Last Night in Jackson

2026-04-25, Thalia Mara Hall, Jackson, MS

Apr 26, 2026

Bowling Green and Chattanooga were supposed to be it for me this tour, but, thanks to an invitation to speak to some journalism classes in Oxford a couple hours away—shoutout professor RJ Morgan and all the great Ole Miss students I met—I tacked on an extra show in Jackson, Mississippi. It was Dylan’s first visit here since 2016, and my first ever. (I teased Prof Morgan about inviting someone from northern Vermont to speak to a class titled “Bob Dylan and the South.” I mean, I’m pretty close to the south of Canada.)

Dylan has played Oxford exactly once, back in 1990. That show became famous as the only time he played “Oxford Town,” his song about the deadly campus riots when James Meredith became the first Black student to matriculate at Ole Miss. So, driving from Oxford to Jackson, it was not lost on me that Dylan also has an early song about this city’s most famous Civil Rights figure too. (Hint: I’m currently writing this from the Medgar Wiley Evers Airport.)

No, I did not really expect Dylan to bust out “Only a Pawn in Their Game” last night, but it wouldn’t surprise me one bit to learn that, on one of Bob’s trips here, he made one of his anonymous hood-up tourist visits to Medgar Evers’ house. It’s still there. The driveway you walk up is where Evers was gunned down by a Klansman who, as Dylan’s song controversially noted, was part of a bigger racist system. As I was leaving, I met a young man going door-to-door pitching AT&T service. He’d only vaguely heard of Evers, but seemed amazed to find this piece of history on a random side street in a fairly rundown neighborhood. He said he’d skip trying to sell them broadband service, but would come back later to take the tour.

Dylan did not perform “Only a Pawn in Their Game,” nor did he bust out a local cover. No attempt at Nina Simone’s “Mississippi Goddam,” no duet on Johnny Cash’s “Jackson” (maybe Tony could take the June Carter part?). While those would be tall asks, I do wish he would go back to sharing local history facts, like he did early on in the Rough and Rowdy tour—shouting out King Records in Cincinnati, Rocky Balboa in Philadelphia, The Country Gentlemen in DC. The areas he’s playing now would be so ripe for that, and you know Dylan knows the history.

The history could use some celebrating too. Thalia Mara Hall, last night’s recently-reopened theater, is only a few blocks from Farish Street. Farish Street was a major hub of Black commerce in the first half of the 20th century, home to Trumpet Records, where musicians like Elmore James and Sonny Boy Williamson II made their first recordings. I drove down the street, but there’s no longer much to see, just block after block of boarded-up buildings. The Mississippi Blues Trail has put up a few signs, but I didn’t see anybody stop to look. I also wanted to find the Edwards Hotel, where the Mississippi Sheiks recorded (including “Sitting on Top of the World,” which Bob covered on Good As I Been to You). When I Google-Mapped the address, I was surprised to discover I was actually staying there—it’s now a fairly seedy Hilton. If there’s any acknowledgment of that building’s musical history, I didn’t see it.

Dylan did seem to appreciate Jackson in his own way, even applauding the crowd* back at the end. “I think he actually enjoyed himself,” the guy next to me said with a note of surprise.

(* Not that this will surprise anyone, but it must be said: After having spent the day exploring a city that is 82% Black, it was jarring to enter the theater and encounter a demographic that could not have been less representative of the surrounding area. A Dylan audience is diverse in some ways—age, gender—but not in others.)

From the balcony hung a banner reading “The City of Soul.” Dylan would have been looking at that all night, and the crowd certainly brought the enthusiasm, raising the show’s energy to near what I saw in Bowling Green. The biggest crowd-recognition response of the night went to two songs: “All Along the Watchtower” and, more surprisingly, “Love Sick.” Is that a greatest-hit now? Jackson certainly treated it like one, cheering with recognition applause after he sang the first line. Though maybe it just seems like an oldie coming after three consecutive Rough and Rowdy Ways tunes.

One of those, “Black Rider,” was a stunner last night, Dylan leaning into every line. These days it starts quiet, mostly just him and Doug Lancio’s guitar, and remains spooky even when the full band kicks in. “Man in the Long Black Coat” remains a treat to see, though I wish he’d move it later in the set when his voice has warmed up. And I discovered a downside to my beloved new staccato “Crossing the Rubicon” arrangement: At two of my three shows now, the audience tried to clap along. But it’s too slow to do so properly, so the result is scattered and awkward.

It struck me last night what a closed terrarium the stage setup is. The five musicians come onstage one at a time, surrounded by tall curtains that seem to reach the sky. From then on, no one enters or leaves. Many concerts at this level, crewmembers would be hustling on and off between songs, swapping guitars, fiddling with cables, adjusting microphones. There’s none of that. Lancio and Bob Britt retune their guitars—they both use the same ones all show—Tony Garnier switches between his three basses himself, Dylan fiddles endlessly with his two vocal mics. The only break in the illusion comes before the last song, where a crew guy walks on to remove Tony’s giant upright bass. I wondered why—it’s almost jarring seeing someone else suddenly materialize onstage—but I figured out it’s probably because Bob walks that way after “Every Grain of Sand” and they don’t want to risk him tripping en route to pose for his applause.

The single high point though was “I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You.” When the song first came out on Rough and Rowdy Ways, I read someone offer an alternate lyrical interpretation: that it’s not a song to a romantic partner, but it’s Dylan addressing his fans. In the album context, that felt like a fun hypothetical, but in person, when the audience responds with the ardor they did last night, it seems like the only interpretation.

Dylan’s about to turn 85. This current tour is winding down, but he’s already announced two straight months of touring in the summer. I’ll be catching him next when the summer tour comes to New England in July. By that point, I wouldn’t be surprised if fall dates are already trickling out. He’s made up his mind to give himself to us.

The next-day tapes seem to have slowed in the second half of this tour, but I know the great taper nightly moth is on the road now, so hopefully one will appear soon.

PS. Catch up on any recent show reviews you may have missed here.