why not having a plan is the best policy

I have had a near perfect vacation.

Friday night post-Peter-getting-out-of-work we headed wa-ay north to the G&T. Despite a late start and briefly getting lost in the deep woods it was a worthwhile trip. In fact it was so relaxing and fun there was a brief discussion regarding skipping the whole Dylan business despite someone constantly attempting to bait the liberals. Not really. But we did lose track of time for awhile there on Saturday. Thankfully, Mama Amy gently reminded us it was 2:30pm and we should probably head out. Sigh.

It was a long and quiet trip back down 131. Just when it seemed we'd never get there our exit appeared. A brief moment of scrambling and the next thing I know we're parking. A minor setback occurred when I realized I'd left the tickets in my wallet in the car, but we safely nagivated the stairs, the security, and we entered the stadium.

We just stood there.
Not moving.
Taking it all in.

(An aside: for those of you not familiar with the events, this was a momumental occasion. I spent the majority of my life not really caring for Dylan--okay, I hated him--. Though technically I saw him open for the Dead in 1995, I was far from a fan. The past year and a half was spent gently introducing me to his music. When the date was first announced for the show I didn't think I was going to be able to make it. And then I could.)

So here we stood. A few minutes passed and we were finally able to move and purchase huge adult beverages and sit along the top row of the stadium in the shade and wait for one of the many opening acts to take the stage.

We were standing in the sun when Elana James and the Continental Two came out. I turned to my partner in crime and said something about how well we could see them from way up there. And then she started to sing. Despite the 80 degree temperatures, the minute that woman opened her mouth I immediately got goosebumps. We looked at each other and took off for the field. If you like Old Crow Medicine Show, you'd love them. If you like rockabilly, you'd love them. If you like 1930s American music, you'd love them. If you like what's on Prairie Home Companion, you'd love them (kevdek, seriously, you are missing out my friend!) It was so good it was lump-in-the-throatish-good. And the sound from the field was so far superior to the sound in the stands.

After an exhilarating (but entirely too short!) set, we headed back up to get some more drinks and sit some more. We had no idea who was coming out next and I was thinking that no matter who it was it wouldn't come close to what we'd just heard.

Wrong.wrong.wrong.wrong.wrong.

All it took was Junior Brown and his wacky looking guitar to come out and we headed back down to the field. Between Highway Patrol and My Wife Thinks You're Dead, I had a swell time. Though the Village Voice has compared him to Jimi Hendrix (whhhhaaaaaa???) he had a nice Johnny Cash quality that I really got into. Plus that guitar is just straight up crazy.

After that set we decided it was time to take a sweep of the place and look for Mr. Fatty and Ms. Maddie. Imagine our surprise to turn the corner and head up the stairs and see an unexpected familiar face: the Trav! A moment of spontenaity led he and Scoot (a shout-out for driving my neighbor safely there and back!) to pick up tickets at the last minute. I was actually going to call him during the Dylan set ala him calling me during shows to remind me what I'm missing out on. Now knowing that Travis was there and would be able to spend hours post-show talking about every minute detail made me that much happier. We said goodbye and continued on our quest.

To no avail. I knew there was no way we could have missed him as he would have "wielded Maddie like a beacon" for all of us to see. Having the most adorable child in the world on your shoulders is a surefire way to make sure your friends find you in crowd. Ah well. It would have been extraspecial to see my first Dylan show at the age of 31 and for it to be Maddie's first show at the age of 5. Sorry you two missed it.

Jimmie Vaughn was next. Eh. Just not my thing. It's straight up good blues, but I was more a fan of the previous acts. We did head down to the field again though to start the oh-so-important manuevering for Dylan. It was fine. It was good even. Just not for me.

I'm going to take a wee break and head downstairs to make some lasagna (thanks to Travis for allowing me the use of his computer to write this monster here!) to be shared amongst the compound. I need sustanance to get me through the rest.

Okay. Lasagna in the oven. Glass of wine in hand. Here we go.

