I never made my relationship to Bruce's music conditional to my approving anything or everything he does. When Better Days and Lucky Town came out in the early 90's without the band I really didn't care or mind. He had been out on the road with Sting and the Amnesty International tour and had seen how Sting changed band composition to suit his musical needs. BTW, Bruce smoked Sting on Every Breath You Take when they did a duet (on the River as well!).
The early 90's saw music in a real transition: Metal and bubble-gum were out. Nirvana, Pearl Jam and flannel-y grunge were in. Here comes Bruce with two albums and no E Street Band. The shows were good, but I have to admit, when that chick started blowing the sax on Born To Run, I booed (along with everyone else) It just felt disloyal to Clarence (sorry for the boo Bruce, I've gotten over it) Anyway, my wife was preggers (our first dance was to Tougher Than The Rest, a little silly writing this, but so be it). I was starting to make inroads on a career, we bought a house that we couldn't afford in a neighborhood we hated. Things got complicated in a hurry, and while Bruce was there (always) it became, well like the song says "There were planes to catch and bills to pay" every body just got busy eking out a livelihood and raising families.
There was a lull in Bruce's career that seemed to mimic what we were all doing: he was raising kids and taking care of his family. In 1994 Bruce recorded "Streets of Philadelphia" for the Tom Hanks film "Philadelphia" it was especially poignant for me because my brother (who was just 33) was dying from cancer, and although the song describes the depths of an AIDS victim. It is essentially a manifesto to anyone with a loathsome disease, and that in truth even if there are throngs of visitors and caregivers: we all die alone, no one can really stop and experience the abject disconnection of dying. Life goes on around the dying.
In the middle of all this my family and I watched Bruce perform "Streets of Philadelphia" at the Oscar awards (before he won!) and my dad, who would normally chime in with a nasty snark about Bruce was curiously silent. A few weeks later, my dad asked if I could put that song on for him. "Which song, dad?" "The sad one Bruce Springsteen sang at the Oscars" I was shocked, he never called him by his name it was always "That illiterate" or something else. He never made another negative comment about him.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Little Girl I Want To Marry You
Some genius said "life happens while you're making other plans" he meant that shit. Sometime in 87/88 my honey and I had jettisoned our respective romantic place holders and moved in together, but life wasn't going to be "happily ever after" we struggled with money while she worked on her doctoral degree. My lack of a clear career trajectory and fear of commitment didn't help matters.
I won't go too deep into the these troubling times, but my girl suffered the loss of her younger brother and it effected her deeply. At a time when I should have clinged to her, I was emotionally useless. In my classic imitable way: I had helped with the arrangements and sorting out all the weird and utilitarian things you do when someone dies, but was unable to relate to her loss, and retreated from the relationship. In hindsight, I guess I just didn't want to become anyone's pillar. I was too immature and was already dealing with my parents (who had suffered their own setbacks) She moved out.
After a few months, we sorted through our issues. Truth be known, sometime in the months after we broke up I had to see her (forgot the reason). I went to her apartment and there she stood in the doorway: a new re-invented iteration of my honey, wearing a shiny pink bodysuit (it was still the 80's) and her natural blond tresses had become flame red. I melted. You can call me shallow, a fetishist, whatever, but you weren't there. I was. We were engaged and married with 18 months.
After we got married (the band played "Tougher Than The Rest" at our wedding) we settled into our pattern of her laser focus on her degree, and my rudderless (yet curiously productive) search for career options. We managed an apartment building in Hollywood, while I worked at various film/TV/commercial production jobs. I turned out not to have the correct disposition in dealing with pompous show business folk, and my willingness to humiliate myself had limits that I wasn't aware of.
Eventually, my freakish sales ability (including talking my way into jobs that I'm completely unqualified for) became my fall back for any misguided career aspirations that I had. Over the years I have done many many jobs including, but not limited to the following:
Warehouse/shipping manager, Janitor (at a pet hospital, gross!), Bouncer, Grocery clerk, Grocery merchandiser, Prop man, TV producer (Emmy nominated!), Executive recruiter, Car salesman, Beef Jerky salesman, Coffee salesman, Candy salesman, Cigar store owner, Bar/restaurant owner, a year where I got paid and was never required to do any work (I recommend this to everyone), and Director of sales for a Toy company (today)
I won't go too deep into the these troubling times, but my girl suffered the loss of her younger brother and it effected her deeply. At a time when I should have clinged to her, I was emotionally useless. In my classic imitable way: I had helped with the arrangements and sorting out all the weird and utilitarian things you do when someone dies, but was unable to relate to her loss, and retreated from the relationship. In hindsight, I guess I just didn't want to become anyone's pillar. I was too immature and was already dealing with my parents (who had suffered their own setbacks) She moved out.
