Bruce and my husband go way back; thirty years, even before we became a couple. I remember the Born to Run poster on Donald’s dorm room wall.  He was 21-22 years for the first Bruce concert, driving to NJ, NY, and RI with pals to catch as many as he could.  Sunday night’s concert in Mansfield is well over twenty, with and without out kids. Our younger son is called Bruce. Suffice it to say my husband is a fan, and I run a pretty close second. If you’ve been to a concert, you know the faithful are devoted, and the relationship runs both ways. 

As much as I admire Bruce and the band, I’ve become less a fan of concerts – the noise, the crowd scene, the drinking, the parking, the mess.  I enjoyed the outdoor concert on Sun. more than I expected – the night was comfortable, the acoustics good, our seats were fine, the technology helped us appreciate the musicians’ expressions and their playing. The venue was well organized, no long lines, and a passionate but agreeable crowd. The set list was a happy mixture of the old and some of the new, with a good deal of stage business thrown in by a guy who is very physical and likes to clown around.

For sure, I liked this Springsteen concert better than the one at the Fleet Center when a drunk guy fell on top of me from the row above, knocking me right out of my seat. Fortunately, we both landed “softly’ and I had only a gash on my shin bone to show for it. It was better, too, than Foxboro on a summer night with a fog so heavy that we couldn’t see the stage, sometimes not the monitors. Oh, and the sound was distorted. We actually couldn’t tell when the musicians left the stage, andwhether the concert was really over. Or even at Fenway Park, second night. Although I love the park for games, it was a zoo. This time wehad the kids and could not manage to waft away all the pot smoke drifting our way; somehow no security in sight. Or even, back in the day, the concert at the Cow Palace in Oakland, catching a ride with five other Springsteen fans from UC/Santa Cruz, and not sure any of them were sober enough to get us home.

What I liked best about Sunday’s concert was not the appreciative audience or the comfortable seating. What I liked the very best was the first time I could remember seeing Bruce and the musicians really in the music, beyond performing on stage, beyond pleasing an audience. No one is more hardworking than they are. And I suspect that Bruce is a pretty tough manager, albeit with a good touch. The description is always “tight” and“professional”, and it’s true. The best moments, for me, were the instrumental solos – “It’s so Hard to be a Saint in the City”, where they just took off,some place new and different; not just a new version, a new place in the music.  Or, Murder Incorporated, where Bruce went all Jimi Hendrix, following his guitar, not telling it where to go.Or, Nils Lofgren’s solo on “Prove It All Night”, another old song from the raw, desperate days of struggle and uncertainty, still on the outside, looking in. And where they went, the band followed, like jazz almost, because they’re that good,because they know each other that well.

Maybe it’s maturity; maybe the death of one of the band’s members, or Bruce closing in on 60. I like to think they can find that freedomfor themselves, nothing to prove, those moments of ecstasy that we can reach with the power of music.