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Marco Kunz performs Bob Dylan, live on stage, 10/25/05
The stage lights go on,
you're looking directly at the big ear of the old man,
he stands, slightly knee-bended,
grabs hold of the keyboard (it nearly seems like that),
then he kicks off, he sings, he grooves: "I ain't gonna work ...
on Maggies Farm no more ... "
no, not really singing - vibrating boulders;
then he wispers with high voice, then he smiles and seesaws -
what is he doing?
Well, what he always did: alienate –
Listen, thousands can do nice singing but THIS HERE only I can do -
the hall is under his command, he's taking the harmonica,
he's dancling to the center stage,
the tousled-wrinkled harlequin, with his black hat and black jacket,
he's already been a rocker,
a minstrel with white makeup on,
a gospel-parson,
the voice of protest,
the guru of The Beatles how long ago?
and now that one here, there, today, live, in person,
and nothing to do with nostalgia, no revival no lighter pan to "blowing in the wind"
why? Because he's not a pop-star
and sawing up one more chorus again
the artist is not the one who's functioning
The crowd is boiling, demands on him,
who, pokerface, loooks into space to the applause,
at departure the old man seems to wink