After a few months, we sorted through our issues. Truth be known, sometime in the months after we broke up I had to see her (forgot the reason). I went to her apartment and there she stood in the doorway: a new re-invented iteration of my honey, wearing a shiny pink bodysuit (it was still the 80's) and her natural blond tresses had become flame red. I melted. You can call me shallow, a fetishist, whatever, but you weren't there. I was. We were engaged and married with 18 months.
After we got married (the band played "Tougher Than The Rest" at our wedding) we settled into our pattern of her laser focus on her degree, and my rudderless (yet curiously productive) search for career options. We managed an apartment building in Hollywood, while I worked at various film/TV/commercial production jobs. I turned out not to have the correct disposition in dealing with pompous show business folk, and my willingness to humiliate myself had limits that I wasn't aware of.
Eventually, my freakish sales ability (including talking my way into jobs that I'm completely unqualified for) became my fall back for any misguided career aspirations that I had. Over the years I have done many many jobs including, but not limited to the following:
Warehouse/shipping manager, Janitor (at a pet hospital, gross!), Bouncer, Grocery clerk, Grocery merchandiser, Prop man, TV producer (Emmy nominated!), Executive recruiter, Car salesman, Beef Jerky salesman, Coffee salesman, Candy salesman, Cigar store owner, Bar/restaurant owner, a year where I got paid and was never required to do any work (I recommend this to everyone), and Director of sales for a Toy company (today)
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Lonely Pilgrim
The phenomenon of BITUSA eventually culminated in a startling series of stadium shows. These were bittersweet times for me and Shoney. How could the Coliseum and the deluge of media and fans lend themselves to the intimacy and raucousness of the shows earlier in the decade? Jumbotrons and huge radio promotion were not part and parcel to a Springsteen concert, Bruce wasn't, after all Mick Jagger.
Yet there we were. Me, Shony and 90,000 of our closest friends (Rob Lowe said hello, more on him later) Bruce did a great job bringing these some intimacy to these venues. To his credit Bruce has never relied on elaborate props or lighting and his staging is spartan . Occasionally, he'll have a gag prop or two: over the years there have been chalkboards with a map of New Jersey, a carny ticket-taker window, a calliope and on Halloween, a coffin (you have to see it!) But no dragons or spaceships.
The whole idea of this many Springsteen fans was unsettling, how can he be speaking to so many people? where was the voice I heard when I was 16? Well, he grew up (Bruce, not me) at the shows Bruce went into the intro for a cover of "War (what is it good for?)" with a admonishment to the Reagan-era crowd that "In 1985, blind faith in your leaders or anything could get you killed" Shit, if he had seen what W was gonna be doing in 20 or so years he would've praised the restraint and humanity of the Reagan Presidency. But this issue, I leave for another blog.
Digression from main Bruce blog #3
During this time my girl and I hadn't seen each other for a good 6 months, we parted after the summer shows and I had started dating someone else. When she moved down to LA, I was surprised that she came looking for me (I was living at my parents house, not in the basement, but still a loser nonetheless!) The tall, cool , aloof chick was in my parents house: crying. What the fuck? I really didn't even think she liked me. Never can tell with the quiet, smart ones eh? This does bring up a very underrated and desirable quality that my girl has: she rarely talks about "us". Her feelings are not aired out in a constant need-for-reciprocation, affirmation, justification, or general vociferation. I have to make a note to myself to remember this. Unlike most relationships, I (the titular male) need to hear from her, more frequently than she needs it from me, weird huh? Poor thing got an earful from me a couple months ago when I was feeling under appreciated (Am I a woman?) She's taken to leaving little sweet notes for my needy eyes.
Anyway, she confessed that beneath that candy-thin shell of a cool exterior and tall visage she was in-fact, not indifferent to me (as I suspected) but was (amazingly) pretty hung up on your humble narrator (phew!) I didn't even now how to react, I had been dating another girl (I won't debase myself and my wife's good will by mentioning her specifically on a blog dedicated to my love) but, it did mark the beginning of the end for the Other girl.
