Oldchella Delivers – Mostly

By Marc Ballon
Guest Contributor

As a classic rock aficionado, I had struck the proverbial jackpot: I had tickets for Desert Trip, Weekend 2 (Oct. 14 –16), featuring rock royals Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Paul McCartney, the Who and Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters. Three days. Six acts. No filler.

After reading reviews from the festival’s first weekend, my enthusiasm dimmed a bit. The Who, according to critics, played like tired old men. The Rolling Stones’ set list was tired. Roger Waters’ anti-Israel and anti-Trump screeds were tired and predictable. Paul McCartney looked tired in several concert photos.

I feared that the derisive nickname young hipsters had bestowed upon the festival, Oldchella, would prove spot on.

Thankfully, the critics were mostly wrong.

The Rolling Stones performed the best show of the weekend, and possibly the most enjoyable of the over 200 concerts I’ve seen over the past four decades.

From the opening chords of “Jumping Jack Flash,” the Stones rolled. Mick Jagger, history’s youngest 73-year-old frontman, strutted, shimmied and sashayed across the huge stage like an artist one-third his age, all the while hitting even some of the high notes. Charlie Watts anchored the backbeat as well as any drummer in rock, forming a formidable rhythm section with bassist extraordinaire Daryl Jones. As always, the backup singers and horns tastefully rounded out the sound.

For this show, the Stones rejiggered their set list from the previous week’s Desert Trip, replacing good songs with great songs. Out went “Mixed Emotions” and “Out of Control.” In came “Get Off of My Cloud” and “Paint It Black.” The Stones even went deep into their catalogue to pull out “Sweet Virginia” from “Exile On Main Street” and a strong Keith-led vocal on “You Got the Silver.”

On this magical night, the Stones were once again the “World’s Greatest Rock and Roll Band.” From the funk of “Miss You” to the tender balladry of “Angie” to the rock and roll of “Honky Tonk Woman,” this was the Rolling Stones at their finest.

The same couldn’t be said of Bob Dylan or Paul McCartney.

Dylan, rock’s reigning poet laureate, should have turned down the invitation to play Desert Trip. He never spoke to the crowd, rarely looked at it and deconstructed his classic songs to such as extent as to render them unrecognizable. Dylan seemed as miserable as the crowd. Even in his prime, he couldn’t sing. Now, Dylan really can’t. With the exception of cloying rock critics unwilling to end their 50-year love affair with him, most in the audience surely placed Dylan’s show last among the weekend’s performances.

McCartney, unlike Dylan, endeared himself to the 75,000 Baby Boomers on hand with his charming personality, playful mugging and rump shakes, and a set list to die for, at least on paper.

He certainly gave it his all, but that’s no longer enough. The problem: time has reduced rock’s golden voice to a shaky warble.

As soon as 75-year-old McCartney began singing first lines of “A Hard Day’s Night,” I knew it would be a long evening. He sounded old, flat and decades past his prime. Surprisingly, he sang well only on the songs that demanded the most from his pipes, such as “Birthday,” “Helter Skelter” and a killer version of “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road,” with special guest Neil Young contributing a shredding guitar solo.

Because of my high expectations and memories of the amazing show he put on at Coachella a few years ago, McCartney disappointed me the most. Judging from the many audience sing-alongs and standing ovations, though, the crowd felt differently.

While Paul came up short, the Who and Neil Young rocked like giants.

From the opening riffs of “I Can’t Explain” to Roger Daltrey’s iconic shriek in closer “We Won’t Get Fooled Again,” the Who came to Indio to make a statement, namely that they remain one of rock’s most enduring live acts. Townshend windmilled his way through some of Classic Rock’s most enduring hits, while Daltrey swung and caught his mic with abandon. The Who’s two remaining original members seemed thrilled to participate in such a historic event, at times vanquishing Father Time.

More than any other act, the Who seemed most grateful to the fans, thanking them profusely several times for their support and love. The group’s energetic performance, at times, felt like a giant warm hug.

Neil Young, probably the least known of the Desert Trippers, proved that he belongs on the same stage with anyone. The Y in CSNY wielded his guitar like a weapon of mass distortion on workouts such as “Powderfinger,” “Cowgirl in the Sand” and “Like A Hurricane.” Sludge, feedback and distortion never sounded so good. Young even mixed in a few good new songs.
Early in his set, Young assumed the role of the hippie with a heart of gold, accompanying himself on acoustic guitar, harmonica and piano on such feel-good gems as “After the Gold Rush,” “Heart of Gold” and “Old Man.” He even dusted off 1976’s “Long May You Run,” which seemed to speak directly to the crowd.

“We’ve been through
some things together
With trunks of memories
still to come
We found things to do
in stormy weather
Long may you run”

The Godfather of Grunge grinned throughout his memorable set, with his much younger backing group, Promise of the Real, pushing him to new heights. On this night, Young proved that “Rock and roll can never die.”

The less that’s said about Roger Waters, the better. Yes, Pink Floyd’s former bassist and lyricist put on a terrifically entertaining show that was a visual and aural delight, what with a perfect sound mix and swirling, distorted shapes and images syncing perfectly to the music on the giant screens above. Yes, “Money” and “Us and Them” sounded great.

All good.

But his entire set lacked heart and soul. It was too clean, too precise, too rehearsed.

Give me the hot-and-nasty white boy blues of the Rolling Stones or Neil Young’s ragged glory any day.

Overall, Desert Trip delivered. Still, it felt more like an ending than a beginning. A sense of finality permeated the festival, whereas the three Coachellas I’ve attended have embodied a sense of possibility.

I’m thrilled to have attended this once-in-a-lifetime gathering of the tribes. That said, I doubt I’ll be going to next year’s expected sequel, Desert Trip 2. Once was more than enough.