From Out On The Kokomo
Bruce Springsteen And The E Street Band
Friday, February 17, 2012
Bruce Springsteen And The E Street Band
Friday, February 17, 2012
"More than fortune, more than fame, I just wanted to be great." - Bruce Springsteen
As I Recall It...
...it was August or September of 1974 and Sheri looked just like a star in the soft summer dress that she wore. It was the kind of dress that suited her well, draping her figure soft and flowing, as if she actually needed to remind anyone that she was a woman --- sensuous, tender and warm. It was the kind of dress that caught the gentlest of breezes to rustle and sway like the leaves on the trees and along with the rose that she placed in her long raven hair, she stood like a vision of perfection before me. She was facing the mirror putting on her lipstick, while the perfume she'd strategically dabbed behind her ears, in the swallow of her neck, and on the wrists of her arms filled the air with a sweet, intoxicating aroma. I stood behind her and off to the left where I combed my hair 'til it was just right, tucked in my shirt, then pulled on my sport coat and was ready to go.
We were off to see a new rising star, a rock n' roll prophet with the unlikely name of Bruce Springsteen who came from somewhere way out on the kokomo down on the shores of Jersey. We'd read all about him in the music press --- Crawdaddy, Rolling Stone and the like --- and we'd also heard his records 'Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J.' and 'The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle' played on the radio. Now we were going to find out for ourselves just what this street poet/guitar slinger/fortuneteller was really all about. Sheri was beguiled by the colorful, romantic names of these vagabond gypsies and come to think of it, so was I. Names that seemed to come right out of Central Casting and 'Goodfellas,' or some other film that dealt with two-bit punks from Jersey. Monikers like Vini 'Mad Dog' Lopez, Clarence 'The Big Man' Clemons, Gary 'W' Tallent, Suki Lahav and 'The Phantom.' And later came Earnest 'Boom' Carter, 'Mighty' Max, 'The Professor' and 'Miami' Steve Van Zandt, not to mention their seaside friends like Southside Johnny and 'The Zoomettes.' Only their keyboardist, David Sancious held on to convention for some reason.
We unlocked the doors and slid into the front seat of the '68 Chevy sedan that had been passed down to Sheri from her old man, turned on the radio and headed off through the streets of our little college town to where the "heart stoppin', pants droppin', house rockin', earth quakin', booty shakin', love makin' E Street Band" were about to play in the campus auditorium. Or conceivably it may have even been the college sports gymnasium.
We were off to see a new rising star, a rock n' roll prophet with the unlikely name of Bruce Springsteen who came from somewhere way out on the kokomo down on the shores of Jersey. We'd read all about him in the music press --- Crawdaddy, Rolling Stone and the like --- and we'd also heard his records 'Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J.' and 'The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle' played on the radio. Now we were going to find out for ourselves just what this street poet/guitar slinger/fortuneteller was really all about. Sheri was beguiled by the colorful, romantic names of these vagabond gypsies and come to think of it, so was I. Names that seemed to come right out of Central Casting and 'Goodfellas,' or some other film that dealt with two-bit punks from Jersey. Monikers like Vini 'Mad Dog' Lopez, Clarence 'The Big Man' Clemons, Gary 'W' Tallent, Suki Lahav and 'The Phantom.' And later came Earnest 'Boom' Carter, 'Mighty' Max, 'The Professor' and 'Miami' Steve Van Zandt, not to mention their seaside friends like Southside Johnny and 'The Zoomettes.' Only their keyboardist, David Sancious held on to convention for some reason.
We unlocked the doors and slid into the front seat of the '68 Chevy sedan that had been passed down to Sheri from her old man, turned on the radio and headed off through the streets of our little college town to where the "heart stoppin', pants droppin', house rockin', earth quakin', booty shakin', love makin' E Street Band" were about to play in the campus auditorium. Or conceivably it may have even been the college sports gymnasium.
As we pulled into the parking lot, Cheri checked her hair in the rear view mirror and then we took the elevator down to the main floor where it spilled out onto the campus grounds. We followed the gravel pathway through the Diag to the sound of crunching beneath our feet, growing more and more anxious with every step to witness the man who Jon Landau had infamously referred to loosely as "the future of rock and roll."
