This could wind up being the ramblings of a slobbering Springsteen fan, so don’t read any more if that isn’t your cup of tea. I have always felt a connection to Bruce’s songs (and in reality, probably Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes before Bruce). Asbury Park has been a big part of my life (hell, we have a dog named Tillie -- 50% named after the iconic laughing face from the Palace Amusements where I first learned about love/hate relationships with fun house rides). While Bruce was “chasing factory girls under the boardwalk” I was riding the miniature train along Ocean Avenue and perfecting my mini golf skills (Bruce is a bit older than I am). I always enjoyed the E Street Band, and even though Garry Talent wasn’t the reason I began playing bass, I learned his signature traits and any recording with me on the four string has evidence of some element of his influence in the mix. The only two Springsteen albums I haven’t purchased are Human Touch and Lucky Town. I was standing up for the missing E Street band (though now, I have to say I think those two discs were pinnacles of his songwriting - deny me that “If I Should Fall Behind” and “My Beautiful Reward” aren’t in his top 25 best in terms of writing). But I got used to the idea of Bruce without the band. I loved his solo shows and Seeger Session Shows enough that I didn’t really need to see another E Street show. Then Danny passed. And then Clarence (I grew up in Monmouth County, I get to call them by their first names, yougottaproblemwitdat?). Thee past rounds without Clarence left me not as interested. I didn’t fight for tickets. That’s not to say is nephew Jake isn’t a good addition to the band, nor to take anything away from the wonderful Eddie Manion whose playing has given me goosebumps for decades, it just wasn’t for me. And it hit me tonight riding home listening to E Street Radio on the satellite. They played a concert from earlier this year, and I tuned in (isn’t that great, in this on demand digital age you can still “tune in”) just in time to hear “She’s The One.” That’s not one of the songs usually mentioned in The Big Man’s best ever, but without his sax contributions the whole tumultuous ending wouldn’t be the wonderful jumbled rhythmic mess it is. When I hear that sax, I am a kid again. I don’t know anything about race riots, economic downturns or Asbury on the decline. I am back in my Asbury Park, one that still had magic. One that was one of the most awesome, fun places to grow up next to. All it takes is hearing just one note from The Big Man and I am back on that boardwalk train, I am spinning around on the Himalayan, I am looking in terror at the Tilt-a-Whirl and hoping for a ride on the swan boats. I guess when you get to be a middle ager like me you get these moments of reflection. Thanks to Facebook, I can spew it all out to you.
Posted on: Thu, 07 Aug 2014 02:41:17 +0000
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