BRUCE: The Boss, the E Street Band, and the End of Rock ’n Roll
Nationwide Arena
Columbus, Ohio
April 21, 2024
He should have been here two years earlier, but aging rock stars get sick and have to reschedule. No matter. He’s worth the wait.
The few rock stars who’ve managed to grow old tend to rely heavily on a hand-picked team of studio musicians to hide their lack of voice and fire. Their set list is a collection of greatest hits to appease the crowd, and what we remember is neither their performance nor musicianship, but the catalogue of great music they created when they were young.
Tonight is different. Bruce launches into his first song with screaming vocals, and miraculously, he gains energy as the night goes on. He burns through a dense set list – one song after another – without even breaking for a sip of water. It’s as if the music is giving him life. One has the distinct impression that he could play all night, and if he had his way, he would. He plays until the audience can no longer stand. He plays until the E Street Band limps back to the bus to soak their feet and nurse their throbbing hands. For three hours, he plays rock anthem after iconic rock anthem, and when the night finally ends, he is the last man standing.
Bruce has said that a great show is like a magic trick. This is his magic trick: that after so many years and so many miles, there is no place he’d rather be and nothing he’d rather do than stand on stage, play his Telecaster, and sing his songs to us, with the same fire he’s carried all these years.
Bruce is not the typical old rock star – a tired shadow of what he used to be, playing the same songs he wrote thirty years ago. The music hasn’t changed and neither has the musician. But the audience has changed. And though tonight is a transcendent night of rock ’n roll, the audience tells us it is also a eulogy.
They used to be young, wild, and free. Defiant, drug-taking, free-loving, earth-shaking drop-outs, delinquents, and rebels of whom the world was not worthy. Tramps like us, baby we were born to run. They were as angry, revolutionary, and full of love as the music they listened to. They still listen to it, but only as the soundtrack of their memories. Boring stories of glory days. Because now they are old, fat, and decidedly middle-class. They have the energy of tourists who are here for the T-shirt, the photo op, the bragging rights. Retired RV campers who have indulged in the finer things of life until they lose all perspective and appreciation. They have long since grown up and sold out, and the music they were raised on is relegated to classic radio stations and garage sale bargain bins. The world now belongs to their children, and their children listen to pop music.
Rock ’n roll is coming to an end, and there’s nothing you, or I, or Creem Magazine can do about it. But the Boss plays on. And in a pantheon of ghosts, Bruce Springsteen is the last man standing.
J.
*Written and submitted to Creem Magazine on April 30, 2024. I did not heard back. Photo by Rob DeMartin.
July 11, 2024