And now we step back in time from Bruce and return to Rod Stewart. Why is this album in the S’s under Stewart and not with the Faces, which we covered many months ago? I don’t know. I can’t remember why I made that decision, however it is so much more Rod than the Faces, and this live album was made after original Small Faces member Ronnie Lane had left the band, but before Ron Wood left to become a Rolling Stone. After the Bruce marathon, which was only eight albums but 13 records long, not counting “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” I don’t really relish going into another collection, so I’m glad I separated my Rod Stewart into the three that we played early on in the F’s and the six that I designated as the Rod Stewart records. Could be worse, could be all nine at once.
Now we’re back in alphabetical order, and I’m glad to get this one out of the way. I guess after Bruce’s live album, any one of the records in that set, everything else does pale in comparison. The one good thing about this live album is it contains “Cut Across Shorty,” which is where I got the name of one of my title characters of that play I’ve been working on and near completing for oh such a very long time. Miss Lucy. You see, handsome city-boy Dan and country boy Shorty are racing for the hand of Miss Lucy, and Miss Lucy says “cut across Shorty.” Some thought I named the character for “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” not to be confused with “Judy in Disguise with Glasses,” which I did not, nor did I name her for Lucille Ball either, who, as a child I thought was named Lucy O’Ball. No, it was for Miss Lucy who would have no other man than her Shorty. Her strong will and determination inspired my character for those characteristics. But there is no Shorty in my play.
I had two addictions from the late 1970s through the early 1980s. I believe I developed my obsession with baseball and the New York Yankees during the 1977 World Series. I wore my Yankee cap almost everywhere, and within the next couple of years I became I big Bruce fan. I believe it must have been 1981 when I was never without my cap that I had at that time adorned with one big Bruce Springsteen button on either side of my head. I think it was during the M’s, with the Meatloaf and Lee Michaels workouts that I also mentioned that I loved to listen to the radio, and when the game was not televised, I would take the radio to the park or lay in bed and just listen to the game letting Phil Rizzuto play with my imagination. Phil was nicknamed The Scooter, but I don’t believe he’s the same Scooter as the one Bruce sings about in “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out.” My Yankee addiction didn’t last much past 1982. As George Steinbrenner dismantled my team, trading Reggie Jackson, Bucky Dent and even Graig Nettles, I lost interest. I tried to stick with baseball and tried to become a New York Mets fan. They had gotten catcher Gary Carter from the Montreal Expos in 1985, so that was a draw. But it wasn’t enough. So my fascination with baseball ended with the 1986 World Series. Oh, you know the one, the ball between the legs one. I watched it in a cocktail bar in the Bally’s Grand Hotel in Las Vegas, where I was on a business trip. Poor guys from Boston stormed out of the bar in a huff, but I couldn’t feel too sorry for them.
In any case, this is the end of my Bruce Springsteen collection, but remember that he will be back after the project is done, or maybe before, as he has made it twice to the Ram alternative list, bumping Delaney and Bonnie to the number two spot and Layla to number three.
When the change was made uptown And the Big Man joined the band
The wind is so fierce it’s blown the gulls in to my south end of the Hudson and I got to watch them soar and struggle and glide up-river as I worked out this evening. I have to confess that in concert, I prefer Nils Lofgren to Miami Steve. He does, or maybe did as we are all much older now, these amazing back flips on stage from a standing position, with his guitar. He also had this Mini-Me thing going on with Bruce, and with Neil Young when he played with him. He was like an adorable little clone. Plus, he’s just a really good guitarist. And if I haven’t already said it, Max Weinberg is a hell of a drummer, and Roy Bittan has great fingers. And please let us not underestimate Garry Tallent on bass.
The last time I saw Bruce in concert was in 1984 and we were back in New Jersey. I went with the ex, his friend a one-handed bass player also named Bruce, and my friend Amy, who we lost just about five months before Vicki passed. We three were friend from high school. I don’t remember if the time that Vicki and I went to Roseland Ballroom to see Clarence Clemons and The Red Bank Rockers was before or after the Born in the U.S.A. tour. Please, if interested, you may scroll all the way back to November when I worked out to Robert Gordon to see my first reference to the Roseland concert. I am enjoying listening to Bruce in concert, which reminds me that not only was this a gift from the ex long ago, but in early 2009, he had called me to tell me that I may want to turn on the Super Bowl, knowing that I was of course not watching it. I took his word for it, and was oh so very glad for it. It was not long after Danny Federici died, but we still had Clarence, and Bruce and The E Street Band put on the best Super Bowl half time show I have ever seen in my entire life.
Side five started with “Badlands” then “Because the Night.” I recognized “Candy’s Room” from the clapping that preceded the music. Funny, because that’s the song that I didn’t recognize when we played name that tune with Scott Muni. I’ll never blow free tickets because of that song again.
The third time I saw Bruce in Concert it was at the Meadowlands Arena in the summer of 1981. I got tickets all on my own and landed 11th row stage right. The seats were graduated, we didn’t have to stand on our chairs this time and we had a great side view. I was the only one who needed to use my binoculars, which was a good thing as I had to scold the guy from Boston at the last concert for passing MY binoculars to the girl next to him. The flirting didn’t bother me, just don’t do it with my binoculars that if you are not using you should pass back to me. Am I right? He and a couple that were friends of mine who had never seen Bruce in concert before were my companions that evening. A good time was had by all.
