SEATTLE — There's no escaping current events for Bob Dylan.

Despite the fact that the 60-year-old singer/songwriter has received a hail of critical acclaim for his recently released Love and Theft, despite the new disc turning not on political commentaries but on personal relationships, the second show of his fall tour Saturday was inevitably colored by the September 11 attacks.

What stuck out most during his concert at Key Arena, however, wasn't the well-executed new work but classics from Dylan's long-since-relinquished reign as sociopolitical observer.

When the crowd joined in for the chorus of "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall," it was tough not to picture the collapsing World Trade Center towers or the missiles aimed at Taliban military installations. The title of "The Wicked Messenger" alone conjured images of suspected master terrorist Osama bin Laden. "Masters of War," his 1963 curse on the military-industrial complex, called to mind our reexamination of U.S. support for Afghan rebels during the 1980s.

Even in the face of these associations, Dylan's aesthetic victory Saturday was a contemporary one based on his new material and skills as a performer in 2001.

For about a decade beginning in the mid-1980s, Dylan was criticized for phoning in sloppy, uninspired concerts. But his shows have taken an exciting turn since he assembled a sure-shot backing band and returned to writing engaging albums. The once-lethargic Dylan was positively lively at the Key Arena. Clad in white boots and an old-fashioned black country suit, he spun his foot into the black-and-white checked stage floor as if stomping out cigarettes and swayed his hips in a near grind.

Time and again, he injected his own gritty guitar solos among Larry Campbell's and Charlie Sexton's leads. During "Love Sick," the lone inclusion from 1997's Grammy-winning Time Out of Mind, all three soloed at once, kicking up a dust cloud of restrained hurt and anger.

The group rendered the live debut of Love and Theft's vintage pop romance "Moonlight" with delicate precision. At the end, Dylan blew lines on his harp (an instrument absent from the album) that carried the light touch of a jazz clarinet solo.

The frog-throated singer's instantly recognizable phrasing and intonation have sunk to the point of self-parody over the years. But throughout this show, Dylan enunciated lyrics old and new as if he truly valued them. "They seem determined to go aaaaaallllllll the way" and "Tweedle Dum, he'll stab! you where you stand," he sang in a sandpaper burn during Love and Theft's "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum."

The group assumed the guise of a traditional bluegrass troupe (with the nonbluegrass addition of drums, courtesy of David Kemper) on songs such as Fred Rose's "Wait for the Light to Shine" and Jim Anglin's "Searching for a Soldier's Grave." Campbell soloed on mandolin, Tony Garnier plucked a standup bass and Dylan and Sexton played acoustic guitars. Cynics might imagine Dylan playing to the popularity of the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack album. In fact, Dylan has been turning to old-time sounds in earnest since the release of his 1992 covers album Good As I Been to You, which arguably primed the pump for current interest in yesteryear music.

His sole words to the crowd came with the musicians' introductions. "They're the greatest band in the world, at the moment," Dylan said.

The remark was indicative of the singer's apparent view of himself as performer more than showman. A showman would've declared his group the greatest — period. Dylan 2001 is a worker doing his job, not a celebrity sent to distract us. That doesn't mean he's punching the clock. Far from it. As Saturday's show revealed, he's a craftsman who once again takes great pride in his work.