A Tale of Two Concerts.
On Saturday, I went to see Bruce Springsteen in Manchester: the concerts that have been making the news due to his polemic against the current state of America, and Trump’s ‘dried out prune’ response. Jon, who accompanied me, has seen Springsteen about thirty times. It was my first. Unlike my trip to see McCartney a short while ago, where I knew intimately every note he would play, I know very little of Springsteen’s music. Probably about five hits. And while I love “Because the Night” and “Born To Run”, “Born in The USA” leaves me largely cold, as did much of his recorded catalogue the few times I have tried. Jon – reasonably mega fan – joked that it would not be too cruel to describe them as the best bar band in the world. And to this lover of the perfectly crafted song, melody and particularly harmony, (Rodgers and Hammerstein, The Beatles, Paul Simon, The Beach Boys), much of Springsteen’s music has never spoken to me. In the same way that when the modern church replaces a wonderful hymn like “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind” with someone strumming on an E major chord, although I am sure the music is just as spiritual, it leaves me cold.
I have chosen that comparison for a reason. Because Springsteen live is simply awesome. One of the best shows I have ever attended. And it was like an evangelical event. In fact, the closest analogy I can give is to listening to Billy Graham preach. It touches the parts that other beers cannot reach. A roughly three-hour concert, eighteen people on stage. Each song often following a similar pattern. A verse, a chorus, and then bang everyone kicks in. A saxophone solo. Sometimes you think it’s the end, but no, on it goes again. And as the final chord is played, there is a shout of “one, two, three, four” – often in exactly the same tempo – and another song begins without a moment’s pause. On and on and on. A rising fervour that is rarely allowed to dissipate, conducted by a supreme master performer. Where someone of 75 finds the energy, I have no idea. A modern-day troubadour describing the America that he knows and loves –“land of hopes and dreams”. And, along with his hope, retaining a youthful anger. “My City of Ruins” sings on in my head.
Quite a night. Jon is returning tomorrow to do it all again.