Before I launch into Dylan actually taking the stage let me say one thing about the crowd: Eclectic. Kids under the age of 12 were in for free. So there were kids and families. Cool. Never in my life have I been around so many men of all ages interested in fashion. I cannot tell you how many times I heard "Nice shirt, man!" Vintage Dylan shirts were everywhere. I actually commented on this little observation only to have it come back to haunt me. Whilst making the brazillionth trip up the stairs I was stopped by a middle aged man asking where I got my "Marlo Thomas t-shirt." I was wearing my Free to Be You and Me shirt I shamefully picked up at Old Navy many moons ago. I came clean though it was suggested I say I picked it up at a swap. There were only 2 instances during the show I had a problem with obnoxious drunks and only one was irritating enough for me to contemplate resorting to violence. Thankfully the husbands of the offenders carted them away from the sweet spot I was in.

So Jimmie Vaughn leaves the stage and the wait begins. When the guy tuning the guitars came out, everyone cheered. When the banner behind the stage was unfurled, everyone cheered. I was just about getting sick and tired of waiting (I actually considered throwing out my more than 2/3 full frozen margarita I was getting so impatient!) when the sounds of Fanfare to the Common Man can be heard over the speakers. Once again I found myself with chills. And then laughing. How perfect that a 20th century American musical icon is introducing a 20th century American musical icon! I knew ahead of time that this was how he starts his shows so it wasn't as if it were a surprise. What was a surprise was the followup: the Hoedown from Rodeo. That was quickly followed by the standard hilarious introduction which was, of course, even better to hear live than has been described to me countless times in the past year and a half.

I was told by many many people that not only would I be disappointed in Dylan's performance (you won't be able to understand him or he looks like a walking corpse or it's just the same thing he's been doing forever or his band is probably going to suck) as a newbie I probably wouldn't know even a third of the songs. Granted, it was a safe setlist, but I am proud to say I was familiar with all but 1.

Here is the list of the gloriousness I heard.

I'm not going to go into every song. I honestly don't think I'm educated enough in the Dylan to have formed an intelligent opinion on what I heard. But here are some of my favorite memories.

Maggie's Farm: solid (and I finished off that unwanted margarita before it was over).
Times They Are A-Changing: Didn't recognize it at first (my first introduction to how different his arrangements are live) but loved it.
Tweedledee and Tweedledum: Was told months ago (when discussing Modern Times) that when the track list for Love and Theft was released Peter got concerned. Love and Theft is standard listening for me at work. I loved hearing it.
It's Alright, Ma: Hell. Just good. Just.good.
Just Like a Woman: For some reason I had the overwhelming urge to call Trav during this song despite me knowing he was somewhere in the crowd.
Cold Iron Bounds: I was stumped. The one that tripped me up completely.
Shelter From the Storm: Of course, being a newbie, Blood on the Tracks is one of my favorite albums. This is one of my favorite songs. And the musical arrangement? Slowed down and perfect. One of the highlights as this was also the time I looked up and realized the stars were out in full force. And I, Erin Davison, was at my first Bob Dylan concert.
Masters of War: Perfectly political for a political gal.
From here on out I was in full enjoyment, rocking out, dancing mode. The encore was what I expected and perfect.

I'm not going to lie. I knew he hasn't played guitar in a long time on stage. Yet everytime he walked away from the keyboards I prayed to myself "Pickupaguitarpickupaguitarpickupaguitar." Alas, it was not to be.

For all ye naysayers all I can say is that you were 100% wrong. His enunciation was dead-on. He was animated and dare I say joyful and grinning. His band was perfect. I left that show craving more. I think it was only fitting that we drove from Grand Rapids to the Sandbar: the place I really grew to appreciate Dylan on the jukebox and where countless conversation about him have taken place.

The rest of my vacation has been pretty darn good. Sunday night we went upstairs and post-showed the bejeezus out of it and watched a $5.00 bootleg video Peter picked up of a show from 1992. Monday I slept in, went grocery shopping (!!!!) and then went for a hike in the Dunes with Kari where we saw the cutest baby raccoon sleeping in a tree right next to the trail. Everyone knows how much I love baby aminals. Today I puttered about. Did as much as the Times crossword puzzle as I could, made some hopefully killer lasagna, and spent an insane amount of time up here writing this thing.

I also found out that Old Crow Medicine Show is playing in Detroit on my birthday.

Happy Birthday to me!