There were timing issues, a horrible family tragedy, and my own stupidity to overcome (many, many times) but we would become a couple.
Tunnel of Love
Things that had gotten so far out of hand had started to pull back to more modest and reasonable levels for long term Bruce fans. Tunnel of Love was bittersweet and stark, there were some sentimental songs about love gone good, unrequited love and love gone bad. Some people were saying that if Bruce is writing about his own experiences (and why wouldn't he) than it sounded like his marriage was in serious trouble. Or put this way: If your spouse or significant other writes and sings "Brilliant Disguise" youse in trouble, dude.
The Tunnel of Love tour saw Bruce moving back to the smaller arenas (thank you god) My sweetheart and I went on opening night at the LA Sports arena (back when it was just a drab dump vs. and old drab dump) I couldn't help but notice Bruce and Patti during the duets. I don't have a huge bevy of core talents, but one of them is that I'm rather observant, to my salesman's eyes, Bruce and Patti looked to be in love... My wife (girlfriend at the time) said "You're crazy" Boy, did I ever hit that one on the head.
Side notes on Red heads
The firebug community (those of us who prefer lasses with scarlet manes) for the most part don't care how that hair got to be so red, while natural is always preferable, the woman who feels like her hair should be red also warms our hearts. The red hair is a statement, a political affiliation for the spirit. I have all sorts of red issues: Firstly, my mother was a natural redhead (sharp wit and bad temper too) she was pretty domineering and I can say with supreme certainty that there was no Oedipal leanings (or even a scant thought) but for some reason I always found Ann-Margret, Rita Hayworth, that chick from "Boogie Nights" and even pre-fucked up and blond Lindsay Lohan to be infinitely more desirable than any blond I ever saw. So there's that. For my leanings, god or whatever wickedly self-amusing, wiseacre has bestowed upon me the reddest of redheads for my daughter. I will spend my 50's keeping firebugs like me at bay and be put in the very pathetic position of having to discourage mofo's (not unlike myself) from getting too chummy with my little red angel. Cursed fates.
To be continued...
Thursday, November 1, 2007
The Tactical Retreat
Digression from main Bruce thread #1: There she was...
It was August of 1984. She had been brought to the house by an older brother who was dating her best friend, she was from Spokane and down in LA for the summer. I saw her wild blond "Nina Blackwood" styled hair above the rugby scrum of fraternity brothers (she's almost 5'11'') all trying to get in her graces while cock-blocking or being cock-blocked by their closest friends. She caught my eye, how could she not? Long and slender with shy, almond shaped eyes, lovely mouth and chin and a high regal stature. By 1984 I had grown tall and lost the pudginess of my adolescence. I wasn't cool, but could do a pretty good impression of it. I knew that phalanx of idiots in pursuit of my future honey's tender charms were a mojo killer. I had learned that, in matters of the heart (and other areas) that tactical retreat and patience could yield results that pressure and desperation couldn't. Yeah, she was striking and I was smitten, but there was no way I was going in, not then, not there.
The next night was a beach party, and (lucky for me!) there she was sitting on a log by a fire pit, alone. I grabbed my friend Steve and said "Do know that girl?" he shook his head "Introduce me" we walked over and he said "This is Dodd, what's your name? She said "Beth" I then said "Oh, yeah we spent the night together last night" then she said "We'll it must not have been very good, or I'd remember you" Ouch!
For what ever reason I was able to weasel onto this girl's radar, we become a summer couple. I liked being with her, I liked looking at her, we said our good-byes a couple of weeks later. There was something there, but she seemed aloof and indifferent to me, we stayed in contact (by snail mail, remember that?) and she agreed to come down for the Born In the USA tour in October...
