I am often late to the game. Just tonight, I bought the Born to Run 30th Anniversary Edition, which, given today’s date, November 3, 2007, has been out for, well, at least a year.
I bought it because I did not get enough Bruce live on the 2007 tour, which is still going on. As mentioned in the last post, AC, Robby and I went to the LA Arena 10/29 show. I didn’t realize until long after we got the tickets there was a 10/30 show. One song into the set, I said to AC, “we have to see another show after this. Maybe Boston. Maybe London . . .”
My voice was droned out by “Radio Nowhere.”
My husband later said to me, “Okay, so here's the thing: we are not going to London to see Bruce.”
“How about Paris?” I said.
“We have bills to pay,” he said. I got all reverent, because we were suddenly characters from “Darkness on the Edge of Town,” or “The River.” I’m Mary, he’s the omnipotent poor struggling guy who just can’t get things figured out, but. . . he does have a wedding suit and a union card.
“Huh?” my husband said to me, when I explained all this to him. He is not the Bruce fan that I am and didn’t get the reference to “The River.”
As a compromise to going to London or Paris, we spent $40 on the “Born to Run 30th Anniversary Edition.”
I am often anoyed by fans on this tour who complain that Bruce is not playing enough of the old songs. This isn't a reunion tour. This isn't Van Halen trying to make some extra money before they go off to Shady Lawn because they spent all their money on Columbian Bam Bam. Bruce has a new body of work out, his third since"The Rising." He is touring a new album, so naturally he wants to play songs on that album. Or to be put another way, Artists want to be heard. Or to put it yet another way, Bruce wants to make some money.
Having said that, here's a little context: in 1975, I had size 26 or less hips. My waist would have made Scarlett O’Hara jealous. My boyfriend, Patrick, a wiry post-hippy, 16 going on eternal youth, could not decide if he was the next Cat Stevens or the next Bruce Springsteen. “Born to Run” came out, and the decision was made. He and his mom took me to see Bruce in Jackson that same year. Before the show, we went to Pizza Hut, and I scarfed down a medium size pepperoni all on my own.
“Good lord, you are going to be fat when you are older,” his mom said to me. I was smart, I was wise for my years. I took her warning to heed and from that day forward was the vainest woman you have ever met. I was 93 pounds then, and 34 years down the road have never gone more than 2 sizes higher than I was then. Which means I failed and am grossly over weight by my 14-year old standards.
But I stray . . . my life changed that night. I had no idea what to expect. Bruce and the E Street Band sang “She’s the One,” “Backstreets,” “Jungleland,” “Thunder Road,” “Night,” and, “Born to Run.” In particular, I remember “Meeting Across the River” and “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out.”
After the show, I needed to ask what my name was. I needed to breathe-in the night air. I closed my eyes and saw my future. I would be the Mrs. Springsteen.
“Wasn’t that amazing/” my boyfriend said.
“Thank you so much,” I told him. Later, I’d break up, but I’d never forget the gift he gave me. No, not that chintzy fake star sapphire necklace (the only thing worse than a star sapphire is a fake one). He gave me the gift that literally would keep on giving, and I’m not talking about herpes or a trust fund, I’m talking the gift that only a true blue Bruce fan can know--call it a musical passion, a connection to a body of work or an artist, or just the gift of knowing that there are others out there like you, who get that same electric feeling everytime they hear "She's the One," or "Backstreets," or "For You," and even now, there are those of us who share that feeling when we hear, "Living in the Future," or "Gypsy Biker."
In that time--since 1975--I’ve met Bruce briefly (I stalked him sort of) and made an ass out of myself. So much so that he told me to “get out of” his “face.” In fact, I made such an ass out of myself that my friends Robby and Sean immortalized that moment into a song (think Bruce in “I’m on Fire”), “I say hey Donna get out of my face, I say heeeeyeey Donna get out of my face . . .” you have to hear it to appreciate it.
Back to Hammersmith Odium: tonight, when Bruce played “She’s the One,” I had the fortune of recalling that concert in Jackson. I thought that this past Monday night at the LA Arena was Bruce’s best show. Well, it was amazing, but Hammersmith Odium, 1975, reminded me of why I am a Bruce fan. The stage was sparse, the band looked like heroin pimps, the music was loose, and the words would make Dylan Thomas, or Bob Dylan, weep from envy. I ask you, if that is not rock-n-roll, then go ahead and give Britney Speers custody because the world ain’t right.
Once in a while, I meet a true blue Bruce fan. They get it, that attraction, and by attraction, I don’t mean lust, I mean we feel the magic of the songs, the passion and yearning they evoke, the hope and redemption the lyrics and music promise. Early Bruce connects us fans like your first drunken night connects to your memories. It’s a little hazy, but you know you had the time of your life. Loving Bruce all the way back to 1975 is like that. You don’t remember much, but you know that for a brief time, you experienced euphoria. Even if you were merely observing it from row 24 of the Jackson Coliseum. And like herpes that feeling comes back from time to time, but at least with Bruce, you are happy about it. And unlike a trust fund, you are not in danger of relatives or lawyers or business managers telling you it is gone. That feeling is all yours, your own first dollar bill. That is the power of being a Bruce Springsteen fan, and if you don’t get it now, if you’ve never gotten it, then, my friend, know this: Britney is on Page 6 of the New York Post. Have fun and I’m sorry.
