Tom Dunne: The Bruce Springsteen song that blew me away at his Cork gig
Bruce Springsteen on stage at Páirc Uí Caoimh in Cork in 2013. Picture: Miki Barlok
On Sunday last, Bruce Springsteen played Cardiff on the first gig of his European tour. There had been worries about his health, talk of peptic ulcers and that he “might never sing again”. Three hours and 29 songs later, all such doubts were gone.
He played “with the vigour of a man in the prime of life”, said one review. They marvelled at his sheer physicality, the power in his voice. His energy was electric, it was the audience that struggled to keep pace.
Fifty-two years on from Bruce’s debut album, the question is not, “How long can Bruce keep this up for?” The question is “How long can we keep it up for?” We have not all been looking after ourselves the way he has. Have we the strength? The stamina? The knees?
For many, following Bruce has become a kind of pilgrimage. There are many who see Bruce now with their grown children having first seen him before those children were born. There are births, christenings, communions, weddings, and Bruce gigs. The gigs sit amongst those cherished family milestones as vital, it seems, as Christmas.
A man once asked me how often I’d seen Bruce. At the time it was about twice. The man, with his wife, had seen him 76 times, mostly abroad. He talked of how the planning, the meeting up with other fans and the gig (naturally) were all part of it.
He had tickets for a gig that was still several months off in Germany. But having those tickets gave everything else a warm glow. When he retired, about 12 months ago, his wife contacted me with the Bruce song she wanted me to play for him. It was ‘Glory Days’.
“Retirement” she said, “just means more opportunities to see Bruce.” For the late, great Charlie Bird, Bruce’s ‘Land of Hope and Dreams’ was the song that lifted him most. I’m sure most people could name Bruce songs that lift them too, songs that feel unique to them, almost written for them.
For me that song, although I didn’t realise it until I heard it live at Páirc Uí Chaoimh in 2013, is ‘Thunder Road’. I didn’t think it would get to me until it got to me. Then it floored me, to the point where the person next to me offered me a swig from their hip flask.
Standing on that terrace, watching Bruce sing, silhouetted against a screen of himself as a much younger man, as a stranger offered me a shot, will live with me forever.
It reminded me of the punk days, when life, and “pulling out of this town” – metaphorically speaking - seemed urgent and vital. We were young, and high on certainty. This place couldn’t hold us. But it’s never that simple, is it? Life catches up, regardless of the car engine.
Punk initially left me somewhat immune to Bruce’s powers. Coming to his first TV appearances from a diet of The Jam, The Clash and Joy Division, a hirsute Bruce with sax solos and seven-minute-long songs looked a bit old-school.
It was the brooding magnificence of ‘I’m On Fire’ that first registered, so understated and yet bubbling with fiery intent. I started listening to a few bits and found myself with his Live 1975-1985 album.
The seven-minute-long spoken intro to ‘The River’ changed everything. The subtle exploration of his relationship with his dad, the threats, the risk of being drafted, the taunts to get his hair cut. It was spell binding.
My relationship to my dad was not dissimilar. When I was studying for college exams, he, then retired, would make tea and a sausage sandwich mid-afternoon. He’d offer this and I’d refuse aggressively: “I’m trying to study!” I’d bark. But a while later I’d slink down.
“It’s still there,” he’d say, hardly looking up but nodding towards where the sandwich lay plated under a napkin. He’d ask about the study, and we’d sit together in silence, worlds apart.
At the Cardiff gig the reviewer marvelled at Bruce’s gift of being able “command such a space – 60,000 people - with such intimate charisma.” That, for me, is his gift in a nutshell.
On a starry night, amongst untold thousands, amidst deafening rock and raucous voices, he will find a moment in which it seems the clocks just stop. And you will see yourself in that place, with your friends and family, as the world spins He is the master of this. Long may he run.
