Bruce Springsteen Review of 10/15/99 Phoenix Show

Published Sunday, October 24, 1999, in the San Jose Mercury News
Reprinted without permission.

Soul Man
Oakland-bound Springsteen tour overcomes hype with
artful performances. Who says rock 'n' roll is dead?

BY BRAD KAVA
Mercury News Pop Music Writer
PHOENIX

IT'S BEEN almost three decades since Bruce Springsteen
was anointed the future of rock 'n' roll. It's been a
quarter-century since ``Born to Run'' landed him on
the covers of both Time and Newsweek in the same week.
And it's been a decade since Springsteen last toured
with his longtime backup group, the E Street Band.

Now, at a time when most rockers his age are playing
the MGM Grand in Las Vegas if they still have a big
following or Konocti Harbor at Clear Lake if they
don't, Springsteen is back on the road -- with the
E Street Band and seemingly with a mission to prove
single-handedly that rock 'n' roll is not dead after
all.

``Everywhere you look life ain't got no soul,''
Springsteen sang during the recent Phoenix stop
on the tour, which comes to the Oakland Coliseum
Arena for three nights starting Monday. And then
the seemingly ageless 50-year-old New Jersey
rocker spent three hours proving otherwise.

Overcoming a mountain of hype and the sterile setting
of a sports arena -- the America West, home of the
Suns -- Springsteen took his audience to rock 'n' roll
church with an artful and soulful rock revival firmly
grounded in obscure and darker songs.

``Are you ready tonight, people?'' Springsteen yelled
like a minister to open the show. ``There's gonna be
a meeting in the town tonight!''

As pretentious as that might sound, this man and his
band cracked through titanium layers of cynicism to
revive even the most jaded rock 'n' roll heart. Best
of all, he did it without trading musical vision for
arena bluster.

His 24-song playlist included a few tried-and-true,
such as ``Born to Run'' and ``Thunder Road,'' but it
was saturated with more interesting, overlooked songs
such as ``Mansion on the Hill'' and ``Youngstown,''
off lesser-known albums, ``Nebraska'' and ``The Ghost
of Tom Joad.''

He went past the meat-and-potatoes hits of 1975's
``Born to Run,'' 1980's ``The River'' and 1984's
``Born in the U.S.A.,'' pulling out songs that didn't
make the radio, including a great outtake, ``Murder
Incorporated,'' about the loss of soul.

The show's centerpiece was from a movie soundtrack,
``Light of Day,'' which was not a hit but felt like
one. Its closer was a new ballad, ``Land of Hopes
and Dreams.'' And in one of two sets of encores, he
did a duet with the original ``Soul Man'' singer,
Sam Moore of the 1960s duo Sam and Dave.

Moments of passionate, intricate playing far
outnumbered the lights-on sing-alongs or the sweaty
theatrics that have become arena set pieces.

At a time when most artists play it safe to appeal
to their big-bucks arena crowds, Springsteen took
plenty of risks -- maybe too many for some.

His aging audience, like the songwriter, is of two
minds.

There are the former fraternity boys who came to
sing along with hits and bleat out the ``Bruuuuuce''
cheer that sounds as if they are booing. They want
him to sound just like the record, and they care
more about his dancing and strutting than his
ever-improving guitar work or lyrical subtlety.

Then there are those who favor his darker works. They
crave the authenticity of a musician stretching his
boundaries, trying new songs and looking at old ones
in a fresh way.

It was no small accomplishment that he managed to
satisfy both, although some took bathroom breaks
during what their neighbors thought of as the
highlights.

With barely a pause in the show's blistering pace,
it felt as if you got your money's worth about
halfway through. The second half, so far above
most every band on the road in recent memory,
was pure icing.

It wasn't clear that it was going to be this good
at first. The sound was muddy and with nine musicians
and four guitarists, it seemed we were going to get
``Arena Bruce.''

But after some unusual opening anthems -- ``The
Ties That Bind,'' ``Prove It All Night'' and
``Two Hearts'' -- the show jelled with a slow-burning
``Darkness on the Edge of Town'' and never let up.

The band showed it knew how to leave a tender moment
alone, as Billy Joel says. Springsteen's mournful
moans took center stage, while the guitarists hung
back. The song ached. The arena shrank.

Soon after, Springsteen and wife Patti Scialfa's
voices were intertwined on a folksy, woeful Americana
ballad, ``Mansion on the Hill,'' backed by accordion
and pedal steel and Gary Tallent on string bass.

To their credit -- or their boss's -- each musician
had his time in front without posing or posturing.
Every solo furthered a song.

Sax player Clarence Clemons began ``The River'' with
a fluid, jazzy improvisation, echoed by Springsteen's
harmonica, taking it somewhere it had never been
before. On softer moments, keyboardists Roy Bittan
and Dan Federici steered the band into Van Morrison
territory, which Steve Van Zandt and Nils Lofgren
broke out of with heavy metal thunder when they
dueled on ``Working on the Highway.''

Drummer Max Weinberg was a jackhammer all night,
hitting hard and true.

The biggest revelation, even for someone who has
seen a number of past Springsteen shows, was the
strength of his voice. The off-nights built into
this tour have paid off: There was none of the
hoarseness or shouting that marred previous efforts.

On a rockabilly ``Darlington County'' he got down
on his knees and let you know what it must have been
like to see the young Elvis giving it his all. He
dripped soul on ``10th Avenue Freeze-Out'' and
``Light of Day,'' paying homage to Al Green and
James Brown with hip shakes, falsettos and gritty
howls.

As he soaked through his black T-shirt, there was
never a thought that this was a white guy posing as
a master. He was on par with the best soul singers,
a one-man Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, an
accomplishment as brilliant as it is rare.

Springsteen did long introductions to almost every
song, stretching ``10th Avenue Freeze-Out'' and
``Light of Day'' to nearly 20 minutes.

Before it was time to leave this sardine-can of a
sports arena, Springsteen had his congregation
converted. ``You've been stigmatized, downsized,
Pokemon-ized,'' he preached in the middle of
``Light of Day.

``We're on a rescue mission, to resuscitate, re-
educate, re-sexualate, the power and the ministry
of rock 'n' roll.''

The audience -- many of whom looked as if they'd been
cloistered in offices since Springsteen's 1984 tour
- -- stood from front to back, with no one leaving until
the last note.

Said Springsteen: ``I can't promise you life everlasting,
but I can promise you life right now.''

Amen, brother Bruce. Amen.

Coming into this show, no one was more cynical than I.
I've had bad and good experiences with the ``Boss'' (a
nickname originally given by his band and not necessarily
a compliment).

My first show was in 1973 in Geneva, N.Y. The acoustics
were so bad and the stage mugging and posturing so tacky,
I walked out two-thirds of the way through. The next few
times I saw him didn't bowl me over, either, although
after ``Born to Run'' the sound got better. There was
enough good to make me go back, but not enough to make
me rave.

The 1984 ``Born in the U.S.A'' tour was like a frat
party, with mistaken patriotic rallying around a song
that was about the problems and despair of Vietnam vets.
Springsteen never tried hard enough to clear up the
mistake, it seemed.

I'm one of the few people who loved Springsteen's 1992
tour -- without the E Street Band. Songs such as ``Souls
of the Departed,'' ``Trapped'' and ``Light of Day'' won
me over.

But the current tour is the best I've seen him and one
of the best I've ever seen. It restored my faith in rock
when I've become most skeptical.