By Liz Tracy
By Alex Rendon
By Abel Folgar
By Lee Zimmerman
By David Rolland
By Lee Zimmerman
By Alex Rendon
By Liz Tracy
Bruce Springsteen's career, on stage and on record, is arguably the most consistently brilliant of any artist of the last 30 years. But his latest tour is unlike the recent embarkments by rock's other aging legends: the biannual Rolling Stones and Who wingdings or the contrived revenue-raking regroupings of Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles, or, God help us, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.
Far from an attempt to recapture the glory of yore or an effort to set boxed sets flying off the shelves, this latest tour is both a celebration of the past and a testament to Springsteen's determination to grow and evolve -- to find something new in songs that are decades old, to remind anyone who cares that these songs still bristle with the vitality of genius, that they resound with the cadence of real life as art and art steeped in real life.
All that said, it's hard to argue with those who view this tour as particularly unpromising. Springsteen hasn't issued an album of new recordings since 1995's bleak, predominantly acoustic The Ghost of Tom Joad. And though he won a Grammy in 1994 for the song "Streets of Philadelphia," the albums that preceded it -- 1992's Human Touch and Lucky Town, his first releases without the complete E Street Band since the early '80s -- sold poorly. The accompanying tour, which replaced the E Streeters with a set of studio pros, was met with skepticism from long-time fans and generated little interest from the audience he picked up following his 1984 breakthrough, Born in the U.S.A,. and the 1987 follow-up, Tunnel of Love.
His 1998 release Tracks is a four-disc boxed set of B-sides and studio outtakes that rescues some stellar material from the obscurity of rare and costly bootlegs. It's a stunning piece of work -- one that offers proof that the Boss' leftovers could be the centerpieces of lesser artists and that he knew what he was doing when he left certain songs off certain albums.
Yet its release, timed just before the announcement of Springsteen's induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (and his reunion with the E Street Band for their first tour since 1988) brought with it a whiff of disturbingly well orchestrated nostalgia.
But, as anyone who caught a show during the tour's first leg last year can tell you, Springsteen has no intention of subjecting his fans to a stroll down memory lane. He remains, at age 50, a vital and mesmerizing force. That's why he can still pull off a song of frustrated young love à la "Backstreets" or an escapist anthem such as "Born to Run" without pandering to the protocol of arena-rock spectacle. When the Stones tear into "Satisfaction," or the Who hauls out "Baba O'Riley," it's strictly for the benefit of the audience -- classic rock anthems dusted off for another exhibition. Springsteen, however, has recast his material, both in the arrangements and in his emotional approach to the songs.
"The River" has been transformed from a mournful, folk-based ballad into something that has the slink of midnight jazz (thanks to some stunning work from saxman Clarence Clemons) as well as the frightening undercurrent of lives being shattered, of dreams turning to lies -- or as the song suggests, something worse. "Youngstown," a standout from The Ghost of Tom Joad, is presented in concert as a blazing statement of rage, from the menacing thump of Max Weinberg's drums to Nils Lofgren's majestically dramatic guitar solo, which comes close to stealing the song from his boss.
Admirably the set lists have varied from show to show, with Springsteen digging deeper into his catalog than he has in years, playing early obscurities such as "New York City Serenade" and seldom-performed highlights such as "Incident on 57th Street," "For You," and "Ramrod." Most of the standards are there -- "Born to Run," "Darkness on the Edge of Town," "The River," "Hungry Heart," "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out," "Prove It All Night," and "Badlands."
Yet he has shied away from some of his biggest chart hits, especially the ones from Born in the U.S.A. and Tunnel of Love, not to mention "Rosalita" and "Streets of Philadelphia." You have to wonder what the fans he picked up during his mid-'80s domination must think when, after leaving one of the current marathon shows, they realize he didn't play "Glory Days" or "Dancing in the Dark," or that "Born in the U.S.A." is now performed solo as a searing, acoustic blues, with lacerating slide work and an entirely revamped vocal melody that makes every line burn. If Woody Guthrie's guitar could kill fascists, this new version of "Born in the U.S.A." rains bullets on the jingoist sloganeering mistakenly attached to one of Springsteen's most scathing songs.
The brilliance of this tour resides in its unexpected moments: the smiles on the faces of die-hards when they hear the first notes of "Backstreets," "Jungleland," or the harrowing rearrangement of "Point Blank"; the way Springsteen inserts bits of an Al Green soul classic into the long, tent-revival monologue during "Light of Day"; his duet with wife Patti Scialfa on "Mansion on the Hill" or "Factory." In this context the less dramatic crowd pleasers like "Darlington County," "Working on the Highway," and "Out in the Street" only underpin Springsteen's ability to make his concerts both redemptive and challenging, joyously rollicking and unnervingly tense -- events that transcend entertainment and cut straight to the soul.