Six things that make a Bruce Springsteen gig the peak of live music
An article for the Springsteen-curious
“So, what makes him so good?”
That’s the recurring question I’ve been asked by people who didn’t attend Bruce Springsteen’s gig at the Principality Stadium on Sunday night — by the people who have never seen him live.
So, that’s what I’m going to try to answer here. Partly because I want other people to be able to enjoy that experience while they can. Bruce is 74 and he can’t do these three-hour marathons forever.
His last visit to Cardiff was 11 years ago. I was there. It was my first time seeing Springsteen. I was attended as a reviewer for the South Wales Echo. I didn’t think Springsteen was for me. I thought he was too old (then just a mere 63!) but I am always genuinely prepared to be proved wrong.
And how he proved me wrong. I evangelised about him then and his performance went on to become a marker of quality for me: Was it better than Springsteen?
In fact, he was so good when I saw him in 2013 that I didn’t want to see him be worse second time around. The Rolling Stones’ tours, for example, have provided receding rewards with each new show less than the last. Too old. Not enough new material. I love them, but thesedays they aren’t so much a going concern as artists as they are a going concern as a business.
However, I lucked into a bargain ticket late on Saturday night (Thanks, Claire). I was mildly hungover (Thanks, Chris) and wasn’t sure I had a three-hour gig in me, but I couldn’t resist. By the end of the night I was on my feet with my hands in the air, re-confirmed in the Church Of Bruce.
It begins with the quasi-religious massed groans of “Bruuuuuce” — which first-timers often mistake for boos — as they call The Boss to the stage.
Thing 1: Never mind the length, feel the quality.
Springsteen arrives, alone, strolling into a spotlight and speaks: “Cardiff, Wales. 1–2–3–4.”
The band strikes up and does not stop. For. Three. Hours.
It’s not just the length of time he plays, it’s the pace and intensity, with barely a breath between songs. He crams 30 tracks into a timeframe some artists would play 20.
Thing 2: The E Street Band
It’s not just the songs but also the way Springsteen and The E Street Band plays them. There are, I think, 17 or 19 people on stage. It’s hard to tell from my U24 seat up in the gods. You don’t get bands of this size and expertise very often. Saxaphones, brass sections, backing singers, multiple keys players. Wanted criminals could hide on a Springsteen stage and no-one would ever find them.
Bands with longevity who become well-versed in picking songs to create the cadence of a set are often be said to take the crowd up and down. That’s not what happens here. There are ballads (My City of Ruins) and there are dusty epics slightly lower on chorus and deeper in narrative (Thunder Road), but they rarely strip back a song to its acoustic base, or solo piano.
Instead, they elevate every song to its maximum capacity. Every track would be a showstopper for another artist. Watching this exceptional group of exceptional individuals let the blood out of The Promised Land, Spirit In The Night and Badlands is literally awesome; their fullness, their gospel fervour, the expertise. They aren’t there to drown out some weaker element, as big bands are sometimes deployed, they are there to turn everything up to 11.
Thing 3: Connectedness
On his regular sorties to the front row, Springsteen seeks out kids and gives them a harmonica — he did this at least three times in Cardiff. Imagine growing up in Merthyr or Newport playing a harmonica given to you personally by Bruce Springsteen!
On those trips to the front rows (up and down a lot of steps for a 74-year-old) he high-fives, he man-hugs and even allows himself to be held from behind by a fan who makes a heart shape with their hands around his belly. Instantly, he recognises the personal moment of intimacy for the fan but also the visual opportunity for the big screen. He doesn’t wriggle free. He leans into it, holds the pose. It’s masterful stuff.
He also collects handwritten signs. Springsteen fans make signs to request songs — in the example of If I Was The Priest, below, they have put quite a lot of effort into the drawing — and for the lucky few, their hero takes that sign back up on stage, shows it to the crowd, and grants their request.
Because of this, his gigs are not replicants. Sets have frameworks but are organic things. It is the sort of moment fans can only dream of when they go to gigs. It is at once a personal connection with the big man and a shared moment for everyone in the 60,000 crowd. All of them are equally jealous and appreciative: ‘Next time it could be me’, they think. It’s also a challenge to the band as you’ll see in this video.
Now the cynic in me guesses that the band might rehearse an extra 10 songs per tour and then look for the signs that match up with rehearsals, but even if it is the case that this is a gimmick then it displays its own perfection of the live music format that sets Springsteen apart. If this is slight of hand then he is so at one with the trick that it is undetectable from reality. And that, my friends, is the basis of magic.
But I don’t think that is the case. I think he puts the ‘genuine’ in ‘the genuine article’.
