And the poets down here
Don’t write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand …
First time I read those lyrics I was 14. The line made me realize navigating through life could be possible with some help, from friends. In this case, my comrade was Bruce Frederick Joseph Springsteen.
I was home sick during my first fall in high school. My prior knowledge of Bruce was strictly related to his historic herculean hit album “Born in the USA.” The tape, (I did not own the vinyl version), was respectable. Catchy tunes, decent effort, this guy clearly had something. Undoubtedly, this rave review from a punk teen, in suburban Jersey meant a great deal in the grand scheme. This rash reaction was the epitome of ignorance. It would be the last time I would doubt the brilliance of “the Boss.”
When my brother went to school on the aforementioned day, he left “Born to Run.” Well, needless to say that was a game-changer! I am not sure why I stopped watching The Price is Right before Cliffhanger came on, (remember the one with the little guy who would glide up the mountain and yodel – a classic); yet for some reason I opted to turn off the tv before Bob Barker reminded me to spay and neuter my pets and give this “Bruuuuce” a true examination.
This was the 80’s so I possessed no smart phone or laptop, where I could access any and everything ever written by or about the man. Instead, I decided to open the cassette case and unfold one of life’s outstanding offerings – linear notes! The lyrics above are from the song “Jungleland.” An extraordinary masterpiece of composition flawlessly crafted from the soul of Rock & Roll’s greatest storyteller.
Who knew?
I thought he was just that guy who wore blue jeans with a baseball cap stuck in his back pocket lamenting for the broken daydreams of his blue-collar buddies.
Who knew he was a modern poet worthy of the ranks of Baudelaire and Rilke. After rereading every syllable of the notes provided in this perfectly folded icosahedron as if they were the dead sea scrolls transcribed by the heavenly father himself, an unquenchable thirst awaited. And it would be a rebellious ride making sure I appeased this craving.
You see I went to a parochial, all-boys high school where suffocating young men’s individuality through crushing conformity was served by archaic, racist, frustrated brothers of the cloth daily.
I was searching for a ‘savior to rise’ and then “Lost in the Flood” rang out from the speakers and delivered me my saint, when I heard him growl ~
Nuns run bald through Vatican halls
Pregnant, pleadin’ immaculate conception
And everybody’s wrecked on Main Street
From drinking unholy blood
There it was. Unremorseful + Daring + Authentic =’d CLARITY.
Suddenly, answers seemed feasible in the midst of the madness of adolescence. I wrote his lyrics incessantly in my 278-page multi-sectional/spiral/catholic approved notebook, while attempting to ward off the insanity which was present in the guise of secondary education. My multicolored Bic Ballpoint Pen – black ink, blue ink, green ink and red ink – ferociously flowed onto the pages and provided the blood propelling through my veins with fresh oxygenation. F*ck parallelograms, phys-ed, and political science – I was being taught by the professor of prose.
Scribbled in those sheets were lyrics of rawness, reflection, poignancy, prophecy, & hope. They always seemed to blanket me with belief. What a gift to bestow.
Springsteen was my confidant in every facet of existence for a while. When I dated my first love, and we fought and broke up, (which we did probably 500x), I’d pop “Darkness on the Edge of Town” into my silver Walkman and place that wonderfully flimsy headset over my sizeable noggin’ and hit the pavement with a purposeful gait. Still fuming from the unfurling of the latest teen tragedy and vowing to escape Northern New Jersey and NEVER return, I made sure the music was pumping at a tinnitus-producing volume through my ear canal as it promised to release me from these ~
Badlands, you gotta live it everyday
Let the broken hearts stand as the price you’ve gotta pay
We’ll keep pushin’ till it’s understood
And these badlands start treating us good
You’re damn straight, I would find a way to race through these streets and make sure a dream wasn’t a lie. I was tired of hiding beneath covers and studying my pain.
All the lessons I yearned for – from my clergy, my father, my mother, my friends, myself – were there staring back at me with each line I read.
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing
But lost and brokenhearted
I was now an official member of “the heart-stopping, pants-dropping, house-rocking, earth-quaking, booty-shaking, love-making, legendary,” church of Springsteen. These worshippers were wary of the pratfalls of false fortune tellers and wisely opted for the salience of sound salvation.
This newfound devotion matured with each listen. The contributions were bountiful and blessed. When my sibling left for college, I would go into his room, (it had a turntable, and yes, I now had vinyl which included mucho Bruce), and there in the blackness I’d be soothed by “The River.” He had moved on to higher education. He had returned to his birthplace, The Bronx. He was pursuing his runaway American dream. The album kept me connected. His room kept me hidden. The tunes kept me from surrendering.
Senior year of denominational, erroneous edification was upon me and we were told to summon a quote from the recesses, for our yearbook. My first choice was prohibited ~
We busted out of class
Had to get away from those fools
We learned more from a three-minute record, baby
Than we ever learned in school
Second (begrudgingly) submitted selection ~
But I was living in a world of childish dreams
Someday these childish dreams must end
To become a man and grow up to dream again
This they deemed allowable. And so, it was time to leave our graduation gowns lying in rags at their feet and pull out of there to win.
Toward the end of senior year, almost five years into my discipleship, I experienced Bruce live, for the first time. We drove across the river from Jersey – my sibling and his pals, for a meeting on the other side – to the Mecca (Madison Square Garden). It is widely known, and truly should not even be up for debate, that Mr. Springsteen’s concerts are mythical. Enough has been written regarding his inspired performances to fill stadiums with 5-subject, coiled, notebooks. There is little to add to the legend of Bruce and the E Street band live. Just know whatever you’ve heard as far as the magnitude of these events, they far exceed any expectations you could imagine.
So, commuter college came and went, relationships were treated as they should be ~ loving with all the madness in my soul, and adulthood did not sequester any desire to impede the velocity of this train or dim the light.
My companion continues to accompany me for this part of the ride.
Bruce turned 75 Monday. He still plays for close to 180 minutes or more. He still presents his passion without prejudice. He still energizes by educating. If there is any justice, he will walk off a stage some rainy night, maybe in Asbury, after performing for 2 hours and 59 minutes, (understandable to be just shy of three hours at the age of 105), pop on some Orbison, close his eyes and fade away.
Happy belated b-day Bruce and THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart.
And to the one who introduced me to the artist who helped save me ~
Now the hardness of this world slowly grinds your dreams away
Makin’ a fool’s joke out of the promisеs we make
And what once seemеd black and white turns to so many shades of gray
We lose ourselves in work to do and bills to pay
But the stars are burnin’ bright like some mystery uncovered
I’ll keep movin’ through the dark with you in my heart
My blood brother
Did You Know? On 7/31/12, Bruce and The E Street Band performed in Helsinki, Finland and ended up clocking in at four hours and six minutes! This was from a band who was well into their 60’s. They played 33 songs. It is the longest concert Springsteen has ever played.