Opening Night- Born In The USA - LA Sports Arena
There we were: Shony and me and our girls (they would both become our wives, still are!) in the 2nd row, dead center, no bullshit, no scalpers, we'd earned our right to be there. The Anthemic show opener "Born in the USA" was followed by a smattering of old and new Bruce, the shows, which are always good, felt more like an social event and less like the catharsis of old. It wasn't Bruce, he was, as always, spot on and in the moment, it was the crowd: they were there for the scene. What should have been a great series of shows were a little disappointing. It felt like we had lost some innocence and the messenger (or who the messenger was dating) got more important than the message. It was somehow different. By the time BITUSA and all the singles moved through the charts it established Bruce as worldwide media fodder. Even Reagan took a shot at co-opting a piece of Bruce. Then there was the marriage to an actress/model. Who gives a fuck? I didn't want to know his private business, and I didn't care for the people who somehow thought it made them bigger or better fans because they knew some personal shit about him. It was, and always has been about the music for me. I'm a snob, whatever, STFU if you think your stupid ass Bruce insider knowledge means anything to me.
Digression from main Bruce thread #2: The Boss Club
About 1985 I started going to The Boss Club. Some Springsteen devotees had set it up in the anachronistic locale of the Imperial Gardens, an old school Japanese restaurant on Sunset (it would later become the Roxbury). Every Tuesday night they would play Springsteen tunes and run grainy VHS bootlegs of ancient Bruce shows from yore. I had a regular booth there and was the venue where the following incidents may or may not have happened: I dove Slip N' Slide style across the beer soaked dance floor headfirst, I made out with Paris Hilton's future Aunt, watched Rob Lowe get denied by a chubby redhead (what was she thinking? I'd of fucked him, and I'm straight) had drinks with Michael J Fox (that lil feller could pack it in)
The Boss Club was a sweaty, loud and anachronistic joint (I mean a Springsteen themed club in the middle of a Japanese restaurant?) but in the mid-80's you were either wearing a puffy shirt with eye-liner or had skinny jeans with metal hair, or you were marginally normal and went to places with an element of fun and hijinx.
It was August of 1984. She had been brought to the house by an older brother who was dating her best friend, she was from Spokane and down in LA for the summer. I saw her wild blond "Nina Blackwood" styled hair above the rugby scrum of fraternity brothers (she's almost 5'11'') all trying to get in her graces while cock-blocking or being cock-blocked by their closest friends. She caught my eye, how could she not? Long and slender with shy, almond shaped eyes, lovely mouth and chin and a high regal stature. By 1984 I had grown tall and lost the pudginess of my adolescence. I wasn't cool, but could do a pretty good impression of it. I knew that phalanx of idiots in pursuit of my future honey's tender charms were a mojo killer. I had learned that, in matters of the heart (and other areas) that tactical retreat and patience could yield results that pressure and desperation couldn't. Yeah, she was striking and I was smitten, but there was no way I was going in, not then, not there.
The next night was a beach party, and (lucky for me!) there she was sitting on a log by a fire pit, alone. I grabbed my friend Steve and said "Do know that girl?" he shook his head "Introduce me" we walked over and he said "This is Dodd, what's your name? She said "Beth" I then said "Oh, yeah we spent the night together last night" then she said "We'll it must not have been very good, or I'd remember you" Ouch!
For what ever reason I was able to weasel onto this girl's radar, we become a summer couple. I liked being with her, I liked looking at her, we said our good-byes a couple of weeks later. There was something there, but she seemed aloof and indifferent to me, we stayed in contact (by snail mail, remember that?) and she agreed to come down for the Born In the USA tour in October...
Opening Night- Born In The USA - LA Sports Arena
There we were: Shony and me and our girls (they would both become our wives, still are!) in the 2nd row, dead center, no bullshit, no scalpers, we'd earned our right to be there. The Anthemic show opener "Born in the USA" was followed by a smattering of old and new Bruce, the shows, which are always good, felt more like an social event and less like the catharsis of old. It wasn't Bruce, he was, as always, spot on and in the moment, it was the crowd: they were there for the scene. What should have been a great series of shows were a little disappointing. It felt like we had lost some innocence and the messenger (or who the messenger was dating) got more important than the message. It was somehow different. By the time BITUSA and all the singles moved through the charts it established Bruce as worldwide media fodder. Even Reagan took a shot at co-opting a piece of Bruce. Then there was the marriage to an actress/model. Who gives a fuck? I didn't want to know his private business, and I didn't care for the people who somehow thought it made them bigger or better fans because they knew some personal shit about him. It was, and always has been about the music for me. I'm a snob, whatever, STFU if you think your stupid ass Bruce insider knowledge means anything to me.
