BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN
& THE E STREET BAND
May 23, 2009
Izod Center, East Rutherford, NJ
The Lineup: Steve Van Zandt, Clarence Clemons, Roy Bittan, Gary Tallent, Max Weinberg, Nils Lofgren, Soozie Tyrell, Charlie Giordano, Cindy Mizelle, Curtis King
A Springsteen homecoming is always a big deal, and this time there were only two shows, in a smaller arena than last summer’s Giants Stadium gigs, so you can imagine how many bodies were packed in per square inch. The area directly in front of the stage was jammed with wristband people—no seats, no room to move, lots of Bruce sweat splashing on them, within grabbing distance of The Messiah.
Or, as I like to call him, Rock’s Mr. Congeniality. I get the Everyman icon thing, but when was he added to Mount Rushmore? Whatever; it works for me. It still amazes me that a rock concert can be a family affair; by now I’m used to seeing young kids, but in my row were also a couple of senior citizens—sans grandchildren. The upside of Bruce being as wholesome as apple pie: nobody throws up near me. And not once did I get beer-baptized by some moron playing air guitar. Although there certainly were plenty of morons playing air guitar. And BTW, what’s with the finger-pointing thing?
The band blasted into “Badlands” as the opening and yes, the roof blew off. Next Bruce sneaked up on “Spirit In The Night,” starting out sitting on the front apron. He worked the front catwalk a lot, doing some high kicks (I’ve figured out that those are stretch jeans), and the back catwalk, to take care of the people in the worst seats. Out front again, he played tug-of-war with some of the wristband people—if they’d let go, the Boss would’ve flown backwards ass over teacup.
Clarence on harmonica opened “Outlaw Pete”, and Bruce did a fine drama queen job acting the song, even donning a cowboy hat after doing the Townshend windmill. An unremarkable “Something In The Night” preceded “Out In The Street,” which had Bruce skipping around walks like a kid on the last day of school. After “Seeds,” Clarence whistled us into “Working On A Dream”.
Then the Preacher Man started workin’ it. “I’m so glad to be here in the swamps of Jersey!” Round of riotous acclamation. “We want to take the fear that’s out there and build us a house of love. We want to take the despair and build a house of hope. We want to take the doubt and build a house of faith. We want to take the sadness and build a house of joy and happiness. We want to build a house of sexual healing.” (Lots of responses to that one.) Good politics, that.
For “Seeds” Nils opened with a solo; every time I hear him I say, “I forgot how good he is!” Soozie Tyrell also picked up a six-string, making it a four-guitar lineup. Maybe she was the Patti substitute. Bruce explained Patti’s absence by saying that she was accompanying his young daughter (a rider) on tour.
One of the show’s knock-‘em-dead numbers was a seriously rocking “Johnny 99.” Nils delivered a smashing slide guitar solo, followed by a solo from Steve; Max was playing so hard (the word “piledriver” comes to mind) that he almost levitated. All this, while the audience “woo-woo”ed like a choo choo train. Bruce worked that, too. He turned his head toward the front of the house to see how loud the screams were, then to the seats behind the stage—back and forth, back and forth. The winner was clearly the maniacs behind the stage, who generated twice as much racket.
“The Ghost of Tom Joad” this time was more than a power ballad. Charlie broke out his accordion; Nils soloed wildly, whirling like a dervish—literally, on one leg. Then came the sign-collecting. Bruce liked a lot of them, but the request they took was the Rascals’ “Good Lovin,’” and may I say, Mercy! They kicked out the jams. In the middle of the hard rocking, Roy’s organ solo did “Fe” Cavaliere proud.
Next up, “The E Street Shuffle”, followed by “Cover Me”, with another amazing Nils solo, and then one by Bruce. On harmonica, Bruce led into “Thunder Road;” the audience sang the first verse at his urging. Favorite line of the heavily New Jersey-populated crowd: “It’s a town full of losers and I’m pulling out of here to win!” Nobody does it louder. Which always confused me: people who live in New Jersey hate Jersey and want to get out, but they’re proud of it because Bruce is from Jersey, but Bruce hated Jersey, which is why he got out, but now he’s proud of being from Jersey. Somebody give me a playbook.
