“Trouble in the Heartland,” in which I come clean about my love affair with Bruce Springsteen.
Tag Archives: Bruce Springsteen
Bruce Springsteen has canceled his April 10 show in Greensboro due to North Carolina’s new hate law against LBGT. I love him.
Springsteen does rule.
Last night at Stade de France on the outskirts of Paris, Bruce Springsteen played the clown. He mugged for tens of thousands of cheering fans like the consummate vaudevillian showman he has always been, alongside his more noted profiles as passionate protest singer and existential troubadour. He laid on top of his fans in the front row, nonchalantly accepting their embraces. He pretended to groom himself in front of his own Jumbotron image. He did the James Brown perform-until-you’re-in-a-mock-stupor-and-can’t-stop routine. And, fittingly for the setting, he led the audience in “oh-oh-oh” sing-alongs, reducing his sometimes tortured commentary on proletarian and small-town life to open-vowel soccer chants. Continue reading
I first saw Bruce 31 years ago in Chicago. I’ve seen him every tour since, except the last one. Last night’s may have been the best show I have ever seen him do — except for maybe that transcendent Jazz Fest experience post Katrina. Let’s put it this way: Tom Morello, on “The Ghost of Tom Joad.” The guitar will never be the same. My humble review:
via Best Bruce Ever?.
Bruce Springsteen releases his new album Wrecking Ball March 6, and the transmedia promotional machine is in gear. His fan site Backstreets has been streaming tracks through Soundcloud all week. Next week will be Boss week at Late Night With Jimmy Fallon. Bruce will appear Monday night, there will be musical tributes to him all week, and he’ll take over the show Friday.
I love me some Bruce. He — and Patti, and the Clash, and others — kept me from thinking I was alone in the world when I was a teen. Darkness on the Edge of Town will probably always be my favorite record ever. The Ghost of Tom Joad channeled my fave book, The Grapes of Wrath, and dissed my pet peeve, Forrest Gump. He proved his guts with “41 Shots” and his heart with The Rising. I’ve seen him in concert umpteen times since 1981 — and I still have my concert jersey from that first show. I’m a jersey girl.
But … I’m apprehensive. The new songs seem so … shiny. Tunnel of Love production. Human Touch genericness. And Emmylou Harris already claimed the title. The content is vintage Springsteen socio-economic critique. But the heart? The soul?
Prove me wrong Bruce. Prove it all night, and you’ll keep my love.