Once inside the hall, we took our seats, 5th row/center aisle and watched the parade of those curious like ourselves begin to fill up the theater in an effort to find out if this guy, Springsteen was indeed the real thing. With Sheri sitting at my side, I felt like a million. The evening ahead held great expectation and as I gazed out at the faces around me, I could see that all the other fellas in the crowd were looking at Sheri and me, envious and besotted, all wishing that they could've been her lucky young matador. After 40 minutes or so, the lights of the auditorium were dimmed, generating a rush of anticipation, and onto the darkened stage assembled the fabled 'E Street Band,' a ragtag assortment of long haired hippies, Harlem hipsters, and disheveled beach bums who all looked like they were in need of a fresh change of clothes and good nights sleep. As the lights faded out to show level, the haunting sound of a lonesome harmonica began to waft from the sound system, filling the auditorium and echoing up through the rafters. And there, silhouetted from behind by a spot stood a mysterious figure dressed in t-shirt, black denims and leather jacket, his legs spread wide and an electric guitar slung across his back looking for all the world like the absolute coolest guy who ever walked the Earth. In that first moment I knew I had every reason to believe that my expectations would be generously rewarded.
And so it was that Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band ripped into what I would eventually discover to be a stripped down version of 'Thunder Road,' a new song from their soon to be released record, 'Born To Run,' and from that point forward this entourage of pimps and street urchins never once let up for a single minute. The energy they invested in the first half dozen songs alone would've been enough to render any other up and coming act useless --- drained, spent and finished in the opening 30 minutes. But this band... this band carried on like their very lives hung in the balance of every note they played. So wrapped up in the music they made, the band barreled through their set like a runaway freight train, hell bent on delivering the best damn show they'd ever played. And this was just another in an endless string of one night stands, not to mention on a quiet college campus somewhere in the American heartland. Obviously they had something to prove, or so it seemed. But little did I, or anyone else know at the time that this was in fact what defined Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band --- the new 'hardest working band in show business.' It was only later we came to realize that this was merely business as usual for these romantic young boys. It's funny. By all outward appearances you would think they were simply a well-oiled bar band, albeit one with plenty of moxie, yet they played with a fury like it was their last night on Earth and for now, Sheri and I were riveted to our seats. At key points, she'd reach out for my hand and flash me a look that told me she was happy... very happy that I'd brought her to witness this incredible sage from the Jersey shoreline. And you know what? So was I.
Once inside the hall, we took our seats, 5th row/center aisle and watched the parade of those curious like ourselves begin to fill up the theater in an effort to find out if this guy, Springsteen was indeed the real thing. With Sheri sitting at my side, I felt like a million. The evening ahead held great expectation and as I gazed out at the faces around me, I could see that all the other fellas in the crowd were looking at Sheri and me, envious and besotted, all wishing that they could've been her lucky young matador. After 40 minutes or so, the lights of the auditorium were dimmed, generating a rush of anticipation, and onto the darkened stage assembled the fabled 'E Street Band,' a ragtag assortment of long haired hippies, Harlem hipsters, and disheveled beach bums who all looked like they were in need of a fresh change of clothes and good nights sleep. As the lights faded out to show level, the haunting sound of a lonesome harmonica began to waft from the sound system, filling the auditorium and echoing up through the rafters. And there, silhouetted from behind by a spot stood a mysterious figure dressed in t-shirt, black denims and leather jacket, his legs spread wide and an electric guitar slung across his back looking for all the world like the absolute coolest guy who ever walked the Earth. In that first moment I knew I had every reason to believe that my expectations would be generously rewarded.
And so it was that Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band ripped into what I would eventually discover to be a stripped down version of 'Thunder Road,' a new song from their soon to be released record, 'Born To Run,' and from that point forward this entourage of pimps and street urchins never once let up for a single minute. The energy they invested in the first half dozen songs alone would've been enough to render any other up and coming act useless --- drained, spent and finished in the opening 30 minutes. But this band... this band carried on like their very lives hung in the balance of every note they played. So wrapped up in the music they made, the band barreled through their set like a runaway freight train, hell bent on delivering the best damn show they'd ever played. And this was just another in an endless string of one night stands, not to mention on a quiet college campus somewhere in the American heartland. Obviously they had something to prove, or so it seemed. But little did I, or anyone else know at the time that this was in fact what defined Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band --- the new 'hardest working band in show business.' It was only later we came to realize that this was merely business as usual for these romantic young boys. It's funny. By all outward appearances you would think they were simply a well-oiled bar band, albeit one with plenty of moxie, yet they played with a fury like it was their last night on Earth and for now, Sheri and I were riveted to our seats. At key points, she'd reach out for my hand and flash me a look that told me she was happy... very happy that I'd brought her to witness this incredible sage from the Jersey shoreline. And you know what? So was I.
