It had all the makings of a magical night: good beer, good people, peak views and an iconic musician.

If you’ve never seen Bob Dylan in concert, don’t. Unless it’s free. This sexagenarian, whose last CD was unnervingly good, was the second worst concert I’ve had the displeasure of attending. (The first being another icon in another unbelievable setting, the tempermental but talented Van Morrison in Dublin.)

Someone, it seems, has been scraping Mr. Dylan’s vocal chords with a nail file. He’s hoarse and, as always, unintelligble. Add to that uninspired or indifferent–we weren’t close enough to the stage for me to tell. Oh yeah, then it started raining.

So we left. Good thing I’m in Telluride or I’d be pissed.

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