person. Surely there are enough adjectives in the English language to describe anyone, everyone? But I’ve spent the last 20 hours trying to think of a better word and I’ve failed.

Bob Dylan is an enigma.

I saw him last night for the first time and I’m yet to stop smiling, yet to come down from my high.

Bob can’t sing. He never could. Now at the age of 65 he really can’t sing. He has little stage presence; he doesn’t speak at all during the show except to introduce his band. No hellos, no thank-yous, no goodnights. He didn’t play his guitar last night instead he almost hid behind his little keyboard, harmonica glinting in the top pocket of his black suit. Under his black hat his lined face barks out the lyrics, his poems, so familiar but sounding so different live. If the show had been on the radio many people would have turned off.

None of that matters though. Not a jot. Last night I stood only yards away from Bob Dylan – Bob fuckin Dylan – while he sang Maggie’s Farm, Stuck Inside of Mobile, Like a Rolling Stone, All Along The Watchtower….. & many, many more.

My love is undiminished. It is stronger. It is renewed. I can guarantee that winamp will be playing nothing but Bob for at least a fortnight. Seriously, everyone, listen to Uncle Phy, if Bob comes to your country, make the effort.

Bob Dylan.

Enigma.

Legend.