Bob Dylan
Sarà Dylan a mostrare la strada, parola di Lennon

The generation that follows Bob? Probably doesn't exist. However, wisely, it can be said that nostalgic and new fans—Dylan is certainly one of the intergenerational artists who continues to expand the army of admirers over the years—are eagerly waiting for him. Yet the fear that there might be a hint of disappointment at the expected festivity, or that emotional discomfort might surface during this eagerly awaited event, creeps into one's mind. Not because of the notes, the technique, the professionalism of the band that accompanies Mr. Tambourine. No. Not even for the light show that will illuminate the greatest prophet/troubadour of the millennium which now, behind, lies with its burden of progress and reckless wars. The disappointment and discomfort could arise, paradoxically, precisely from the strong personality of the legendary Bob. It's his way of being a poet that puts the listener on alert; it's his typical way that makes you anxious or excited. Those who have seen him in the past already know how he presents himself and how he interacts. The character, for everyone, is what it is: however improvable, the imprint is unique. Take it or leave it. In the case of Bob Dylan, there is no debate: take it. One can already imagine his debut among the ruins of Caracalla. Maybe the stage will be a bit bare. It will be dark. At first, just a few small spotlights. And here he is.

He will confer for a moment with his musicians for a final tune. Verbally or with a guitar chord. He'll turn his back on the Blowin' in the Wind audience and the much more recent one of Shadows in the Night. His famous voice, matured and soured by months and years, protests and visions embedded in the lyrics of his songs, will not utter a greeting or a word.

The gaze fixed on a distant landscape and then the first notes sung by a bell hung on the tower of time. It will still, and finally, be a great concert.

In short, an act balanced between passion and faith. Faith in a priest of folk. At least and at the beginning of his career, it was folk. Then, rightfully, he climbed the electric climates of the Stratocasters—after all, he had limited himself only to folk for practical reasons, that is, he couldn't afford an electric guitar—problem overcome with success.

The hypothesis of the concert's progression is of course supported by the experience his fans have of past concerts. Certainly, in the 90s and in Rome, his voice was less acidic and broken. The venues were the Palasport, the Sala di Santa Cecilia, the cavea of the Auditorium. However, although the 90s seem distant, much more deeply buried in time is January 5th, 1963. At that moment and also in Rome, precisely at the Folk Studio on Via Garibaldi, Bob Dylan, even there, expressed himself with little clamor but great talent. From that period, his style has undergone extraordinary changes. He has transitioned from folk to blues, to reach the electric Newport sound, continuing through country, and in recent times, even arriving at Frank Sinatra's style. On June 29th, therefore, in Caracalla, awaits the man of whom Lennon said: "It will be Dylan to show the way."