Why Dylan’s always in tune with the times

THE night before he came, the acrid smell of burning and conflict were in the air. A riot broke out, prompting the call for reinforcements from Dublin. Baton-wielding cops charged the crowd. Mindless violence kicked out in all directions as the booze took hold.

When it was all over you couldn’t walk through the main street without kicking broken glass. Bricks, rocks, beer crates, and all manner of spent missiles were littered about. There were three upturned vehicles lying along the street, smoke rising from their exposed bellies. A hard rain had fallen on Slane village.

It was the morning of July 8, 1984, and a song-and-dance man was coming to town.