|Photo by Justin Baker|
|"Can you feel the spirit?!"|
By Justin Baker
I have spent a good part of the last decade goofing on my former boss and his Bruce Springsteen superfandom. By and large, it's your typical generational back-and-forth. He calls me hipster and a cynic. I call him old. It's what friends do.
As my adult music appreciation has grown, though, and my status as a music critic has become more official, the issue has gotten hotter. "Who are all these lame new bands you listen to?" he chides. "Let me know when you want to write about real band." "You mean that guy that played the Super Bowl looking like Wayne Newton?" I retort. So began my ex-employer's quest to engineer the massive, cranial explosion that would supposedly characterize my first live Bruce Springsteen experience.
To be clear, I like Springsteen. You simply can't claim to love
rock music and not appreciate the dude. He is on any sane music
junkie's bucket list. The Jihad-ish devotion of his superfans, though,
has always seemed a little weird. "Larry Bird went to see him once," claims my boss,
"and he said: 'Bruce reminds me of me.'" I get what that is supposed to
mean, but of course the Boss reminds White Basketball Jesus of himself.See Also:
Bruce Springsteen at Xcel Energy Center, 11/11/12The Boss vs. the Bawse: Who's Better, Bruce Springsteen or Rick Ross?