Digression from main Bruce thread #2: The Boss Club
About 1985 I started going to The Boss Club. Some Springsteen devotees had set it up in the anachronistic locale of the Imperial Gardens, an old school Japanese restaurant on Sunset (it would later become the Roxbury). Every Tuesday night they would play Springsteen tunes and run grainy VHS bootlegs of ancient Bruce shows from yore. I had a regular booth there and was the venue where the following incidents may or may not have happened: I dove Slip N' Slide style across the beer soaked dance floor headfirst, I made out with Paris Hilton's future Aunt, watched Rob Lowe get denied by a chubby redhead (what was she thinking? I'd of fucked him, and I'm straight) had drinks with Michael J Fox (that lil feller could pack it in)
The Boss Club was a sweaty, loud and anachronistic joint (I mean a Springsteen themed club in the middle of a Japanese restaurant?) but in the mid-80's you were either wearing a puffy shirt with eye-liner or had skinny jeans with metal hair, or you were marginally normal and went to places with an element of fun and hijinx.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Where's your wristband?
Well, it's 5:30Pm Halloween Eve 2007 and and I'm being accosted by several underpaid security/crowd control personnel in front of the South entrance of decrepit and humble LA Sports Arena. Not for drunkenness (juicing is not one of my many foibles, ask anyone who ever patronized my bar) not for the lowly crime of scalping. Nope, I'm being hassled by the minion of the "Man" for doing what I've always done: Trying to get as close to a Bruce Springsteen performance as possible.
On this night I had endured the strenuous (albeit equitable but flawed) system the Springsteen camp utilizes to ensure that the best views of the stage don't go to the moneyed or highfalutin show folk. It's noble, but can cause heartache. How did I get here? Well it's a long story and probably not very interesting to most of you, but I feel like telling it and it's my blog, so there.
1979 or so
One thing you should know about Springsteen fans: They're annoying. Some have a holier-than-thou attitude about when they saw their first Bruce show, how they saw Bruce at the Stone Pony (legendary shore bar) or are friends with his housekeeper's manicurist. Imagine a Deadhead, minus the patchouli plus a decent job and a few extra brain cells (not that they are smarter, but they took fewer drugs, on average). I happened to be a short, chubby and lonely sixteen year old suffering through late onset puberty in the gentle bosom of Beverly Hills High School (a place well-noted for it's embrace of the poor and unattractive) My Buddy Martin (his named changed to protect him from my poor memory and his poor test-taking skills) had constantly tried to get me to listen to Springsteen's Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town albums (mmm remember vinyl?). I finally acquiesced. He was right, in those works I heard tales of fear and failure, triumph and hope, songs of lost or found souls invariably on the road. These characters resonated with me and held high the possibility that maybe, I wasn't as alone, weird or misunderstood as I thought. The words and music helped me find some peace in a very turmoltous time. It also didn't hurt that my dad hated him, called him "Sidney Greenstreet" (the man in the fez in Casablanca) said he was inarticulate, made inaudible noise etc. etc. Teen rebellion looks for allies wherever it can!
Springsteen as a cultural phenomenon had had a surge in 1975 when the Jersey Bard released Born To Run, til then, he had received some critical acclaim but hadn't had a breakthrough (this stuff is better documented elsewhere and is not the purpose of this blog) until he broke through and wound up on the cover of Time and Newsweek on the same week (typically you have to croak, or kill someone REALLY famous to achieve that honor) anywho, Bruce was big among Bruce fans but not mainstream (this comes later). I liked his songs, but had yet to see a performance.
October 1980
I had just bought the newest Bruce offering: The River, when I got a call from Martin, we'd stayed in touch after High School but he was a year behind me and struggling with the college boards (you may not be able to ascertain it from these ramblings, but in the day I was quite the test-taker) Anyway, in classic underachiever mode I had rocked the SAT so hard that the necessity of a reasonable GPA was waived and I was permitted to attend one of the States poorer Universities. Martin was desperate, he was going places, to a good school, to a decent job, but first he had to get past the SAT. So there it was: in the day before biometrics, the Department of Homeland Security and hologram IDs. Martin and I went down to 7th and Alvarado (across from the best fucking pastrami on Earth at Langer's and the most dangerous park on Earth: MacArthur) and in the time honored tradition of white middle class teens we went and got a faux drivers license, only instead of making myself 21 (yeah right!) I made myself into Martin (a year younger!) We signed me up for the SAT at a distant high school and there I sat through the boards again! "Martin" cruised the test and as a gift, supplied me with one truly lovely nosebleed seat in the farthest, highest concourse of the aforementioned Sports Arena.