The music that flowed from the stage was unrelenting, filled with fire and passion and charged with a sexual energy that transcended gender. It's power had worked the audience into so near a frenzy that at one point, it felt like the ceiling was almost going to blow off the whole damn place, the structure no longer able to contain the arc of electricity that was being generated within. The night was approaching flash point and just when I thought it couldn't get any more exciting, the band launched into 'Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)' and all hell busted loose. The explosion of sound and fury was exhilarating and nearly tangible. This mad, intriguing band of characters from the Garden State may very well have been 'the future of rock and roll,' but for now they were right here in flesh and blood and the moment was all that counted. Midway through their forceful showstopping signature tune, Bruce leapt from the stage with mic in hand and ran up the center aisle where he fell to his knees immediately beside Sheri who sat on the aisle seat. There he was, so close we could feel the heat of his breath and could've easily reached out to touch the hem of his black leather garment. His hair was all tousled, a wild mess and his clothes hung disheveled like he'd slept one too many nights in the back of the touring van. Sweat was dripping from his brow, and he smelled like a hard salami. As he landed on his knees, a soiled paper napkin fell from the pocket of his jacket revealing traces of ketchup, mustard and greasy fries, the remnants perhaps of a wolfed down lunch at some greasy seaside cafe on the Ocean City boardwalk maybe. Who's to know? The undershirt he wore clung to his chest, wet from perspiration and a St. Christopher medal dangled from a silver chain that was hanging from his neck. And although I can't be entirely certain of it, I could've sworn that I actually saw tiny grains of sand embedded in the cracks and soles of his worn leather boots.
There on his knees, Bruce looked up into Sheri's eyes and began to croon, "Now I know your mama she don't like me 'cause I sing in a rock n' roll band. And I know your daddy, he don't dig me, but then he never did understand." I could see that Sheri's breathing was growing rapid. Grabbing her hand he continued, "Your papa lowered the boom, he locked you in your room, but I'm coming to lend a hand. I'm coming to liberate you, to confiscate you, 'cause I want to be your man. Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny." As he stood up to return to the band, his harp fell to the floor and Sheri delicately pulled the rose she wore from the tangles of her hair. She tossed it to Bruce who retrieved them both, smiled a Latin lover's grin and then bounded back to the stage seemingly pleased with his conquest. Strapping on his guitar, he turned and wailed into the mic, "Well tell 'em this is their last chance to get their daughter in a fine romance, because the record company Rosie, just gave me a big advance!" On that cue, the band pulled out all the stops and the place just exploded. The earth shaked, ovaries quaked, hearts stopped and cherries popped, pants were peed and the blind could see. It was the single most exciting moment that I'd ever experienced at a rock and roll show, and obviously, everyone one else in attendance felt the same.
There on his knees, Bruce looked up into Sheri's eyes and began to croon, "Now I know your mama she don't like me 'cause I sing in a rock n' roll band. And I know your daddy, he don't dig me, but then he never did understand." I could see that Sheri's breathing was growing rapid. Grabbing her hand he continued, "Your papa lowered the boom, he locked you in your room, but I'm coming to lend a hand. I'm coming to liberate you, to confiscate you, 'cause I want to be your man. Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny." As he stood up to return to the band, his harp fell to the floor and Sheri delicately pulled the rose she wore from the tangles of her hair. She tossed it to Bruce who retrieved them both, smiled a Latin lover's grin and then bounded back to the stage seemingly pleased with his conquest. Strapping on his guitar, he turned and wailed into the mic, "Well tell 'em this is their last chance to get their daughter in a fine romance, because the record company Rosie, just gave me a big advance!" On that cue, the band pulled out all the stops and the place just exploded. The earth shaked, ovaries quaked, hearts stopped and cherries popped, pants were peed and the blind could see. It was the single most exciting moment that I'd ever experienced at a rock and roll show, and obviously, everyone one else in attendance felt the same.
That Long Walk Home
When the show came to a conclusion some two and a half, three hours later, Sheri and I had been rendered speechless. What could really be said of such an exciting phenomenon like the one we'd just witnessed without it sounding stupid or cliche? We'd both been ringside spectators at an event that was larger than ourselves and it left us both with a lot to ponder. As we drove home, we forwent the radio as it somehow seemed insignificant now in the afterglow of our memorable experience. For the first time in my life I'd truly been normalized. I'd stood in the shadow of greatness and now felt somehow inadequate and of no account by comparison. You see, when Bruce knelt there in the aisle beside our seats, all of my self-affirmation, or maybe instead it was my humble self-aggrandizement, whatever it was, it just flew right out the window. Despite who, or what I thought I was, after that night I realized that I was and always would be just an average, normal guy. Sheri and I... we'd been humbled by the larger than life charisma of one, Bruce Springsteen and my psyche somehow seemed like it would never be the same after that. I know it sounds grand and naive and foolish and just plain crazy, but on that night, that's exactly the way it felt. And if that's what I was thinking and feeling, I wondered whatever in the world might be going on in Sheri's mind and heart?
