It's Bob Dylan being Dylan at Seattle's Moore Theatre

Concert Review |

To paraphrase Donald Rumsfeld, you go to a Bob Dylan concert for the Bob Dylan you have, not the Bob Dylan you might want or wish to have at a later time.

The Dylan that played the Moore Theatre last night was maybe not the ideal Dylan, but the sold-out, standing-room crowd embraced him anyway. The freewheelin' Dylan, the Highway 61 Dylan, the "Desire" Dylan — they're not the current Dylan, an aged outlaw magician dressed like Zorro's dad in black-on-black coat and pants and wide-brim hat, incomparable to the Dylan of however many decades ago.

This Dylan is 68 years old with a teenager's hips who saunters out from behind his keyboard to strike Bobby Darin poses, knees locked, body swiveled, right arm reaching out like holding expectations at bay. This is a Dylan who grins as if his 100-minute set were his own private joke; who blasts short, bluesy bursts of harmonica or tears into a surprisingly deft guitar solo; who doesn't sing but instead sort of croak-raps, arriving late to his verses and then rushing through them, turning up the inflection at the end of every line like a carnival barker. The one thing in common between this Dylan and all the others: He performs on his own terms, unflinching, deadpan, inscrutable. This is the Dylan you have.

The Moore seemed happy enough just to be in his presence. The 1,870-seat venue's intimacy was inherently momentous, clouding better judgment for what was an uneven show. (He plans to move his act to the larger WaMu Theatre for a second show tonight.)

Dylan opened at the Moore by unpacking a rare, 30-year old cut, "Gonna Change My Way of Thinking," from his first gospel album, "Slow Train Coming." Backed by a crack quintet, including Texas-born ace guitarist Charlie Sexton, he spent the next half-hour doling out rote boogie blues jams — tight, sure, but the Highway 99 Blues Club is equally so on any given Tuesday.

The bar-band fundamentals thrilled some — air guitar and catcalls during a sped-up juke joint version of "Don't Think Twice It's Alright"? — but the set really hit stride midway, when the band downshifted into a far more interesting pace for a trio of latter-period numbers. "Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum," "High Water" and "Not Dark Yet" were languid and aching, but again here was the problem: Those wished-for Dylans span emotions and eras. Dylan now only brings Dylan now, the wily soulman grifter that didn't embody the sadness of "Not Dark Yet." He had a limited range last night. Maybe, in concert, he always has.

That range was most apropos on the wordy, jive-slinging songs from "Highway 61 Revisited," Dylan's 1965 electrified opus. There was no denying the thrill of the title track, "Ballad of a Thin Man," and "Like a Rolling Stone." These songs brought the band to its peak. The crowd, too — noisy and adoring. Dylan is more enigma now than he's ever been, and we love him for it, a lesson in appreciating genius wherever you find it.