My first Springsteen show was an epiphany. Long and sweaty, in the days before the giant screen TV's, I saw young (tiny) Bruce swagger and prowl the stage, he was mesmerizing, I didn't know every song, I wasn't yet a disciple, but still, there was something that told me this was special, really special. I kept the feeling about the music mostly to myself, I found myself trying to get back to the Bruce show later in the week. I got a ride to the Sports Arena a couple of days later and managed to get another lousy seat to the show, by myself. I was hooked.
As I started college I fell in with a fraternity house (we never say "frat" after all you wouldn't call your country a cunt) unlike the jock houses, my house had a humanity and a tolerance for the quirky that was likable and different. We weren't afraid to count the strange and disenfranchised among our members (I could write a blog on that too!) It was here that I met my best friend and partner in all things Bruce: Shony.
Shony was a doctor's kid from Beverly Hills High, I had seen him around and knew him casually (he was on the wrestling team with my brother) The loss of his mother and the predictable clash with his dad's new wife, left Shony pretty much on his own from the time he was 16. Steve was edgy and cool, he'd been with girls, he had a motorcycle and a rebels attitude towards schoolwork and the starchy collegiate shit that the fraternity used to soak up. He was my hero, and represented what I wanted to be, he got away with shit. At first I just shadowed and mimicked him, good (and bad) and good/bad things happened when you hung around with Shony. For whatever reason, he didn't mind me hanging around him (we had good food at Casa de Harris, and my mother loved him like one of her own, maybe more) at some point we became equals, true brothers-in-arms.
August 1981
Shony loved Springsteen. Eventually we would cover our mutual admiration for each other with a generous ladling of Bruce Juice. We inspired grief and annoyance from our fraternity brothers when we insisted on commandeering the sound system for impromptu listening parties. When the summer leg of The River tour was due to be in LA (Sports Arena!) Shony and I waited in pre-internet ticket lines with over-heated and agitated throngs of fans, we begged and cajoled seats for all seven nights! for a couple of broke guys (he was working at the produce market, I was at a liquor store) we always found the $20 for a show. Those shows were mammoth landscapes of 40-50 songs, huge encores and the unbridled fervor of a no-holds-barred performance for performance sake. We were ecstatic. Driving home from a show with Shony and Martin we heard the Boss was at the Westwood Marquis hotel. On a lark, we went there and waited, and eventually the man showed up! He was kind and generous with his time (he signed Shony's Union Card!) we were humbled. Even dad said Hilburn had written a rave review (Why was dad reading Springsteen reviews?).
1982 saw the release of Nebraska, Shony and I pored over very inch of the album (we also bought the tape too!) We liked it's starkness and enjoyed the fact that it may have alienated some of the burgeoning Springsteen crowd. We actually resented the other fans, Shony used to joke that he wished Springsteen would execute a puppy on live TV so that maybe we could get better seats to a show. We actually thought that by the time the next tour came around we would be better positioned to see it. Boy were we wrong.
BITUSA
When the single Dancing in the Dark was released in 1984, Shony and I liked it and played it and the b-side (remember those?) Pink Cadillac perpetually for two weeks. Up until then the only non-album oriented rock radio play Bruce had had was Hungry Heart. As for media appearances he had shown up in the documentary for the No Nukes Concert and they made a video of Atlantic City from Nebraska without using his face. We began to feel excited and maybe nervous when MTV premiered the DITD video (ahh young Courtney Cox).
Bruce Springsteen was starting to get marketed and merchandised to a public that was ready to embrace him, big time. When Born In The USA came out, Shony and I did our normal ritualistic purchasing and listening to the latest offering. We liked it , and knew it was a very polished and accessible album. We were at first pleased that Bruce was finally getting the recognition he deserved, then we were horrified by the onslaught of the media and fanboys and girls, who would only dilute the base of available show tickets and miss his sweet grandeur in all the hype and glare of fame, big fame, fill up the Coliseum four nights in a row fame...