As we pulled into the driveway and opened the doors, Sheri stepped out of the car and for the first time since leaving the show she opened her mouth to say something to me. It was then that I got my answer. "I wish that you knew how to play the guitar," she finally said and with those words, I knew that I had just lost her to the allure of those romantic young boys, and she'd never again set herself on fire for me. Where I had once been man enough for her, I had now met my adversary and it was no contest, plain and simple. My corduroy and tweeds just didn't stand a chance against Bruce's motorcycle boots, black demin jeans and leather jacket. My witty repartee couldn't hold a candle to his street poetry, and my casually rumpled fashion and laid-back demeanor simply paled against this fiery, wild and street smart Don Quixote in scruffy jeans from somewhere on the Jersey shoreline. And surely the studio headphones of my trade were no match for his electric guitar. Oh sure, I had a reputation and name for myself as a DJ from the local FM radio station. But you know... in the end, I was just the guy who played the records. Bruce was the one who actually made the music, and that's the difference. I could never cast a spell as powerful as the one he cast that night. That's what we both came to realize that night back in 1974 when we encountered the newest young gun in town with his band of desperados who had christened themselves, Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band. It was then I understood why they called him, 'The Boss.'
As we pulled into the driveway and opened the doors, Sheri stepped out of the car and for the first time since leaving the show she opened her mouth to say something to me. It was then that I got my answer. "I wish that you knew how to play the guitar," she finally said and with those words, I knew that I had just lost her to the allure of those romantic young boys, and she'd never again set herself on fire for me. Where I had once been man enough for her, I had now met my adversary and it was no contest, plain and simple. My corduroy and tweeds just didn't stand a chance against Bruce's motorcycle boots, black demin jeans and leather jacket. My witty repartee couldn't hold a candle to his street poetry, and my casually rumpled fashion and laid-back demeanor simply paled against this fiery, wild and street smart Don Quixote in scruffy jeans from somewhere on the Jersey shoreline. And surely the studio headphones of my trade were no match for his electric guitar. Oh sure, I had a reputation and name for myself as a DJ from the local FM radio station. But you know... in the end, I was just the guy who played the records. Bruce was the one who actually made the music, and that's the difference. I could never cast a spell as powerful as the one he cast that night. That's what we both came to realize that night back in 1974 when we encountered the newest young gun in town with his band of desperados who had christened themselves, Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band. It was then I understood why they called him, 'The Boss.'
Those Romantic Young Boys, Pt.1
1) The Fever
2) Kitty's Back
3) 4th Of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)
4) Meeting Across The River
5) Incident On 57th Street
6) Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)
7) New York City Serenade
8) For You
9) Growin' Up
10) It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City
11) The Angel
12) Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out
13) Does This Bus Stop At 82nd Street
14) Thunder Crack
15) Paradise By The 'C'
16) Fire
17) Raise Your Hand
Those Romantic Young Boys, Pt.2
1) The River
2) She's The One
3) Badlands
4) Darkness On The Edge Of Town
5) Born To Run
6) Spanish Eyes
7) Point Blank
8) Prove It All Night
9) Jungleland
10) Because The Night
11) Candy's Room
12) Detroit Medley
13) Thunder Road
14) Out In The Street
15) The Promised Land
16) Rendezvous
17) Ain't Good Enough For You
1) The Fever
2) Kitty's Back
3) 4th Of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)
4) Meeting Across The River
5) Incident On 57th Street
6) Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)
7) New York City Serenade
8) For You
9) Growin' Up
10) It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City
11) The Angel
12) Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out
13) Does This Bus Stop At 82nd Street
14) Thunder Crack
15) Paradise By The 'C'
16) Fire
17) Raise Your Hand
Those Romantic Young Boys, Pt.2
1) The River
2) She's The One
3) Badlands
4) Darkness On The Edge Of Town
5) Born To Run
6) Spanish Eyes
7) Point Blank
8) Prove It All Night
9) Jungleland
10) Because The Night
11) Candy's Room
12) Detroit Medley
13) Thunder Road
14) Out In The Street
15) The Promised Land
16) Rendezvous
17) Ain't Good Enough For You
Source material for 'Those Romantic Young Boys, Pts.1&2' comes from the following:
Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. (1973)
The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle (1973)
Born To Run (1975)/Darkness On The Edge Of Town (1978)
The River (1980)/Live: 1975-1985 (1986)
Tracks (1998)/18 Tracks (1999)
Hammersmith Odeon London '75 (2006)/The Promise (2010)
Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. (1973)
The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle (1973)
Born To Run (1975)/Darkness On The Edge Of Town (1978)
The River (1980)/Live: 1975-1985 (1986)
Tracks (1998)/18 Tracks (1999)
Hammersmith Odeon London '75 (2006)/The Promise (2010)
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