The Bob Dylan Concert for Just One Person

An interview with Fredrik Wikingsson, the subject of 'Experiment Ensam'

Dec 13, 2025

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Eleven years ago today, a Finnish online gaming company posted a 14-minute video that blew the minds of Bob Dylan fans across the globe. It depicted one of the most unusual performances of Dylan’s career, which had occurred just a few weeks prior. On stage in a beautiful old theater, Bob and his band performed for exactly one person. You can see that person sitting there in the photo up top. The rest of the theater was entirely empty.

How did this happen, that Bob Dylan gave a concert for just one guy? And what was this experience like for that guy? I wanted to find out.

That person was Fredrik Wikingsson, a prominent TV host in Sweden. The video was part of a series called Experiment Ensam, which translates to Experiment Alone. The idea was to explore what happened when a single person did an activity typically meant for a group: Karaoke, stand-up comedy, and, in this case, attending a Bob Dylan concert. Have you ever gotten annoyed at people around you at a Dylan concert and wished they weren’t there? For Wikingsson, they weren’t.

Not only that, but Dylan did not perform his usual fare. Instead, he performed four 1950s covers, several of which he’s never sung before or since: Buddy Holly’s “Heartbeat,” Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill,” Lefty Frizzell’s “You’re Too Late,” and Big Bill Broonzy’s “Key to the Highway.”

I interviewed Wikingsson about his surreal experience having Dylan sing for only him. That’s below. On Monday, I’ll share a part two with the series’ director, who shares some behind-the-scenes info on how it came together, including an unexpected meeting with Bob himself. That one will go only to paid subscribers. Sign up if you want to read it:

Before we dive in, the Experiment Ensam Dylan segment is a fascinating video and I encourage you to watch it if you haven’t before. The audio is in Swedish, but it’s subtitled in English.

Let’s start at the beginning and walk through it. And the beginning is: How did you become the one person?

There was a series of commercials made in Sweden for a Finnish online gaming site. The theme was, we have this famous Swedish semi-crappy singer, Vanilla Ice meets Snoop Dogg, who experienced things alone that you normally do in a group, collectively. So he went to a stand-up comedy club alone. He went to the opera alone. All those things.

I knew the director a bit. I met him at a party, three a.m. in an apartment, everybody was drunk, and he came up to me. “Have you seen the things we did with Experiment Alone?” I lied to him and I said, “Yeah, sure, those are great.” I hadn’t really seen them.

He said, “Guess what we’re going to do next.” He knew that I’m like one of the biggest Dylan fans in Sweden. Maybe that’s a stretch, but one of the biggest he knew for sure. And he said, “It’s going to be Bob Dylan.” I just immediately—and you’ll have to excuse my French—I said, “Who do I have to blow for it to be me?”

[I told him,] “You need to get rid of the other guy. The storytelling is much better if I do it because I’m a huge fan. I’ll be able to write articles about it. It’s going to be better for this fucking Finnish gaming site if I do it. I won’t take any money for it. I will pay for my own trip; I will pay for my own hotel. I just want the experience.”

I had to sit through meetings with a lot of commercial people—art directors, directors, all these PR people. All the while, there was a 50% part of me thinking, “This is just a Punk’d episode.” Because I work in television, so I would be a perfect target for that. Right up until the minute he walked in.

So you’re meeting all these people to get approved, basically?

Yeah, because they had to can the other guy, and they needed to be sure it was worth it.

I’m not much of a predator normally, but in this case, it was like, “That needs to be me. This is one of those things I potentially could remember forever,” which turned out to be true.

Why was it in Philly? Was that just where Bob said he would do it?

I could imagine the PR people going, “Okay, what venues is he playing? What will look good on camera?” Because he was playing the same night in that venue, a beautiful old theater.

Did you ever get any intel on why he agreed to do it?

He probably got a lot of money for it. There was a bit of speculation afterwards, like it was the best paid soundcheck in history. And in essence, it was like a soundcheck, because I guess he runs through numbers for fun sometimes at soundchecks. This time it was just with me in the audience and a couple of cameras.

Once you get approved, once you know where it’s going to be, what are your expectations going in?