“Waitin’ On A Sunny Day” was mom-pleasing time: Bruce got one little kid in the wristband pit to sing with him; for a line or two the kid was doing a fine job, then got derailed by having the Boss up close and personal. Cue for Bruce to dance away. Then the blonde boy with Jay Weinberg’s autograph on the back of his T-shirt and a sign saying, “I’d drive all night from Georgia to see Bruce play” (which the blonde family actually did) was the object of Bruce’s attention, and received a well-aimed harmonica.
Not until “Promised Land” did Clarence really have much to do: serious sax playing. Until then he’d been relatively stationary, clearly not well. He wasn’t blasting as usual. His walking was slow and uncomfortable-looking; the hip replacement doesn’t seem to have healed yet. The golden throne and dais in the Minister of Soul’s corner wasn’t merely decorative. He did sit, and not just occasionally.
“Incident on 57th Street” was the first time I sat. That’s when I noted the creative lighting: an overhead oval rig emanating multiple shades of lavender and periwinkle (look it up, boys); stage railings defined in turquoise, magenta, and purple. Cut back to Bruce doing excellent guitar work, Roy contributing pretty electric piano figures, and Max—well, the words “cannon shot” and “machine gun” come to mind.
The song Bruce dedicated to Patti was “Kingdom of Days.” Shrewd choice, considering the recent flap over Another Woman. The song shows what a true poet he is—until he gets to “baby blue,” which I presume was thrown in to fill out the line, because it sure clunks in the midst of all that poetry.
On “Lonesome Day” Clarence finally filled the arena with his sound, though it was less than robust; the house lights kept flashing on to cue us to shout the triple “it’s all right” chorus. A song about infidelity followed a song telling Patti “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you I do”─interesting. Then Bruce jumped from the personal to the political: “The Rising” was another singalong, and the reverb on his voice gave this already magnificent hymn an extra anthemic quality. That Messianic thing. Last song before the encores (there’s no point calling it the last song; we all know that after the band leaves the stage, there’ll be another half hour of music) was “Born To Run”” in all its thunderous glory. Cell phone fireflies danced around the arena.
Before the first encore, Bruce pitched his “friends and neighbors” for the Community FoodBank of New Jersey, which is helping to feed people who are out of work and can’t afford the basics. Good move. He didn’t even have to say, They’re cleaning up the mess that bozo left when he left the White House. He auctioned off four VIP tickets and complete access, to raise money for the FoodBank.
Next major highlight: “Hard Times,” the 1855 Stephen Foster song. Bruce’s gravelly sound and the gospel choir arrangement, carried by the exciting harmonies of Cindy and Curtis, lifted the audience to higher ground, despite the unsettling sight of Clarence soloing from a stool center stage. Unfortunately, “Kitty’s Back In Town,” the next tune, didn’t live up to those fireworks. It began well, with a guitar lead-in from Bruce, and “The Professor” stretching out on piano and organ. But during Bruce’s next solo, the audience wasn’t bouncing and yelling. The band fell into an extended jazz-like jam, with some peculiar organ progressions; the energy level in the place dropped precipitously, despite frenzied activity on stage. Bruce had to work hard to grab the audience back, but he did it, building “here she comes” up from a whisper as the others chimed in. Allowing this song to meander, especially during the encore, was a mistake; people shouldn’t be sitting now. If you must do something messy or pointless, hide it in the middle of the set, so people will forget it by the pseudo-final song.
“Land of Hope and Dreams” fared much better; who doesn’t love that “this train” figure? Then Mighty Max kicked into “American Land”, and all Celtic hell broke loose on stage and off. Yes, we were jigging in the aisles. When Bruce introduced the band, at Clarence’s mention, they bowed in homage to The Big Man. Then it was time for the “heart-stoppin’, history-makin’, booty shakin’” and god knows what else “legendary E Street Band” chant. Bruce and Steven went into the crowd to say goodbye, but people were having none of it. You can never have too much Bruce. I don’t know how his heart hasn’t given out. But he was taking no prisoners: “Are you trying to test me? Do you want to test me? The Turnpike is closed, no one goes home!”
Slam-bang into “Glory Days,” with by-play between Bruce and Steven, which, unless I missed something, seemed to have been absent up until then. The capper: “Mony Mony,” at such a fever pitch, I’m surprised the George Washington Bridge wasn’t quaking. The last thing you see as they turn to leave is Bruce doing his guitar hula-hooping trick. Wonder how many times he hit himself in the head before he got this move down? Just joking. I love the man. He ain’t perfect, but he’s the best there is.
