Boston Herald
July 12, 2007
by Christopher Blagg
No, Bob Dylan didn’t make a surprise appearance at the Bank of America Pavilion Tuesday night. Confusion is understandable considering a good third of Ratdog’s set highlighted tunes by the legendary songwriter. For at least one night, Bob Weir’s post-Grateful Dead project transformed into the Bob Dylan Rolling Revue.
Dylan covers aren’t new for Ratdog, but on this night Weir, who once again sported his Wild West handlebar moustache/ beard, must have been feeling particularly keen on Mr. Zimmerman. After opening with Weir’s own “Feel Like a Stranger” and the jug band stomp of “New Minglewood Blues,” Weir ambled into Dylan’s sweet midtempo ballad “She Belongs to Me.” You just don’t hear jam bands or any kind of improvisatory rock bands play ballads anymore.
It was also nice to see Weir unafraid of tackling tunes historically associated with his old running buddy, ripping into Jerry Garcia’s moaning blues tune “Loser” and the Stax-styled soul workout “Loose Lucy.” The latter mobilized the devoted crowd packing the Pavilion into fits , stoking the fires of nostalgia for the graying Deadheads swarming the floor.
The Dylan tribute kicked into high gear halfway through the show, with Weir strapping on an acoustic guitar for a rousing interpretation of “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.” Opening act Keller Williams then joined the band to trade verse with Weir on the back-porch bump and shout of Dylan’s classic “Quinn the Eskimo.” The centerpiece of the set also featured Dylan, with the rock ’n’ soul boogie of “Silvio’ providing ample space for Weir and his cohorts to stretch out and do what jam bands do best.
Despite all the Dylan worship, the night’s highlight found Ratdog in Crescent City mode, with the New Orleans street beat of “Iko Iko” eliciting rabid call-and-response participation from the crowd.
Though billed as an opening act, Williams played the part of co-headliner, as his “opening” set lasted more than 90 minutes. Williams did his usual goofy humor, frenzied guitar looping shtick for the crowd, but after a while all the tricks and toys began to get show-offy and tiresome. There’s a reason why Weir is still playing to thousands of people well into his 60s. It’s called melody, and if Williams wants to play until his Social Security checks start coming in, he’d better learn to write one.