“Most bands stick to a very limited amount of material that they play on a tour,” he told the BBC.
“But I’m proud my guys can turn on a dime and play something they haven’t played in years and haven’t heard in a long time.
“It’s good for fans, particularly those that come to loads of shows. I have very dedicated fans who come to more than one show and I like to play a different show.”
There’s not many artists where I’d consider it valid seeing them past 10 times —like the beautiful nutter in this article who has seen Springsteen 37 times - but for Bruce I make an exception, for the above reason.
Thing 4: Scale
The setlist choices for a Springsteen gig vary like a safecracker’s options. The Boss has a million possible combinations to pick that lock after such a long career. There are songs he can hardly leave out; Hungry Heart, Dancing in The Dark, Born To Run.
There are songs he chooses to put because it keeps him and the band interested, distinguishes one tour from the last and brings the fans back every time. There are songs the fans request. Springsteen — the postman — always delivers.
In Cardiff there are songs from his debut album, from his classic 70s albums, from his more modern releases and even three cover versions. If Taylor Swift thinks she has Eras, she needs to think again.
The Cardiff gig has a 22-song main body, a six song encore and then the final payoff of a second encore with one song, I’ll See You In My Dreams, solo acoustic.
It’s almost a relief when it ends. For a moment I wondered if he’d never stop, if he’d follow me back up Cathedral Road on the long walk home and be playing in my garden all night as I pull a pillow over my head. My wife would take a cup of tea onto the lawn and say: “Bruce, come inside. It’s 4am and minus 2 degrees. You can’t stay outside in just a waistcoat all night. No, you don’t need to prove it. You’re 74 and this is Wales, not Wyoming.”
Thing 5: The man himself
At some point this will end. (What, this article? Ed.)
At some point Bruce will retire, or he will die, and that will be it. You won’t have the chance to go and see him for the first time. His hunger for playing with this vulcanicity is astonishing. He’s not ‘good for an old man’. He’s exceptional for any age.
It’s worth remembering that this was nearly all taken away from him very recently. Springsteen was forced to cut short his last tour as he suffered peptic ulcers that prevented him from singing. That might have been it.
Thankfully, he has recovered. His voice on Sunday night was sandpaper smoothe, but the longer the gig went on the better his voice became. What he may lack in silk he makes up for in charm. He encourages the crowd, needles them archly, makes play of his age. His guitar playing is effortless, his harmonica is soul-filling. He barely stops smiling at his bandmates.
He comes smart-casual, dresses semi-formal. His tucked-in tie, dark waistcoat and rolled up sleeves. The message is clear -he came here to work hard for you. There’s no arrogance about him though, just the confidence of a granite house that will withstand whatever the Welsh weather can throw at it. (Sensibly, the roof was closed).
If he is going to be the ringmaster of this 60,000-strong metal circus tent, then he isn’t going to wear bright red jacket tails and a top hat to do it. It’s not his style.
Thing 6: He brings the circus to your town
The following day, my family is at St Fagans Museum of Welsh life, dashing carefully under the low lintels of historical houses to shelter from bubble-sized raindrops.
The confused Welsh sun is testing its blowtorch after a long winter off. I risk being outside to look at the Toll House. I hear some northern English accents. I look up and see a dark blue Springsteen T-shirt. I open my denim jacket like a 6Music flasher to display the orange t-shirt bought the previous night. We chat about the gig. Those people wouldn’t have been at St Fagans but for Bruce. That type of experience was likely replicated all over the city.
Springsteen is only doing a few UK dates. He’s playing as many dates on the island of Ireland as he is on the UK mainland; Dublin, Cork Kilkenny and Belfast Vs Cardiff, Sunderland and a deuce in London.
Cardiff was lucky to have him. There is something particularly special about the opening night of a tour too; the sense of freshness in the band, everything a surprise unspoiled by social media, the knowledge no-one is toured-out yet. Nothing feels phoned-in.
Maybe, as the tour rolls on, that will happen. Maybe Springsteen will get tired. He is 74, you know. I just feel lucky to have seen that specific show. To have seen Springsteen again. In prime form. At 74.
If he ever comes back, take the chance to feel something special. Yes, I know the tickets are really expensive — starting at £75 — but there were 17 people on stage and a lot more backstage and they all need to be paid. This is one example where I think high gig ticket prices are actually valid. The t-shirts could be cheaper though. £40?! Leave it out, Bruce. I could get your name tattooed on my chest cheaper.
As you can see, I’ve tried hard to be comedically cynical about it — to find the chinks in the armour - and I can’t.
I surrender. Maybe you should too.
