The Boss Says "Build a House," We Comply

Did you see Bruce Springsteen last night?  I did!  And if you have never seen Springsteen live, you don't know what you're missing.  

It seems to be a media meme to downplay all things The Boss.  Slate, alone, has recently published or re-published three articles by Stephen Metcalf discussing Bruce's carefully contrived on-stage persona, and lamenting his decision to cheese-out at the Superbowl Halftime Show.

Though I was personally appalled to hear that Bruce had allowed the Superbowl producers to fill his "audience" with paid extras, I'm not sure that I agree that his performance there struck such a discordant note.

Now, I'm no expert on the man and his catalog.  I am necessarily a late-comer to his career, which started a decade or so before I was born.  But I can say, without qualification, that the two Bruce Springsteen concerts I have attended are, hands down, the best concerts I have ever been to.  And I have been to my fair share.

What is it that makes Bruce so enigmatic, whereas others that I love prove to be so damned disappointing live on stage?  

My only explanation is that Springsteen is, frankly, a Rock Star.  Unaccountably yet undeniably sexy, charismatic, energetic, frenetic, and most importantly, talented.  On Tuesday night he forced us to love him by grinning through the entire performance like he was having the time of his life; by picking up an adolescent boy to join him on stage, then fireman-hold-ing him back to his family; by clasping hands with a 16-year-old in braces held on the shoulders of her boyfriend and singing "Spirit singing our birthday song" to her and letting her sing it right back to him; by literally rolling around at the edge of the stage, and allowing the fans to hold him up and (miraculously) let him go ... twice; by taking poster-board requests that resulted in an awesome version of The Kinks' "You Really Got me Now";  and doing it all while playing really, really good music really, really well.

And that is perhaps the single greatest thing about a Bruce Springsteen concert.  You don't have to know every word to every song because every song he plays is immeasurably enjoyable the very first time you hear it.  With hooks that catch right into your ear, and harmonies and melodies that well up inside you despite yourself, and exuberant performances from every member of the band, you just can't help yourself from grinning right along with that neat guy on stage.

I am an acknowledged sucker for all things Cathartic Cultural Ritual.  I cheer when the lights go down, I cheer when the lights flash onto the audience, I drum the seat before me to coax them back for an encore, I jump out of my seat and clap to the beat, and I sing along when I know the words.

Despite this, I maintain that my constant analysis of just why this enclosed arena pumped full of eardrum bursting noise fills me with unspeakable glee, inoculates me from a certain someone's teasing suggestion that I would have cheered right along with the rest of the Colosseum as the Romans slaughtered tens of thousands of animals and people.  

It's a preposterous suggestion.  I, of course, would have been fed to the lions for being a Christian who campaigned for an end to slavery, animal rights, democracy and gender equality.  

I was totally born this way.