The Future Of Rock And Roll

A week after I stayed up way too late on a school night, I'm still recovering. Well, perhaps "recovering" is not exactly the right word. I am settling back in to life as we experience on a day-to-day basis. We don't tend to sing at the top of our lungs for more than a few minutes at a time. Though I don't have trouble standing for hours at a time, it's all the twisting and shouting that made the impact on my weary bones. But mostly I don't tend to expose myself to the kind of focused joy that is induced by a Bruce Springsteen concert.
I've still got the songs in my head. I've still got the smile on my face. It's not a morning-after glow anymore, just a trace of the giddiness I felt all the way at the back of the sports arena radiating from the stage. It's not a new feeling. It's one I've been experiencing off and on for the past thirty years. At this point in the game, I've lost track of exactly how many times I've seen Mister Springsteen in concert. I suppose I could try and gather up my ticket stubs and tour shirts and try to make some sort of approximation. There are plenty of resources available on Al Gore's Internet that would help make this count easier, but I am kind of pleased with the feeling of "more than I can count."
A lot has changed since that first show, when I was one of the uninitiated, a doubter. What I experienced back in 1981 at the Red Rocks Amphitheater made me a fan. More than the Denver Broncos, more than any other sports team. More than DEVO, or any other music group, Bruce Springsteen caught my attention and held it. And it's not just because he's a great songwriter or guitar player or something intangible. He works at it. Hard. He has always been very up front about the fact that if he wasn't playing music that he would be hard pressed to find a "real job" like the ones the he sings about. That's why, night after night, year after year, when the lights go down and he hits the stage, he does so with a vengeance. It's his job to make sure that when the show is over, we feel like the crowd got what they came for.
Last week, we did. Now it's not just me My wife and son are there, standing next to me, singing along. The next morning was a tough one. Tired, stiff and hoarse we all dragged ourselves through our various routines, but somewhere in the mix was a spark that kept us going. The one put there over more than three hours of rocking and rolling by the Boss. That's his job. It's our job to keep that spark alive. Until next time.