Report from Row 13

It’s been a long time since I last saw Bruce Springsteen — more than 20 years, I think, which astounded me when I started looking at the dates. I was raised on those blistering 3-hour shows in the decade prior to that — from the mid-’70s to the mid-’80s, and I caught as many of them as I could.

I thought maybe I was making something of a compromise to see him after these years at an acoustic show. This was the sit-down-shut-the-hell-up-and-listen-to-the-music tour. Could I listen to Springsteen without dancing like a wild woman and singing at the top of my lungs? I knew one thing — I didn’t want to wait for him to come around again.

Though stricken with a nasty stomach virus 48 hours before the concert, I was undeterred. But when we arrived at the concert, and received a copy of “da rules,” I wondered whether we’d be allowed to go the bathroom once the show started. Here’s a sampling:
– All guests must be seated by the start of the first song.
– There will be no seating during each song.
– All concession stands will close 10 minutes prior to the start of the show and remain closed for the duration of the show.

For me, this was looking like a 3-D show: Devils, Dust and Depends.

Once the show started, there was nothing that could have made me leave my seat. I remembered everything I ever loved about Springsteen’s music. I discovered things I never realized before. And I saw a performance I’ll never forget.

He crooned, he howled, he moaned. One man, several guitars, piano, organ, harmonica. And here’s what I never realized: he doesn’t need a band. He is a band. I would never have imagined “Darkness on the Edge of Town” as an acoustic number, but he remade it as one without losing any of its power. The man can rock the house all by himself, and my oh my, the man can move.

It was… essence of Bruce. Distilled and delivered without the distortion (once you got past the first two songs), that so often comes with big rock shows. His voice all coarse and whispery, just the same — so unchanged — as when sang, “Oh, Sandy….” in 1973. The quiet moments were some of the best. “Matamoros Banks,” from the new album, was unbelievably beautiful. And he sang — for only the second time, he said — a song called “Valentine’s Day.” Something tells me he’s going to be singing that one a lot.

When the lights went down, it felt smaller than the Carolina Theatre in that arena, and from the 13th row, it was almost like hearing him in a club setting. He also talked a lot more than I ever remember at a Springsteen show. After all of the hype, he mostly laughs at himself, telling the audience that he really only used “down in Caroline” because it rhymed with “wine.” “It’s all about what rhymes,” he said, laughing. “Don’t let anybody tell you different.”

And people did sit down and shut up and listen to the music, and it was wonderful. I lost count of the encores, but each one built on the other. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he closed with a version of “Dream, Baby, Dream” that was simply mesmerizing.

I had only listened to “Devils and Dust” a couple of times before the show, but it didn’t matter. There were old songs and new songs, and nearly all of them sounded better live than they did on the CDs. The way he was performing, I’d have listened to him sing the Lumberton, NC, phone book.

Just to see what he’d rhyme with Locklear and Oxendine.