Well, it was very complex, because I’ve read all these books about him, I’ve seen all the films, and I’m acutely aware of how uncomfortable he is in weird settings. It was like, “How much am I gonna feel that he hates this?” That was my biggest fear, that I’m going to sit there and be part of the thing that made Dylan’s day shittier.

You think about, “What if I got in the same elevator as him?” Well, I wouldn’t say anything, because I don’t want to be a nuisance. That was like an elevated version of that—no pun intended. However much money he got paid, I don’t want to be that person who makes Dylan’s day worse.

But I just read the other day the theory that he has the highest threshold for embarrassment in the world. That the key asset in Dylan’s career was the fact that he doesn’t get embarrassed. He can try things like playing religious songs, playing electric, he doesn’t care. So maybe there is a chance of that as well. Like he can do this stupid, silly thing in front of one person.

So there was part of me going, “He doesn’t give a fuck,” and part of me going, “He hates this, he’s gonna think of me as a nuisance.” I don’t think I’ve ever been as self-aware, ever, walking into that theater and thinking about how he will receive this. But it faded away pretty quickly once the music got going.

Did you know it was going to be covers? Were you expecting his own songs? Did you know how long it was going to be?

I expected him to run through three, four numbers of the current set list. To me, it was the greatest delight, him playing songs he’d never really played before or since. That made it even more special.

Had he played “Lay Lady Lay” or whatever, a couple of the best-of, that would have been exciting as well. But this certainly—I mean, I didn’t even know half the songs. It made it way more special. That could potentially be released as an EP, because it was such a unique little foursome.

When I watched the film, you look, to me, fairly apprehensive walking into the theater beforehand. Is that how you would describe your feelings?

I haven’t seen the film. To me, it’s such a powerful memory. It’s such a peculiar sensation in my mind, almost like a taste or a smell. I don’t want to water it down with other influence. I just want to have that thing, how I feel about it, in my mind for as long as I can remember it.

What do you remember about your emotions as he comes out, as he starts playing, as you realize it’s a Buddy Holly song?

I always loved Buddy Holly, so, to me, that was just delightful. I had a double CD of Buddy Holly’s greatest hits when I was in my early teens, and I learned to play guitar playing his songs. So that was just like a bonus for me. And I knew how much Buddy Holly meant to him. I’ve read Chronicles many, many times.

But in all honesty, it wouldn’t have mattered almost what he played. Just the fact that he chose the songs and those were apparently songs he was keen on playing and trying out with the guys.

To me, it was also moving just to see the band sounded so good. They really wanted to put on a good show. Of course, not only to me, they knew they were being recorded, but still, these guys are fucking pros. They don’t want to let him down or me down or the camera down. It felt like a bit of a collective effort. And I want to include myself in that collective if I can.

Speaking of including yourself in the collective effort, one of the most striking moments was you debating the question of: Do you applaud? [He did at first, then said it sounded weird echoing around the room by itself, so he stopped.]

Which is complicated. Everybody in the room knows how silly this is. But still, even though it was such a weird scenario, I wanted to be like a human in it, at least try to imitate one. That’s why also later on I shouted something like, “You guys sound great!” I wanted to include the band, for whatever it’s worth. I remember him smiling at me a little bit.

Were you feeling self-conscious? You’re fairly brightly lit. He can see you. You’re right there.

Of course. Acutely.

He’s not the guy who’s going to look at you intently, and I was quite a few meters away, but I was thinking about how I behaved, I was thinking about how it sounded, I was thinking about how I was feeling. I was trying to preserve it to myself and record it in my own mind. There were like fifteen things going on at the same time in my mind.

I mean, it’s one of the most heightened experiences of my life. Being at a Dylan show is always exciting—I’ve been to maybe thirty—but this was something else. To no surprise, like four hours later I was super drunk in a karaoke bar in Philly, because it was too much to handle. I needed to just blow off some steam afterwards.

When I was watching it, I was thinking, if this were me, is this a dream, or is this more like a nightmare?

It could have gone either way. If I’d had the sense that he really despised this whole thing, giving me the evil Dylan eye, which he has given a lot of people throughout the years—and I’ve seen all the clips—if the vibe had been antagonistic, that would have been terrible. But it just felt as joyous as one of those very manufactured scenarios probably can feel.

