Bruce Springsteen could live to be 175 and still not spend all the money he’s earned. So why does he do it? Why on earth does he knock himself out the way he does? I pretty much work for the money. Don’t you?
I like Bruce but I’m not as fanatical as some. I have a lot of respect for his catalog, and his work ethic is second to none. He’s a people-pleaser, that’s for sure. Mrs. Wife and I saw his Saturday night show at the Meadowlands Sports Arena in New Jersey. Seeing Bruce in New Jersey is akin to seeing the Beatles in Liverpool. He began the evening with a heartfelt, “Good evening, neighbors!” That’s a nice sentiment but I know the area where Bruce lives and I can assure you that I am NOT his neighbor.
It’s one of those concerts whereby you don’t realize how familiar you are with the material until one recognizable song after another rolls off the stage. The same thing happened to me when I saw the Rolling Stones. I don’t have any Stones albums, but I knew the lyrics to just about every song. Bruce, too. You just know his stuff. That’s how steeped into our cultural consciousness their work is.
And, yes, he was great. At just past 3:00 hours he announced that, “The turnpike is closed! Nobody goes home!” and ripped into a version of Tommy James & the Shondells Mony Mony that tore the roof off. Just like he promised it would. He’s the man.
We got backstage passes. He briefly chatted with Mrs. Wife and pretty much ignored me, which is fine by me. I hate going backstage. I always feel like I have no business being back there because…well…frankly, I have no business being backstage. I was talking to his sister and I said I felt sorry that after working his ass off for 3+ hours, he now has to meet and greet a corridor full of people. She said, in a flat tone, “It’s part of the job.”
True dat. Meeting a bunch glazed-eyed worshipers after performing to the point of exhaustion might be a pain in the ass, but it beats the hell out of commuting 4 hours a day.