Even afore he took the date to abutting out the countdown New American Music Union festival, Bob Dylan casting an awfully ample adumbration over the proceedings. The fest, organized by American Eagle and presented about the bend from their accumulated address in Pittsburgh, featured an all-embracing calendar whose agreeable DNA could all be traced aback to the a lot of American of genres: the blues. It was in the Roots' hard-times alarm and the Black Keys' barn babble on Friday night and in the alehouse body of Spoon, the space-hop of Gnarls Barkley and the able-bodied amphitheatre adduce of the Raconteurs on Saturday. Dylan provided the first-person annual of the aboriginal dejection - a generation-bridging hotlink to the past.
Saturday's highlights included Spoon's set, area Britt Daniel crooned and argument over his band's horn-soaked grooves on "You Got Yr Cherry Bomb," "Don't Make Me a Target" and the always-excellent "I Turn My Camera On." The Raconteurs' continued jams on "Rich Kid Blues," "Blue Veins" and "Top Yourself" were big abundant to ample stadiums, and Jack White bellowed and strutted like a absolutely analgesic frontman. Dylan focused mostly on added contempo actual but alone in stripped-down variations of some of his abstract like "Tangled Up in Blue" and the festival-closing "Like a Rolling Stone." Never acrimonious up a guitar (he mostly played keys) and consistently authoritative jokes to himself, Dylan accepted that he's the best affectionate of old bluesman: a alive outlaw with a amaranthine bag of tricks.
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