I always forget just how much fun a Bruce Springsteen show can be. While I enjoy his records, I rarely crave his music or seek out a particular song. As an artist, I’m not sure he’d even make my top twenty list. That doesn’t mean I don’t love the hell out of seeing his ass live.
There was much pissiness for the Elly yesterday. I’m trying to work out the details for a trip to NC next week and it’s making my little chemo brain spin. I’m quite nervous to leave Simone considering the past several weeks, and I think that’s throwing up a bit of a mental block. Juggling all the details and people I’m trying to see might be a little more than I can handle with most of my brain power focused on fretting. Anyway, this is far off topic. All you really need to know was I was in a serious bitch of a mood and dreading schlepping out to Giant’s Stadium.
Every time I see Bruce perform it’s like the very first time. How is it that his performance in a ginormous stadium is more intimate than many performances I’ve seen at coffee houses or tiny clubs? It really borders on a religious experience…but WAY sexier.
Thank you, Bruce, for working your fine ass self up into a fevered frenzy and sharing that passion for music. Thanks for shaking off my crabitude. Thanks also for wearing those dead sexy leather wrist cuffs and crooning I’m on Fire with such…well let’s just say I was all a-tingle in places I’ve promised not to discuss with Dad. (He’s asked me more than once to stop calling with medical questions pertaining to that region and to “get a Gyno already.”) I completely forgot about Edward Cullen for a full two and a half hours.
The only thing better than the band’s performance was that of his audience members. We were in a seriously rowdy section. I’m used to snagging the leftover seats of label executives who suddenly were too busy to attend the show. Sadly those days are gone. Not only did I have to pay for my seat, there were only five more rows behind me. I was practically sitting in the full moon to watch the show. This group was way drunker, younger, and louder than my usual crowd. I liked it.
The biggest fan in our little foursome was far and away Matt. He had us sprinting through train stations and parking lots to ensure we missed not an instant of His Royal Bruce-ness. He knew every word and when to interject with a howl or fist pump. I think poor Gwen was a little shocked to see that Matt might love Bruce more than he loves her. When they band played Kitty’s Back (and I must concede it was pretty fantastic) Matt turned towards us, eyes wide, and screamed, “This is AWESOME!” in a tone of voice I’ve never heard outside of a Beavis and Butthead cartoon.
The pack of guys directly behind us were so drunk they could hardly stand. They’d take turns propping up one another while the others would bellow the lyrics into their fistophones. With the start of each new song they’d all spin towards Matt and clobber him with sloppy high-fives. I genuinely worry that they didn’t make it home last night and are still stumbling through the Wetlands with terrible headaches.
The couple in front of us didn’t bother to watch one moment of the performance. They spent the majority of the two and half hours dry humping on the seats and the fans on either side of them. Occasionally they’d stop long enough to ask the other people in the section to take pictures of them making out. After the drunkies behind us sent a beer flying in a high-five-a-thon gone bad, the couple spent the remainder of the show wet humping. Lovely.
To our right, just across the aisle was an adorable duo. The guy closest to us made Clarence Clemons look dainty. When seated (and that wasn’t much of the show) his knees bent far into the aisle and at such a strange angle he reminded me of a bullfrog. As soon as a song started, he’d extend his arm and point fervently towards the stage. With each word he’d jab the air with a surprising deliberateness as he caterwauled along with the song. My throat hurt just watching him. His little mini-me at his side bounced along beside The Pointer, poking the air sporadically and looking to his larger companion for approval.
The show was surprisingly long, with no intermission or instrumentals. I will say, you always get your money’s worth at a Bruce show. The show just keeps going and going and going. (Ask Gwen – I think she was ready to slit her wrists by the end.) There were even fireworks! The huge explosion of lights coincided with the end of a song. Surely that’s the end I thought. I turned to Danielle and asked, “Bruce wouldn’t do an encore after fireworks, would he?”
As Max clicked his sticks together and Bruce picked up another guitar she giggled and answered simply, “Yes!” Twenty minutes later he finally wrapped with Thunder Road. Good times, good show, good God I’m tired.