Side six of the live record set is the Nebraska/Woody Guthrie side, so it was a little draggy. But you know what they say – so and so is such a good actor, he can read the phone book and make it sound good? Bruce can do anything live and make it enjoyable, and the phone book has always served us well.
I was working for a small broadcasting company in 1980 and we would listen for the contests for tickets to Bruce’s New Year’s Eve show at the Nassau Coliseum. I would identify the five songs from the snippets they’d play on WNEW-FM while my colleagues dialed, always getting a busy signal. Then finally one day, the writer had Scott Muni on the phone and repeated the names of the songs I told him. All but the last one. The writer saw the panic on my face and extended his arm, pointing the phone receiver at me. “I don’t know it,” I repeated backing up as if he were pointing a loaded gun at me. I heard the raspy voiced Scottso empathetically say “Sorry buddy,” and that was it. No sense trying anymore, that was my shot. Forlorn, I wandered into the conference room where the straight-laced producer was working on something, and flopped down in a chair. Trying to be comforting, he cleared his throat and said “It’s just the way of life. If you drop your jelly on toast, it’ll always land jelly side down.”
You can stop reading here if you don’t need to know how I got to and from the Springsteen concert that New Year’s Eve. This is a story filled with some puffery and horn tooting on my part. The writer, who was the person I went to the first concert with, had a friend in Boston, who would visit him often to take in a movie, a Broadway matinee, another movie, and then another play, all in one day. One day the writer calls me into his office where he is on a conference call with his friend from Boston and a young scalper named Evan. I take the phone and Evan tells me that he has two seats passed midway back on the floor, but he also has an extra seat next to him third row center, and would I be interested? I said of course, and then Evan told me how the last girl he took to a concert turned out to be a real CT, and was continuing until I stopped him and stated “Why are you telling me this Evan.” The guys were mortified. I think the idiots actually thought Evan was merely looking for a date to the concert, and gave me no warning when I was handed the phone. So, New Year’s Eve I drove the writer’s car that was black and seemed to impress everyone though I had and still have no idea what it was, to Nassau Coliseum with his friend from Boston to sit much further back than the third row.
It was another great show, and ringing in the new year with Bruce was just swell. But afterward the traffic getting out of the Coliseum was more than I wanted to put up with. It was hard enough just getting out of the parking space, so I took off my glasses, which I only used and always used for driving, told Boston to look the other way, and flirted my way out of the huge lot. That’s right, I did that, although I think the car may have helped. I didn’t cut in front of anyone, I just politely motioned for permission and got us out of there in a relatively short period of time. Don’t judge me. I surely couldn’t do that today.
Check out the poster. $12 a seat.
Seeing Bruce in concert is an experience that everyone should have. And it’s not too late. I didn’t know what to expect from my first Bruce concert in 1980 at the beginning of The River tour. I didn’t expect the NYPD to come at us with horses to push us back against the wall outside Madison Square Garden. They could have yelled “everyone move back” or thought ahead and put up barricades. Instead we, the properly excited concert goers, were threatened with these poor big beasts coming at us, and the cops on top of them not saying a thing. It was a weird way to start. But the concert itself was of course amazing. Four freakin’ hours. Our seats were so high up we had to be strapped to the ceiling, and the guys in front of us kept yelling for “Jungleland” as if Bruce could hear them. But when Bruce did play the song, even from my nosebleed seat I could understand why they were so persistent. I wasn’t as familiar with that song at that time, but it quickly landed in my top five favorite Springsteen songs.
I do have to warn you, this is a five record set, and while I’ll be brief here, I can’t make any promises about the next four posts. This is my favorite time of Bruce, and hearing him in concert brings back the memories so strong I can see him in my mind’s eye as the record plays. And bittersweet memories too, hearing him goofing around with Clarence Clemmons, and Danny Federici coming down on stage with his accordion to accompany Bruce on “Sandy.” I did say that Born in the U.S.A. was the last Springsteen album I bought, and that is true. This was a gift. And a really good one.
First, let’s talk about the cover. Not the butt shot, necessarily, but the inside sleeve. It’s the first time there has been a truly flattering picture of Bruce on one of his albums. Okay, the photo on the back of Greetings from Asbury Park is cute, and the cover of Born to Run is cool, but here he looks good all buff and toned and showing it off. This album however, would be the last Springsteen album I would buy. Born in the U.S.A., which came out in 1984, is a more mainstream album that has no daring arrangements or anything monumental. But it did mark Bruce’s acquiescing to the power of MTV, in the days when it showed music videos, as he first made videos of some of his songs after resisting for so long. During The River tour, Bruce would pull a girl on stage to dance with him during “Sherry Darling.” Now he had the act on tape, but it would be to “Dancing in the Dark,” which was Courtney Cox’s big break, and she was the total envy of female Bruce fans everywhere. In the video of “I’m on Fire,” we get to see Bruce do a little acting.
