By now everyone knows that Springsteen’s Giants Stadium gigs were the last hurrah for the stadium that’s due to be razed. He wrote “The Wrecking Ball” for these gigs, and opened every show with it. (Uh-oh, Bruce; are we going to custom-write a song for every occasion now? Just a little concern on my part.) Surprisingly, this wasn’t the greatest show on earth. To those who hadn’t seen Bruce much, it was. I had a spell of disappointment 3/4 of the way through, but later for that. For this show, he was supposed to play all of Born to Run. He didn’t. Bruce always writes a set list, dates it— then strays from it.

“Outlaw Pete” is now a set piece, drama deluxe as Bruce gets maximum mileage out of the cowboy hat. Backdrop screens projected colorful Southwestern desert scenery, but it’s his urgent singing that puts it over. “Hungry Heart,” too, is a set piece: the audience knows to sing the first verse, and does it well. The fun part: Bruce crowd-surfing on his back. People grabbed things they shouldn’t have, but floated him around for quite a while, and he sure was enjoying it: “Thanks for the ride!”

The Preacher Man also made his appearance: “We come here tonight to fulfill our solemn vow to rock the house!” He did the rap about building a house of faith, of hope, and capped it with the exhortation, “Bring the noise!” And we did. Clarence, recovering from hip surgery, was back on his feet for this show. On “Tenth Avenue Freeze-out,” he blasted like he used to do; his nephew Jake Clemons also played, but to be honest, I wouldn’t have known unless I read it somewhere. Nobody’s looking at anyone else when the Master of the Universe plays. He wore scary gold nail polish to match his sax, but I guess he’s one guy who doesn’t fret about his heterosexuality being compromised.

Here I checked out mentally; “The Night” is generic Bruce; I sat down. He was just resting his voice; he powered up with “Backstreets,” and played searing, masterful guitar, reminding us that oh yeah, he can play! In “Born to Run” and “She’s the One” he also slammed home that fact, driving the pounding sound as much as Weinberg did, and had an impressive Pete Townshend moment scraping his guitar strings against the mike stem. As spine-tingling as his “Backstreets” album vocal is, this performance was goosebump city. His voice melted into thin air in the middle─spectacular control─before he took it back up, and then OMG, as the kiddies say. A wordless cri de coeur, moaning from the soul. I’d forgotten how sexy he is, but after that, I never will. I think my exact words to my friend after the fade were, “HOLY CRAP!!!”

The E Street Band is continually expanding, and the horns need to be acknowledged: Curtis Ramm and Ed Manion. Trumpeter Ramm made something even grander out of “Tenth Avenue Freeze-out” (if that’s possible), “Meeting Across the River,” and “American Land.” His atmospheric playing on “Meeting” was the aural equivalent of a drifting blue haze of cigarette smoke in a dark nightclub, wafting aloft the poignant tale of a deluded, doomed small-time loser planning a desperate heist as the way out of a dead-end life. Soozie Tyrell’s fiddle drove underneath the piece. And as great a rocker as Bruce is, he’s equally brilliant at balladeering: straight-up singing full of emotion.

In “Jungleland,” Steven finally got his chance to wail on guitar; he’s taken a back seat at the last few shows I’ve seen; don’t know why-─his vocal harmonies are absolutely necessary. (“Glory Days” or “No Retreat, No Surrender” without him riding above Bruce’s melody? Not half as exciting.) Clarence, of course, rendered his immortal solo perfectly; every fan knows it note for note. Cute vignette of the evening: In the middle of “Waiting on a Sunny Day,” Bruce put the mike to a blond tyke riding his dad’s shoulders, who proceeded to sing the right words and tune, with a somewhat baffled look on his face, but on key. He brought down the house; even Bruce looked pretty surprised. The kid couldn’t have been more than 5.

It also should be noted that Bruce’s guitar roadie had two near-death experiences that night; Mr. S. was in such a jolly mood, he chucked his instruments to the poor guy with extra enthusiasm. It’s a good thing he remembers to thank his crew onstage.

At Request Time, the band kicked into “Raise Your Hand,” one of my faves─but it was just instrumental background for the sign-collecting ritual, not the rousing gospel version Bruce sings. He made less-than-stellar choices: “It’s Hard To Be A Saint In The City,” “My Love Will Not Let You Down,” and “Because the Night” were the next tunes; what was he thinking with that sequence? Time to sit down again…except for the serious guitar duel between Bruce and Steve on “Saint”; I thought one of them would snap a string. Wish there was more of that stuff. Then it was Nils’s turn to dizzy us while he spun through “Because the Night.”

At this point the multiple images constantly projected around and behind the band got aggravating. I wanted to shoot the camera operators. I was there to see Bruce, not footage of fans bouncing around. If I needed to watch Jerseyites partying, I’d go to their football games.

Patti Scialfa’s turn in the spotlight was the “Human Touch” duet. Lovely blend of voices; she got a good crowd response. Loved the turquoise guitar, but why doesn’t she get to rock, Bruce? I’m tired of the ethereal vibrato thing. “Lonesome Day,” Nils on slide guitar. Check. Then “The Rising,” and visual projections that seemed to be clouds of smoke, then blue sky, white clouds; if it was supposed to suggest smoke, it was VERY disturbing and a tasteless choice.

The encores were also weird choices: “4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy),” dedicated to Danny Federici; and “Bobby Jean.” (Why?) “American Land” pepped everyone up, then came the bombastic introductions (“hard rockin’, hip shakin’,” etc.). “Dancing in the Dark” featured Bruce’s guitar hula-hooping trick, then came “Rosalita” and Bruce’s best line of the night: “I’m getting a fifth wind!” The finale was spectacular: a raucous “Twist and Shout,” with a wild fireworks send-off. Lots of shrieking. That was one big happy party.