Springsteen in Richmond
One night only, meet Bruce Springsteen. Except when he doesn't want to meet you. At those points, you are to be cold and intriguingly confused at what. it all means.
Damn distorted electric harmonica microphone. Why are you there? Bruce, why is it there? It takes the sounds and runs it through the crossroads and Alan Lomax's latest devices, and the result is a wailing muffle.
After a light Beautiful Reward to open last night, Reason to Believe made its almost-standard appearance in the bullet mic. I had read plenty about it, lots of mixed feelings, but had kept away from the boots. Not a single one had touched my ears. I had held out like a Rumson caterer. And when it arrived last night, awaited and muffled, it didn't make any sense.
Reason has its layers built in, and here we were adding more. Every hard-earned day, people find some reason to believe. Except the dog doesn't get up and run, the man leaves, the old man dies despite baptism, the groom gets left at the altar, and the people finding some reason to believe are either deceiving themselves or seeing hopes the rest of us can't. And now we are in the Delta. Not with the song's congregation, "down by the riverside" — not on that river — but on more remote ground.
Then he takes off the microphone.
The show went on with a regular mic, an assortment of instruments, songs new and old, and a lighting arrangement that won't sit still. The tour's title track was strong, and Long Time Comin' got big cheers for a crisp "ain't gonna fuck it up this time." Part Man, Part Monkey and Jesus Was an Only Son had their renditions mixed with stories to good effect. The first notes of Incident on 57th Street were beautiful to hear, with a power that surprisingly kept up. Shouts came out all over.
It was cold in the Richmond Coliseum, so maybe people were quick to react and move for that reason, but the crowd seemed special. There were more younger and more older people in attendance than I'd seen at most Springsteen shows. In the segment of the venue where I was, the crowd also seemed more diverse. For their relative newness, Jesus, Reno, The Rising, and Matamoros Banks all got warmth. Reno was the most surprising, with all its explicitness, but Springsteen read the song with a clear pacing that made the ending a victory.
Halfway through the set, the blues mic came back. The song was Johnny 99. The distancing effect was the same. Both Nebraska songs had been raw centerpieces for the acoustic mini-set during the Born in the USA tour, but last night they were complications. Switching roles almost. With the acoustic environment now taking the greater part, the two songs were the electric dividers. There was some electric guitar and electric piano in other parts of the show. But these songs were virtual Acts of Electrification.
The final Act came at the very end of the show and was more curious than the rest. Dream Baby Dream was a Suicide song that Springsteen introduced a ways into the tour and then kept in the closing slot. It too had generated "something else" reactions but was still new to me last night. The song as performed turned out to be a meditation … but performed. As Springsteen repeated the few lines, a wide but dim and garlanded light moved to cover the half the floor and lower bowl. He played the pump organ louder until he eventually stood up, came to the crowd and sang. An offstage organ and some unnamed instrumentalist continued the music.
The scene was odd, like the sermonizing of the Reunion and Rising tours but without a first-person. I couldn't help thinking of late Elvis and how he created a spectacle with which to surround himself. The intention couldn't have been the same — the preceding song was a deeply rhythmic Promised Land. Springsteen played the chords for the tune and hit the guitar body for the beat, and there was 12,000 people worth of pin-drop silence in the dark. Yet the closer followed as it did. Ethereal but with design. Maybe saying, you can dream what you want, but I'm gonna put some thoughts in your head before you sleep.