There’s a moment where he looks around this empty room and chuckles to himself. Then at the end, he says, “You can come anytime” and he’s sort of laughing with the band. He seems to be getting a kick out of the ridiculous artifice of the whole thing.

That made my day and my week and my year. All the tension blew away. Like, okay, this was fine. He dug this, in his way.

That was probably from a true place, but it also felt a little bit generous. Okay, he realizes we’re—I’m not going to say we’re in this together, because that’s a reach, but it was a weird little thing and I was a small part of it. Even though it’s a bit of a stretch to call that a connection, it’s something. It’s fucking something. To me, the music, of course, and the whole experience, but also the fact that I made him laugh a little bit and say something—I’ll cherish that forever.

Did you have a favorite song, a favorite performance?

When he played the harmonica. Up to that moment, if I’m generalizing a little bit, I always thought that I was sort of a word man, and the lyrics were the most important thing. And maybe I underestimated the whole music aspect. I mean, I’ve seen all the beautiful harmonica solos from the ’66 tour or the 1980 tour, “What Can I Do For You.” All those things are majestic and fucking amazing, but there was something about when he played the harmonica just for me. Because he could have easily just skipped the harmonica part. He could have just done the song. That felt like a little extra gift, musically.

It may sound silly, but it made me feel maybe I’ve underestimated how much the music has meant to me throughout the years. It’s been a major part of my life since I was 15. He’s been with me for such a long time, and I just thought, “Okay, I need to pay closer attention to the music.”

Bob Dylan finishes, leaves the stage. What happens next?

There is a very sad coda to this story, I’m afraid. It’s tragic comedy. What’s the word in English?

Tell me the story and I’ll let you know.

A lot of people, when I went on this trip, asked, “Are you going to be able to have dinner with him? Are you going to have drinks with him?” I went, “No, no, no. That’s not him. That’s not the show. That’s not going to happen.” I had zero expectations of that.

But maybe he could sign an album for me. At least I could ask that. That’s not a big ask.

So I’m in New York the day before and I’m like okay, I need to buy a couple of albums. I want to buy for one for me and one for one of my best friends who’s a huge Dylan fan. What a great gift to give a friend. And also a bit of busting balls, like a constant reminder to my friend that I got to experience this.

I’m in some store on Bleeker Street, of course, and I’m thinking, “Okay, so what albums? Am I going to go the Blonde on Blonde way? Or am I going to be funny and do the Self-Portrait thing?” I start to overthink in a very moronic way. I’m thinking to myself, “Wait a minute, isn’t there a rumor that he has recorded an album of Sinatra covers?” Which turned out to be true later on. So I’m thinking, “I should buy two Sinatra albums.” I’m buying In the Wee Small Hours and I think Songs for Swingin’ Lovers. “That’s very cool. It shows Dylan that I’m in the know.”

You might ask yourself, didn’t you buy any backup albums? No, I did not.

So I go to Philly with my two Sinatra albums in hand. I meet [Dylan manager] Jeff Rosen afterwards. He’s over the moon because I’ve behaved. “Oh, that was great. You did well. Dylan is so happy with this. Thank you very much for not overreacting” or whatever.

And I’m asking him, “Do you think he could sign a couple of albums for me?” “Of course! Bob would love to do that.”

I pull out the albums and he’s like, “But these are Sinatra albums…”

“Yeah?”

It starts to dawn on me that this is not a good idea.

He says, “That would be like pissing on Sinatra’s grave. Bob would never do that. Did you bring any backup albums?” And I’m like, “No.”

Jeff Rosen is just walking away. “I’m sorry, man. I can’t help you.” And then, boom, it’s over.

I’m standing there thinking, I can’t let this define my experience. I need to put this out of my mind immediately, because this is not the experience. The experience just took place. That was the music, that was the concert. Fuck the albums, fuck the autographs, that doesn’t matter.

I’ve tried very bravely throughout the years to put that out of my mind, and I’ve succeeded. Just thinking about it now, it breaks my heart a little bit.

I’m sorry to have brought it back up. But yeah, tragicomedy is maybe the word.

I deserve it.

