It’s Sunday, and I’m at Wembley Arena to see Bob Dylan. Outside, the sun’s just starting to set on what without exaggeration you could call a glorious day. Inside, a packed an excited Arena, meanwhile, in stark and tumultuous contrast to the evening’s warm decline, storm clouds are gathering as Bob Dylan and his band roar towards the climax of tonight’s opening number, “Cat’s In The Well”, a turbulent gem from the much-derided Under The Red Sky. It’s a cantina romp on the album, turned here into something brooding, fraught and ominous, music for a world pinned to a wheel of pain, everything you can see and more about to go up in flames. “Cat’s in the well and grief is showing its face,” Dylan rasps. “The world’s been slaughtered and it’s such a bloody disgrace. . .Cat’s in the well and the leaves are starting to fall. . .goodnight, my love, may the Lord have mercy on us all.” It’s a stunning start to a sensational show that wholly lives up to the superlatives this most recent leg of the Never Ending Tour has already accumulated, the sense of foreboding evident here influencing everything that follows – from the jolting new arrangement of “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)”, through sulphuric versions of “When the Levee Breaks” and “Rollin’ And Tumblin’” to the sweet eternal poignancy of “When The Deal Goes Down”, the stark magnificence of “Blind Willie McTell” – which I’d never heard him play before - and the dream-like suspension of “Nettie Moore”. The prevailing mood of dark anticipation carries through into Monday’s show, Dylan’s sense of a world gone wrong rarely so keenly felt. It’s there in every beat of every song he sings, especially tonight in the hymns to life, love and liberty that make up what he plays from Modern Times – notably, an eerie, stalking “Ain’t Talking”, which is like watching the twilight at the world’s end through the withering trees in a graveyard where people you know are buried, and another smouldering run at “When The Levee Breaks”. Two much older songs about injustice and war tonight provide complementary highlights – a sublimely moving “Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll” and the anti-war lament, “John Brown”, whose sombre sentiments remain chillingly apt over 40 years after it was written. For the four first numbers at both Wembley shows, it’s great to see Dylan fronting his amazing band on electric guitar. He cuts a truly fantastic dash up there, pulling his knock-kneed shapes, resplendent in black suit, wide-brimmed white hat with a matching Stratocaster. More then ever, he looks like God’s last gunslinger, going down outnumbered with both guns drawn. Breathtaking. London Wembley Arena Sunday, April 15 2007 1 Cat’s In The Well 2 It Ain’t Me Babe 3 Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues 4 It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) 5 When The Levee Breaks 6 Spirit On The Water 7 Highway 61 Revisited 8 When The Deal Goes Down 9 Rollin’ And Tumblin’ 10 Chimes Of Freedom 11 Blind Willie McTell 12 Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again 13 Nettie Moore 14 Summer Days 15 Like A Rolling Stone 16 Thunder On The Mountain 17 All Along The Watchtower London Wembley Arena Monday, April 16 2007 1 Cat’s In The Well 2 Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right 3 Watching The River Flow 4 It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) 5 When The Levee Breaks 6 The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll 7 Rollin’ And Tumblin’ 8 Spirit On The Water 9 Highway 61 Revisited 10 John Brown 11 When The Deal Goes Down 12 Most Likley You Go Your Way (And I’ll Go Mine) 13 Ain’t Talkin’ 14 Summer Days 15 Like A Rolling Stone 16 Thunder On The Mountain 17 All Along The Watchtower

A grim struggle to the death on the blogs between American and British music again today, though it seems America's interests are being defended primarily by an Estonian. Meanwhile, here, the reliably lucid Glory asks whether my taste "is more geared towards American styles of music (eg Americana) or because you think American artists are generally more talented than British artists?" A bit of both, perhaps. I certainly think artists like Jamie T are talented, but they're part of a musical tradition which I'm not really partial to. It seems that, given the relative size of America to Britain, there should be many more interesting bands there. But as I've said before, I'm also conscious of personally fetishising American music: at home last night, I noticed for the first time in ages, a quote from Adorno that my wife had pinned over the desk years ago - "It is part of morality not to be at home in one's home." Still, I'm determined to prove that I have a healthy open mind towards the music of my motherland. So I've spent this morning hunting for some British music to write about. The Queens Of The Stone Age preview will have to wait a day or two. Instead, here are the Vibracathedral Orchestra, a reliably magnificent bunch of skronky improvisers based in Leeds. I'd like to say that "Wisdom Thunderbolt", the latest in a large, obscure and very fine sequence of albums, is in some way quintessentially British. Actually, though, it closely resembles the commune jams served up by those avant-garde tribes on the fringes of the American psych/folk scene - Sunburned Hand Of The Man, Jackie O Motherfucker, the No Neck Blues Band, The Vanishing Voice, that kind of thing. Chris Corsano, something of a regular on this blog (he's also on the new Bjork record) emphasises the connection by turning up on the best track here, "A Natural Fact". Vibracathedral specialise in a sort of frantic, ecstatic drone that veers all over the place. The few times I've seen them live, they're a pretty remarkable spectacle: high, rearing epiphanies being conjured up by intense types crawling about on the floor and swapping instruments on a whim. There's a good joke after a fashion here, too, when "Sway-Sage" starts with a swaggering orthodox metal riff before being overwhelmed by a truly awe-inspiring cacophony. Someone whoops in the middle of it, and I can see their point. Bracing stuff, which you can experience with a live snippet here. I think I saw this show, actually. The other thing I found is a single by Wild Beasts called "Through Dark Night". Wild Beasts appear to be from the Lake District, and have got that sort of shambling, romantic charm that I keep being told is in bands like The Maccabees and Larrikin Love, but which I can never detect myself. "Through Dark Night" sways unsteadily like early Orange Juice, has a deeply equine clip-clop rhythm, and a singer whose incredibly mannered falsetto yodel is, I suspect, an acquired taste. I like it a lot, and the flipside, "Please, Sir", is good, too - it reminds me of The Servants' track on "C86", though I haven't heard it in years. I'll check with the office's resident ex-member of The Servants and report back, but have a listen at good old Myspace and see what you think.