Then listen now to what I say
Just get an electric guitar
And take some time and learn how to play
And when your hair's combed right and your pants fit tight
It's gonna be all right
Advice from The Byrds, as snarky today as it was in 1967. The point being is that while becoming a music sensation might be considered simple, nothing could be more distant from the truth. And truth, these days, is up for grabs, and thus when one has the chance to observe honesty, to breathe it, to enjoy it, allow it to resonate, well ... don't think twice.
The evolution of a young person to rock stardom is one of the many themes that fuel SPRINGSTEEN ON BROADWAY, a show that Ruth (my wife) and I witnessed Christmas night, 2018, courtesy of Netflix.
We were mesmerized. Uncommonly so actually ... for two hours and thirty-some minutes that we didn't move, didn't make a sound, as if to not disturb the performance.
Envy does not come close to the emotion I have about those who witnessed Springsteen's show live in the theatre. Where I would have had the option to clap, tap my foot to music familiar yet quite often deeper, more resonant versions of that familiar, and laugh, and most certainly acknowledge the need to wipe my eyes from time to time to time to time.
I'm certain those in attendance began the evening with anticipation of the tangibly sublime, but soon were transported into the rarest of realms — a shared journey into the mystic.
Even those of us who witnessed this performance via TV, it was clear we were in the company of a legendary performer, one who has crafted a sellable, enduring product and yet remained so true to himself. At first I felt guilty about the cynicism, a default response engendered from the past two long years in the war on facts, compassion and ethics. Still stinging from the latest of the current administration's self-inflicted world-wide disasters, I did not want what I sensed were budding Norman Rockwell sensations to beam me from the grim malaise of now and into a far better place.
But as Bruce Springsteen shared his life's path, skepticism fell by the wayside, and I believed what I felt to be true actually was true. I know Springsteen was not seeking absolution, but what transpired arrived at the intersection of where memory lane embraces confession.
Springsteen's profound love for his parents, Clarence Clemmons, Patty Scialfa, and ultimately his life becomes a tangible force that elevates as it transfixes.
It is remarkable.
If you are already a Netflix subscriber, the "cost" of admission is free ... all that will be taken is time, but even that is at a discount as I'm certain the 153 minutes are the most limber and energetic 153 minutes one can choose to encounter.
Below are three reviews, one dated early in the run, one near the end, and one about the recording.
Consider all of this the water. Up to you if you drink.
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