I weirdly have a similar story. Elvis Costello used to have this TV show. I once won tickets to a private taping with Bruce Springsteen, shortly after college. I’m a big fan of both of them now, but at the time I was more of a Springsteen guy. So I was thinking, maybe in this smaller, more private setting, I’d be able to meet him. So I brought a Bruce album just in case. The show’s amazing, then afterwards, I go around back to this loading dock. I was just hanging out by the buses. No security or anything. Who shows up? Not Bruce. Elvis. I ask him, “Do you want to sign this?” He laughed like, “I’m going sign a Bruce album?” But he did. He seemed to find it funny.

*My Springsteen album signed by Elvis Costello*

Well, maybe Bob would have too, but I met the gatekeeper.

Elvis is a little more personable. Or at least, in that case, easier to find without a gatekeeper.

Have you seen the Bruce film?

I just saw it a couple of weeks ago. It was okay.

Did you like A Complete Unknown?

I liked it more. I thought A Complete Unknown did the same thing better, which is sort of a Hollywood-ish, paint-by-numbers biopic. I mean, I’m Not There, that’s my Bob movie. That’s the movie for the weirdos.

During the screening of [A Complete Unknown], I thought to myself maybe ten times, “Oh, this is too silly. This is fucking hokey.” Then, also, my eyes welled up ten times as well.

There’s only movies that could do that. They can both be fucking silly and ludicrous and then very moving two minutes later.

I’m Not There is a much better film, but I thought to myself, “Did I cry once during that film?” Not really, but I was impressed with it. So to me, it was much more of an intellectual experience. Whereas a hokey biopic takes you to another place emotionally.

I sort of agree with that. I was expecting to be like a Dylan nerd fact-checker getting annoyed at all the errors. And there were a million factual errors, but in the moment they didn’t annoy me. The overall emotional story seemed basically true, and I got swept up in it.

Somebody asked Chalamet, “How do you feel about letting go of Dylan as a character?” “I feel terrible. I love being this guy.” And then somebody said, “You could just wait like ten, twelve years and then play him during the gospel period.” His eyes just lit up, like, “Oh, fuck yeah. That’s still on the table.” Which would be an incredible film, I think. That could be even more powerful.

Every ten years they could just make another one as the guy gets older and older.

Then eventually they get to Philly and my concert.

That’s like the 27th installment in the series.

And the least-seen.

I read that you didn’t want to see the show that night. That it would have felt weird. So when did you next see a regular Bob Dylan concert?

He came to Stockholm in 2015, and he played a pretty small venue called the Waterfront Arena, which is where, later, he collected his Nobel Prize backstage. He played a lot of the Tempest songs. That was one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen.

But it didn’t color my experience in any way. This is such a stand-alone thing. It’s not like I sat there six months later and was like, “Hmm, how does this compare to seeing him alone?” It’s not comparable.

You were able to just plug back into how you would see a Dylan concert before.

Yeah. Have you seen him lately?

This summer, the Outlaw tour here.

I saw him just two weeks ago in a huge arena in Stockholm. I don’t know how to feel about the concerts anymore. I appreciate that he plays nine out of ten songs from the latest album. Who else does that at that age? And he puts his heart into it, but he’s done it many years now. I don’t even know if it’s a good experience anymore.

Maybe five years from now, I’ll listen to a tape and it’s going to sound great. Who knows?

Now we’re a decade and change on. How do you look back at the experience?

Weirdly, I think about it more now than I did in the years immediately afterwards.

It was just like, “All right, I’ve had a busy life, a lot of work, family stuff—let’s pocket that beautiful thing for to reminisce about in the future.” But now I guess I’m in the future, and I’m reminiscing about it more.

I will occasionally, when I’m in the car listening to Dylan, bring it out as a little mental gemstone that I sit and polish in my mind. Almost like taste it and feel it. That sounds fucking ludicrous, but you know what I mean. I indulge myself, wallowing in the beauty of it.

I allow myself for a couple of minutes per month maybe to be really sentimental and romanticizing about it. As the years go past, I grow more and more fond of that whole little intermission.

Did you keep the Sinatra albums?

I used them as frisbees in the Philadelphia night, ceremoniously chucking them as far as I possibly could.

Thanks Fredrik! Tune in Monday for my second conversation about this unique performance, with the director, who actually met with Dylan himself to plan the taping. That one will go out only to paid subscribers, so sign up/upgrade if you want to read it: