Young, old catch Dylan in Cleveland

It was noticeable even from the parking lot. There was something in the faces of the audience: a ragtag assemblage of college students, neo-hippies, gen-Xer's, middle-aged couples and even a handful of octogenarians who were wheeled through the audience ostensibly by their grandchildren.

On the surface it would have seemed to be a diverse crowd indeed. And yet there was something common about the brooding expression on almost every face, as if every attendee (besides Dylan's most dedicated fans) were secretly thinking the same thing- could it be that Bob Dylan, the demigod of youth and rebellion, is finally just too damn old to play a decent show?

Today, at 58, Bob Dylan is as old if not older than the parents of most Oberlin students. But, despite the years of abuse inherent in his brand of stardom and the ubiquitous rumors of his decrepitude, Dylan is still a damn good performer. For the benefit of anyone who has never heard a Dylan concert, it should be mentioned that he almost never plays a song the way it was recorded on an album. For the hardened Dylan fan, this is a good thing: no matter how many times you've heard these songs before, they'll always be fresh in concert.

The present-day Bob Dylan style might come as a shock to anyone not used to his more recent recordings. Gone is the lone guitarist wailing profound absurdities between intermittent harmonica flourishes. In his place is a deft showman wearing a black suit with gold stripes, backed by a tight band with a solid drummer, a pedal-steel rhythm guitarist, and a lot of fancy (although tasteful) rhythmic syncopation between Bob's guitar and his band.

And of course, Bob has never been what you might call a great singer - few can match him in soul, character, and pathos, but the kind of pitch recognition that was exhibited on Wednesday night would not have passed an intro level Aural Skills class here at Oberlin.

If anything, it was Bob Dylan's voice which seemed to most bespeak his age. His already feeble intonations seemed to weaken as the night progressed, though it could always be heard, world-weary and coarse, beneath the bright harmonies of his background singers. But anyone who minded the way he sang should probably never have been a Dylan fan in the first place; this small fact aside, the group as a whole sounded great.

The set list was incredible. After a few good - if not merely decent - tunes from more recent years, such as "You Gotta Serve Somebody," a humble-minded anthem left over from Dylan's conversion to fundamental Christianity in 1978, the group changed from an electric to an acoustic arrangement - with standup bass and muffled drum set - in which the more memorable events of the evening took place.

"Mr. Tambourine Man," "Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again" and "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" were the best performances of the night, along with the Grateful Dead cover "Friend of the Devil" and Buddy Holly's "Not Fade Away." Each was performed with an original touch, giving them a feeling of newness.

Clearly, Bob Dylan is not the same man he used to, be. But if anything was proved on Wednesday night, it was that Dylan is not merely a canonized member of the mausoleum of old great rockers. He is still alive, still kicking, and still making great music.