Bob Dylan: Rough and not so rowdy

Bob Dylan began his worldwide “Rough and Rowdy Ways” tour in 2021 and finished with a big finale in April of 2025. That is, until he started the tour back up again in March of 2026.

One of the focuses for the second part of this tour is to perform in smaller, more intimate venues as opposed to large arenas. Each performance is strictly phone-free to create a focused audience and encourage living in the moment.

Almost certainly, there was cause for local surprise when Dylan’s performance in Sioux Falls at the Washington Pavilion on March 22 was announced — only the second performance of the revived tour, which will run through the end of July.

Audience members came from far and wide to hear Dylan’s powerful words and harmonica-playing. Some fans moved slowly, wearing leather jackets, boots and silver hair. Others, much younger, seemed to channel their inner Timothée Chalamet as they fixed their curly mullets before turning in their iPhones.

One woman in the front row who appeared to be around 40 admitted that she flew from Washington state to watch the first two performances of the tour. She watched the film “A Complete Unknown” when it came out a year ago and started listening to Dylan’s music.

“Try not to faint when he walks on!” she exclaimed as the lights dimmed.

The staging was minimal. Two ghost lights lit the stage, creating a warm hue that washed over the band, which was situated 20 or 30 feet away from the edge of the stage. Two guitarists, one bassist and a drummer laid a beat and melody before Dylan mosied onto the stage from behind a curtain.

All 5 feet 7 inches of him sat at an electric piano just as far back as the rest of the band, wearing black tracksuit pants, dress shoes and a yellow windbreaker with the hood up over a black baseball cap. It seemed almost deliberately casual.

Dylan sang his songs one after the other with no introductions or interactions with the audience — not even a nod or smile to accept roaring applause.

Dylan's music played live was dramatically slower than it sounds on his studio albums — altered almost to the point of being unrecognizable. Veteran concert-goers know to bring earplugs, but the songs were much softer than anticipated and did not call for hearing protection.

Some interpreted it as reinvention while others felt alienated or disappointed. His choices could be interpreted as a reinvention of sorts, but the risk of leaving the audience disappointed was also a possibility.

After playing a few songs from his newest album, including “I Contain Multitudes” and “Black Rider,” Dylan began to fiddle with his microphone, turning it away from his mouth. The audience could no longer hear what he was saying.

During the next break for applause, a couple of confident audience members spoke up.

“Turn up the vocals!”

“We can’t hear you, Bob!”

“I love you, Bob!”

Either Dylan didn’t hear, or he didn’t care — for the rest of the concert, his words were muddled and mostly unintelligible.

The audio technician from the side of the stage did the best he could to amplify Dylan’s microphone, but Dylan kept turning it away.

Whether the issues were a result of Dylan’s indifference or an intentional artistic choice, the audience’s outbursts communicated that they were unhappy with the experience.

Nevertheless, the band played on, but not without some harsh side eyes from Dylan as if he were saying “not my tempo.”

This made his concert feel less performative and more as though the audience was looking in on something not meant to be seen. It felt like watching a rehearsal as opposed to a concert.

After Dylan played his last song, he walked to the front of the stage to accept applause. He stood straight-faced for a few seconds before turning around and disappearing behind the curtain.

The audience clapped and hollered for what felt like a century until the lights turned on and reality set in: no encore.

Though dissatisfied, the audience remained polite. They were hesitant to criticize because of Dylan’s profound legacy.

“Well, what did you think of that?” one woman asked.

“I think I need some time to digest it,” another replied.

The fact that the audience was so upset they couldn’t hear him sing is a testament to Dylan’s songwriting — he wrote words people care about hearing. Fans had a desire to believe in the performance and to believe that there was artistry and authenticity at work, even when there was room to believe it was just a lack of effort.

Dylan is a lifelong musician whose words shaped generations, and he’s still attracting new followers today. But when fans are willing to write off a disappointing performance because he’s a living legend, does that make him artistic, or does it make him arrogant?

On the way home — whether it be down the street or in Washington state — audience members asked themselves if legacy can really compensate for a lack of care and intention.