Like the album itself, the world he conjures here is sepia-tinged, timeless and otherworldly, all dappled light, strutting blues riffs, lap steel guitars and, of course, Dylan’s own oft-imitated, never equalled gravel-voiced delivery, which sounds as elemental as it ever has.
Hell, to complete the bygone feel of these gigs even professional photographers and all mobile phones are banned with audience members ordered to lock them away in magnetic pouches for the duration of the show.
The result is to transform, for a couple of hours at least, the otherwise featureless Motorpoint Arena in Wales’ capital into an intimate and moody blues club from another time.
No mean feat.
Highlights included the majestic Key West, all 10 minutes of it, and a beautiful rendition of The Band-era When I Paint My Masterpiece.
It’s incredible to hear the most lauded artist of his generation still ringing new meaning out of a song he wrote more than 50 years ago about striving to create a true masterpiece.
