“What was it you wanted? Tell me again so I’ll know. What’s happening in there? What’s going on in your show?”

I began attending Dylan concerts in 1989 and of all the bands I’ve seen him with my favorite was the one with Charlie Sexton and Larry Campbell. After those guys left I still enjoyed the shows, but missed having a great soloist to kick the music into a higher gear.

So, for this concert, I was looking forward to finally catching Sexton back on lead guitar. The funny thing is that even after almost thirty Dylan concerts, I can still forget that he doesn’t fulfill expectations. The concert began and I realized I wasn’t going to get what I wanted. Sexton sounded good, but he was lying back, mostly playing fills. It didn’t sound as if he was going to be tearing into any white-hot guitar solos. I was disappointed, but then as I continued to listen I discovered that what Dylan was spontaneously creating was even more satisfying. It’s never what you expect it to be, but is good in its own way.

The stand-out soloist I’d longed for wasn’t Sexton, but Dylan himself. Throughout the night, often right in the middle of songs, he would move between harp, keys, electric guitar and grand piano. Whatever he played became the lead instrument. His grand piano especially was easily twice as loud as the other instruments on the stage.

The band would begin a new song as the audience was still hollering and quickly settle into a blues shuffle. Dylan would sing a line (his singing more percussive, than emotive) and then lean towards the audience and give us a smile as if we’re all in on the same joke. I’ve never seen him smile so much. He was obviously having a ball.

After the first verse (or sometimes the second) he’d then begin experimenting. He would play these daring, three-note (three-chord?) repetitive, almost-bizarre, “Alladin Sane” notes which almost made sense in the same way that “the motorcycle black Madonna two-wheeled gypsy queen…” almost makes sense. That unique, vertical Dylan-logic was at work and a few times the music seemed to breakdown, but most of the time Sexton would find a chord progression that bridged what Dylan was playing to the rest of the band. At the moments when everyone came together, Dylan would give a nod of approval and then, as soon as the next idea struck him, go off in still another direction. It made for some compelling music which felt like alchemy.

I’m not even sure if what Dylan was doing was soloing. He was creating entirely new music on the fly and his band had to stay on their toes. They were earning their pay. Dylan was the point man with his band fanned out, each one locked in and watching and listening for each cue. In the past it appeared that bass player, Tony Garnier was leading the band, giving them their cues while Dylan floated around. Now Dylan was in complete control.

At one point, he gave Sexton (who looked like an emaciated, hipster, car-jacker from the future) the nod to take the big solo. Sexton took a little startled step forward and began to solo, but just a couple of bars in Dylan cut him off with his piano. Sexton, looking unfazed, went immediately back into the riff. Later, when Dylan was center stage, playing his harp, he gave Sexton an appreciative slap on his shoulder. I don’t know if this had anything to do with the aborted solo, it was just obvious that there was no holding Dylan back from playing what he felt like playing.

When I arrived at the show (Fargo if you’ve never been there, is a Northern, railroad town with saloons, clean sidewalks and well-kept, brick buildings) Dylan’s bus was parked on the side of the arena. Six or seven fans were there and as I walked up they excitedly informed me that I’d just missed Dylan. Our hero had exited his bus, crossed the sidewalk and entered the arena through a side door. One young guy said that after the sound check Dylan would probably reappear so he could eat his dinner on his bus before the show.

I understand what it is to be a Dylan fan and of harboring the fantasy of meeting him, somehow hitting it off and becoming his friend. But it didn’t feel right to stand around on the sidewalk outside his tour bus. I didn’t want to hassle Dylan who’s just trying to do his job and I’m sure he doesn’t want fans calling to him while he’s eating. So, I didn’t wait around. I moved on. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever meet Dylan, but if I do, I’m not going to ask him for a picture or an autograph. I’m not going to ask him for anything. He’s already given us all so much, right?