So I was a little down in the dumps this weekend. It was cold and gray and I was feeling sorry for myself...then last night I had the sad slapped out of me by probably the most magnificent live performer rock and roll has ever seen. The Boss, my man from NJ, Mr. Bruce Springsteen. You can't go to one of his shows and leave with a frown on your face. I don't believe it is humanly possible. Your dog just get run over? Go see Bruce. Did you just get fired and come home to find your girlfriend in bed with your best friend? No worries, go see Bruce.
If you can still feel sorry for yourself after they juice up the houselights as the boys from E Street start blasting the opening chords of "Born To Run," you need to hand in your membership to the human race. If you can still hang your head after pumping your fists in the air along with 20,000 of your closest friends while screaming "STRAP YOUR HANDS CROSS MY ENGINES" then there is no hope for you.
Some in the arena last night may have scratched their heads because the Boss played half old stuff half new stuff (and the old stuff was largely his brilliant but less commercial fair). The thing is, it just doesn't matter. I'd pay the $100 ticket price to hear him rock out to two hours of "Happy Birthday" and "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." He energizes you like alligator clips on your nipples.
As Jon Stewart said in his review of last month's NYC shows, "Are you a fan of joy? Do you like joy?" Why yes Mr. Stewart, yes I am!
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