A FAN’S NOTES

Springsteen and Me

I remember an aimless drive through the twilit streets of Montreal, a warm Sunday in 1987. The subdued Tunnel of Love was Springsteen’s latest release. My friend Robert was at the wheel of his Mazda. My job as rider was to work the cassette deck in dash. He worked in printing as a film stripper and constantly worried about his vision because in that specialized trade the eyes have it. He played rugby at a high level but was irked he wasn’t quite good enough to be selected for the provincial side. I managed the night shift in a grocery store, a job I hated; I tried to write every day, either freelance assignments or fiction. We were both pushing 30 and incredibly frustrated with our stations to date in life. You can’t help but bring stuff like that home at the end of a shift. Do it often enough and it taints everything; it spoils the view of what’s great in and about your life. We must’ve had “One Step Up” on repeat five or six times: I’m the same old story, same old act, one step up and two steps back.

I don’t believe a lovelier song about self-loathing has ever been written. I don’t like to hear it now; I’ve come a long way. Another Springsteen song I can’t bear is “Streets of Philadelphia.” My brother’s death from cancer was an agonizing process for me to helplessly observe. There were peaks and valleys, hope and despair. And my clothes don’t fit me no more. The lines about physical decline broke my heart. And too the chilly rationalization of a lapsed Catholic intellect: Ain’t no angel going to greet me, it’s just you (death) and I, my friend. I sat up nights alone in the dark with a bottle of Irish whisky with that song on repeat. Headphones. But, you know, we saw Springsteen together 20 years before that. And the Rolling Stones too.

The most endearing of Springsteen’s brilliant guises to me is that of the wildly romantic and insanely verbose greaser street poet. That phase was consolidated in 1975 with Born to Run. That album was my gateway Springsteen drug. I had a hero who hadn’t come from my big brother’s or big sister’s record collections; Springsteen was mine even though he was closer to my siblings’ ages than mine. And strangely, from Darkness on the Edge of Town through to Human Touch/Lucky Town, he was always writing and singing about where I seemed to be in my life. Springsteen and me, we were like this. This connection strikes me as maybe something of a sad projection: I somehow feel like Robert DeNiro as Rupert Pupkin in The King of Comedy. And yet, fandom manifested is like two sides of an album: There is trying desperately to emulate Keith Richards at age 17 and then there is a thoughtful dissection of a doomed relationship through the prism of Blood on the Tracks; they are very different but they are the same.

As the world continues to transform amphetamine-apace, the Stones haven’t changed. Some of their albums are moonlight miles ahead of others, but you always know what you’re going to get. Springsteen, while no Bowie chameleon, is as variable as Dylan: There are E Street albums, solo albums, hybrids, really, really stark solo albums, and discs of folk and soul covers. Tracks and the expanded reissues of Darkness and The River provide a glimpse into an alternative career in a parallel universe. I will always buy a Springsteen album, but honestly, the nine records released between The Rising and Western Stars haven’t stuck. I don’t know them backward and forward like The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle.

A one-sided relationship of nearly fifty years isn’t always automatically simpatico, same page chapter and verse every time. Unless it’s live. The Stones and Springsteen are consistent: they don’t come around often and they’re the most preposterously astonishing live acts I’ve ever seen. A ticket was a guaranteed great night out. God bless artists like Little Richard, James Brown and Tina Turner for showing Jagger and Springsteen the critical importance of actually entertaining their audiences. (I’m reminded of a Rolling Stone review from the seventies accusing the Eagles of loitering on stage – some things never change as the brand plays on.) Springsteen’s “prisoner of rock ‘n’ roll” shtick isn’t as impromptu as it seems. The joy is in his wink, he knows you know that. Showmanship. Springsteen has fun at work; I’ve spent my entire adult life wondering how that must feel.

When a mid-autumn date for Edmonton was announced, my mind went into Kathleen Turner Overdrive, a sort of distempered Pavlovian response: This’ll be great! Haven’t seen him for 20 years! About the same lag for the Stones, come to think of it. Let’s face it, they’re done. But Springsteen’s only 73 and hale not frail. I’m no kid anymore, either. Maybe he can still “drive” the mic stand? Stage slides and piano jumps are probably out. Still. The last three albums have ranged from great to good. But only one with E Street. The band’s like a hockey team; the nickname’s stayed but the roster’s rotated. Still, it’ll be a great show! No doubt! No risk! An expensive blast. What’s my ticket price ceiling? They don’t cost two hours of work at the A&P these days. What’s this Ticketmaster “verified fan” and dynamic pricing bullshit? Not that I’d be sleeping out in February, at my age. Fuckit, it’s not life and death, just a concert; I’ve seen him three times. Christ, my bladder really wanted that ’81 show at the Montreal Forum to end about half an hour sooner. If I get a ticket this time, I’ll really have to monitor beer consumption; the old scrotum was much more elastic then. No way he’ll go over three hours, then again, you just never know. That's the magic! And if he does, I bet you he won’t play Incident on 57th Street. Bastard! Fucker should let me write the set list. What does he know?

P.S.: My friend Robert bought his employer out and then sold the firm when he decided to retire. 

meGeoff has been your most unreliable, unbalanced and inaccurate alternative source of insight into glory days since 2013. The novella Of Course You Did is my latest book. Visit www.megeoff.com for links to purchase it in your preferred format from various retailers.