Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band: Putting the Focus Where It Belongs
Barely a third of the way into his 32-song, nearly three-and-a-half-hour performance at the KIA Forum (April 4), Bruce Springsteen attempted to unfurl a rather unusual song request. The song “Jole Blon” (French for “pretty blond”) goes back almost a century, and the Boss has never been shy about embracing traditional roots. Ah, but the delivery system, what looked to be a large white bed sheet, fuzzily spray-painted with the request and delivered from the upper reaches far above the stage, then relayed earthward to be deposited at Springsteen’s feet, took more than a few beats to read before he enthusiastically obliged. Musically, and as a public figure, Springsteen has always been a man of the people, and those people, his fans, ardently relate to the man. So, this gesture of connection, without hesitation, was not anything special, which only makes what he brings to the stage that much more so. And so it was, over the course of 200+ minutes, the first of two Los Angeles dates rescheduled from the end of last year.
Springsteen has been doing this a long time. From the breakout Newsweek and Time cover boy to the 74-year-old dude who plays longer, stronger, and with more energy and intensity than any of his largely mid-century-plus demographic could hope to muster, he shows no real signs of slowing. I’ve only managed a handful of Springsteen shows over the years, but each and every one has been a joyous celebration, a motorcycle ride through the human condition. Sharp turns and straightaways, with the wind in your face and your honey holding you tight.
Bruce has been mixing up the openers, with “Lonesome Day” usually in the first few tunes, (as it was Thursday), but you know the Boss is in a frisky mood when he opens with John Lee Hooker’s “Boom Boom.” Speaking of frisky, Patti Sciafla and her husband smoldered their way through an acoustic version of “Fire,” a seminar in seduction by guitar, because, when they kissed, the place did get a little hot and bothered. Springsteen prowled the ramp from end to end with an en masse “Hungry Heart” singalong, then turned up the revival for “Spirit in the Night,” goading us all to feel a bit of that holy life force, before exclaiming “keep playing!” and launching into an impromptu (not on the setlist) “No Surrender.” Like so much of the Boss’ best material, he played that sucka to every corner of the Forum, from the front of the pit to those not-so-cheap nosebleeds. There may be a little more strain to his vocal reach here and there, but, given the mileage, it’s remarkable the years haven’t worn more noticeably.
In this time of live performance overkill, the production of a Springsteen show is refreshingly no fuss, putting the focus where it belongs, on stage and on the music: spots on the performers, simple video screens, and the audience frequently lit throughout the night, a Springsteen trademark that bonds performer and audience like Gorilla Glue, and like those E Streeters with each other.
Yes, that “heart-stopping, pants-dropping, love-making, earth quaking” (and so much more) E Street Band really knows how to fill a stage. All 17 pieces (not including Patti Sciafla popping in for a few songs): five horns (including saxophonist Jake Clemons), four vocalists, two keys (with longtime E Streeter, Roy Bittan, playing a grand most of the show), percussion, Suzie Tyrell on fiddle, the phenomenally underappreciated Garry Tallent on bass, the mighty sticks of Max Weinberg, and those always low-key and impeccably stylish six-string sidekicks, Steve Van Zandt and Nils Lofgren. Spiking every horn cue as one, jumping on every fill that comes with a shared musical lifetime (Max Weinberg was especially mighty), and channeling the Boss’ every gesture to maximum musical impact. And Springsteen is such a generous performer, with many of those E Streeters tangling with Bruce up front in various constellations, and, on many occasions, turning their backs to most of the room to play to those behind the stage seats, another Springsteen hallmark. Everyone gets in the act, and a Bruce show is not a Bruce show until 20,000 go nuts giving the trombonist his due.
“My City of Ruins” and “The Rising” always manage to put a lump in my throat, and both found their place deep in the main set, with the Bo Diddley pounce of “She’s the One” landing somewhere in between. And while I may not have gotten a “Jungleland,” the “Badlands” and “Thunder Road” crescendos were absolutely undeniable in their roar. And, yes, there was more! There always is, and his eight-song encore set included a definitely not-on-the-setlist “Twist and Shout,” initiated by the sharp twang of Bruce’s beloved Tele and capped with the Boss pulling a dance partner from the audience for a little shaking.
Springsteen spends more time physically connecting with the audience than any performer I can think of. Edge of the stage, shaking, slapping, pressing hands. An unspoken trust, and a human touch. And those houselights up full for the last 45 minutes are not just an invitation but an exaltation that we all live on an E Street somewhere.