One Night in Pacoima
By the time the BITUSA tour started Shony and I had become fixtures at the TicketTron outlets (everyone thought we were scalpers, after all, who wants tickets for every night?) In generating our strategy for getting tickets, we plotted out which ticket outlet would have the lowest turn-out of fans. We came upon a dingy Western Union check cashing place in Pacoima (home of Richie Valens) We decided to spend the night there (with Martin and Shony's girlfriend Marie) we needed bodies to offset the limit of six ticket only rule. We were alone until about three vans of scruffy scalper shills pulled up just before dawn. By the time the sale was over and done we had managed to get 2nd row seats for opening night, nosebleeds for the rest of the shows, a speeding ticket, an altercation with a ticket scalper and a dispute that ended my friendship with Martin.
To be continued (sorry)
On this night I had endured the strenuous (albeit equitable but flawed) system the Springsteen camp utilizes to ensure that the best views of the stage don't go to the moneyed or highfalutin show folk. It's noble, but can cause heartache. How did I get here? Well it's a long story and probably not very interesting to most of you, but I feel like telling it and it's my blog, so there.
1979 or so
One thing you should know about Springsteen fans: They're annoying. Some have a holier-than-thou attitude about when they saw their first Bruce show, how they saw Bruce at the Stone Pony (legendary shore bar) or are friends with his housekeeper's manicurist. Imagine a Deadhead, minus the patchouli plus a decent job and a few extra brain cells (not that they are smarter, but they took fewer drugs, on average). I happened to be a short, chubby and lonely sixteen year old suffering through late onset puberty in the gentle bosom of Beverly Hills High School (a place well-noted for it's embrace of the poor and unattractive) My Buddy Martin (his named changed to protect him from my poor memory and his poor test-taking skills) had constantly tried to get me to listen to Springsteen's Born to Run and Darkness on the Edge of Town albums (mmm remember vinyl?). I finally acquiesced. He was right, in those works I heard tales of fear and failure, triumph and hope, songs of lost or found souls invariably on the road. These characters resonated with me and held high the possibility that maybe, I wasn't as alone, weird or misunderstood as I thought. The words and music helped me find some peace in a very turmoltous time. It also didn't hurt that my dad hated him, called him "Sidney Greenstreet" (the man in the fez in Casablanca) said he was inarticulate, made inaudible noise etc. etc. Teen rebellion looks for allies wherever it can!
Springsteen as a cultural phenomenon had had a surge in 1975 when the Jersey Bard released Born To Run, til then, he had received some critical acclaim but hadn't had a breakthrough (this stuff is better documented elsewhere and is not the purpose of this blog) until he broke through and wound up on the cover of Time and Newsweek on the same week (typically you have to croak, or kill someone REALLY famous to achieve that honor) anywho, Bruce was big among Bruce fans but not mainstream (this comes later). I liked his songs, but had yet to see a performance.
October 1980
I had just bought the newest Bruce offering: The River, when I got a call from Martin, we'd stayed in touch after High School but he was a year behind me and struggling with the college boards (you may not be able to ascertain it from these ramblings, but in the day I was quite the test-taker) Anyway, in classic underachiever mode I had rocked the SAT so hard that the necessity of a reasonable GPA was waived and I was permitted to attend one of the States poorer Universities. Martin was desperate, he was going places, to a good school, to a decent job, but first he had to get past the SAT. So there it was: in the day before biometrics, the Department of Homeland Security and hologram IDs. Martin and I went down to 7th and Alvarado (across from the best fucking pastrami on Earth at Langer's and the most dangerous park on Earth: MacArthur) and in the time honored tradition of white middle class teens we went and got a faux drivers license, only instead of making myself 21 (yeah right!) I made myself into Martin (a year younger!) We signed me up for the SAT at a distant high school and there I sat through the boards again! "Martin" cruised the test and as a gift, supplied me with one truly lovely nosebleed seat in the farthest, highest concourse of the aforementioned Sports Arena.
My first Springsteen show was an epiphany. Long and sweaty, in the days before the giant screen TV's, I saw young (tiny) Bruce swagger and prowl the stage, he was mesmerizing, I didn't know every song, I wasn't yet a disciple, but still, there was something that told me this was special, really special. I kept the feeling about the music mostly to myself, I found myself trying to get back to the Bruce show later in the week. I got a ride to the Sports Arena a couple of days later and managed to get another lousy seat to the show, by myself. I was hooked.
As I started college I fell in with a fraternity house (we never say "frat" after all you wouldn't call your country a cunt) unlike the jock houses, my house had a humanity and a tolerance for the quirky that was likable and different. We weren't afraid to count the strange and disenfranchised among our members (I could write a blog on that too!) It was here that I met my best friend and partner in all things Bruce: Shony.
Shony was a doctor's kid from Beverly Hills High, I had seen him around and knew him casually (he was on the wrestling team with my brother) The loss of his mother and the predictable clash with his dad's new wife, left Shony pretty much on his own from the time he was 16. Steve was edgy and cool, he'd been with girls, he had a motorcycle and a rebels attitude towards schoolwork and the starchy collegiate shit that the fraternity used to soak up. He was my hero, and represented what I wanted to be, he got away with shit. At first I just shadowed and mimicked him, good (and bad) and good/bad things happened when you hung around with Shony. For whatever reason, he didn't mind me hanging around him (we had good food at Casa de Harris, and my mother loved him like one of her own, maybe more) at some point we became equals, true brothers-in-arms.
August 1981
Shony loved Springsteen. Eventually we would cover our mutual admiration for each other with a generous ladling of Bruce Juice. We inspired grief and annoyance from our fraternity brothers when we insisted on commandeering the sound system for impromptu listening parties. When the summer leg of The River tour was due to be in LA (Sports Arena!) Shony and I waited in pre-internet ticket lines with over-heated and agitated throngs of fans, we begged and cajoled seats for all seven nights! for a couple of broke guys (he was working at the produce market, I was at a liquor store) we always found the $20 for a show. Those shows were mammoth landscapes of 40-50 songs, huge encores and the unbridled fervor of a no-holds-barred performance for performance sake. We were ecstatic. Driving home from a show with Shony and Martin we heard the Boss was at the Westwood Marquis hotel. On a lark, we went there and waited, and eventually the man showed up! He was kind and generous with his time (he signed Shony's Union Card!) we were humbled. Even dad said Hilburn had written a rave review (Why was dad reading Springsteen reviews?).
1982 saw the release of Nebraska, Shony and I pored over very inch of the album (we also bought the tape too!) We liked it's starkness and enjoyed the fact that it may have alienated some of the burgeoning Springsteen crowd. We actually resented the other fans, Shony used to joke that he wished Springsteen would execute a puppy on live TV so that maybe we could get better seats to a show. We actually thought that by the time the next tour came around we would be better positioned to see it. Boy were we wrong.
BITUSA
When the single Dancing in the Dark was released in 1984, Shony and I liked it and played it and the b-side (remember those?) Pink Cadillac perpetually for two weeks. Up until then the only non-album oriented rock radio play Bruce had had was Hungry Heart. As for media appearances he had shown up in the documentary for the No Nukes Concert and they made a video of Atlantic City from Nebraska without using his face. We began to feel excited and maybe nervous when MTV premiered the DITD video (ahh young Courtney Cox).
Bruce Springsteen was starting to get marketed and merchandised to a public that was ready to embrace him, big time. When Born In The USA came out, Shony and I did our normal ritualistic purchasing and listening to the latest offering. We liked it , and knew it was a very polished and accessible album. We were at first pleased that Bruce was finally getting the recognition he deserved, then we were horrified by the onslaught of the media and fanboys and girls, who would only dilute the base of available show tickets and miss his sweet grandeur in all the hype and glare of fame, big fame, fill up the Coliseum four nights in a row fame...
One Night in Pacoima
By the time the BITUSA tour started Shony and I had become fixtures at the TicketTron outlets (everyone thought we were scalpers, after all, who wants tickets for every night?) In generating our strategy for getting tickets, we plotted out which ticket outlet would have the lowest turn-out of fans. We came upon a dingy Western Union check cashing place in Pacoima (home of Richie Valens) We decided to spend the night there (with Martin and Shony's girlfriend Marie) we needed bodies to offset the limit of six ticket only rule. We were alone until about three vans of scruffy scalper shills pulled up just before dawn. By the time the sale was over and done we had managed to get 2nd row seats for opening night, nosebleeds for the rest of the shows, a speeding ticket, an altercation with a ticket scalper and a dispute that ended my friendship with Martin.
To be continued (sorry)
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