While “Bobby Jean” is not a favorite song of mine, at least it features a female main character, who is not an appendage of the singer, and may be his first since “Kitty’s Back.” I actually liked and still like this album, and was willing to go with Bruce on this leg of the journey he was taking. Maybe it was the marriage thing that made me loose so much interest as to not get the next record or any after that. But as I don’t have it, I can’t really say. However, this is a really good workout record, so much so that both sides prompted me to push myself a little more during the vertical and horizontal portions. It’s on the list. Not high, but it made it.
Oh, and just in case you thought we were done, there is more Bruce to come.
Eh – Not my cup of Bruce. In 1982, he came out with what seems to be a tribute to Woody Guthrie, in a “this land is your land…” sort of album, sans E Street Band. Just Bruce, his guitar and his harmonica. I like harmonica, in moderation, but there is just so much one can take. In fairness to Bruce, I’m sure he wasn’t thinking of me and my workout routine when he wrote these songs and compiled a rather bleak album, which never made it out of the cellophane. $5.99 sale price. It’s not even inspiring me to go off on one of my tangents. Except maybe that I was thinking, now with the time change, I don’t like working out when it’s still light. There’s something private about night. Then while dancing toward the window, I saw two ferries pass each other, one going to Staten Island, and the other returning from it, and thought that was kind of cool.
Oh wait, I’ve got a good one. First, let me say Happy St. Patrick’s Day. Which reminds me of a St. Patrick’s Day, not too long after this album was released. My friend that just passed, whom we will call Vicki, because that was her name, planned to wear her “Kiss Me I’m Irish” button to Cagney’s that night. A few days before, we decided to dress for the occasion, but I needed a button too, and I thought there ought to be an “I’m Not Irish, But Kiss Me Anyway” button. But there wasn’t, so, as I was working on Long Island at the time, and she was in Manhattan, I commissioned Vicki to find a place that sold blank buttons. Not only did she do that, but she found the right sized lettering and made the button for me. I recall her outfit being something plaid and khaki green, with a cap and her button. I had taken a three piece white pants suit, dyed the vest light green to wear as my shirt, found a green satin bowtie in a shop that sold Girl Scout uniforms, and these funky short white lacey gloves that only covered the middle three fingers of each hand, and wore them with the white pants, my button and dark green Keds. And of course I had my St. Patrick’s Day cigarette holder. My boyfriend at the time, whom we all know as the ex, came up to me in the bar that night to tell me that some guy had asked him something like, hey did you see that girl in the white pants. I asked him “Did you tell him I was your girlfriend?” to which he replied “No.”
I think I still have the button someplace. Possibly the bowtie and the gloves as well. I thought I looked cute.
I had forgotten about “Point Blank,” which has a harrowing sound that I like. It started off the second record, but there’s nothing else really memorable on it. Needless to say, I know all the songs and can still sing along, but keep in mind I was a bit of a fanatic then. And Bruce deserves his die-hard fans. I confess I remain a fan, but am no longer die-hard. The rest of the record is again a mix of haunted lovers, rockers, punks, thugs and the everyman, depending on your world, and of course there’s always a car. You can’t help realize the Miami Steve influence on the album that he co-produced with Bruce and Jon Landau, who had co-produced previous Springsteen albums. And I can’t ignore the song “Drive All Night,” in which Bruce, after repeating “you got my love” several times, croaks out “heart and soul” over and over like he was going to puke. If he was going for gut-wrenching, he got it. Lots of people didn’t like it. I actually did.
More Bruce to follow.
In late 1979, early ’80, songs from No Nukes, a concert by several well-known artists for a non-nuclear future, were being played on the radio, and I loved Jackson Browne singing his version of the classic “Stay” backed up by Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band. A movie was released, which I’ve never seen, but did see the part in which Bonnie Raitt remarked about the Brucing coming from the audience sounding like booing. I was getting more and more intrigued, and started to listen to everything Bruce did up until that time and bought all four of his albums. Then we all waited for the next one and soon there was a buzz, an anticipation. And in late 1980, The River was released. By then, I was hooked.
My fond memories took hold as side one played this evening, looking like it may make it to the Ram list for its sheer exuberance, but then it ended on a low note, for me, and it was too short. I needed a little extra, so I put on “Criminal” by Fiona Apple, which was sitting in the CD deck. The River is more peppy rock ‘n roll coupled with songs of plights, and sounding a little more Eddie and the Cruisers, which I’m not complaining about. Without objection, I think this double album was a result of Bruce’s feeling his own popularity, which is why a more mainstream song like “Hungry Heart” was his first top ten hit. He seems more like an author of fiction than the characters in the songs themselves, and the closest thing to an epic is the title song, but with only minor change-ups. “Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true, or is it something worse” sounds like his character comes to the realization that all the lines he’s been feeding his women come back to haunt them both. I do like the album, a lot, and these two sides contain feisty “Sherry Darling” and my album favorite “Out in the Street.” The latter song I played so much that my mother would try singing it on her own, but would get the words and the woe-ohs mixed up. It was cute, but it wasn’t pretty. However, despite the memories, I don’t think the second record will make the Ram list either.
The Walrus Was Paul 