In the middle of "Youngstown", Bruce
Springsteen sings about theindustrial town where the
industry folded. It's a sad and somber song. Despite
the packed house of 1600 at Circus, you can still
very clearly hear the ceiling fans whir and a single
cough in the distant. The atmosphere is dense.
Then the crowd erupts
when the song is over. Shouts of "Bruuuce"
ring out, sounding more like boos and cow moos than
screams of adoration, giving a slightly absurd stamp
to the whole thing. But soon it's time for the next
song and the audience silences immediately.
It's a strange tour
he's out on. Before the concert, a speaker-voice
barks orders to the crowd: no cameras, no noise, no
running. But strictly speaking, that's not necessary.
The audience of Bruce Springsteen has always been one
of the rock music's most attentive.
Furthermore, most of
them already know almost everything there is to know
about this tour, including all instructions about
keeping quiet and listening.
The number of serious
Springsteen-fans in Sweden easilly surpasses the
number that fit into Circus; few outside the hardcore
succeeded in getting a hold of a ticket, leaving a
reviewer a little ambivalent. On the one hand, it's
almost contemptuous against the fans to play at a
place that's so obviously too small for the audience.
On the other hand, the nature of the show is such
that a bigger place wouldn't be appropriate.
This is Bruce
Springsteen's serious solo-tour. For more than 2
hours, he's alone on the stage singing serious songs,
mainly from the latest, unobtrusive album, plus some
radical remakes of old songs. There's nothing for the
ones that just heard a couple of hit songs on the
radio.
It's not easy
listening. But the treat is in the way he delivers
it... he whispers, roars, shouts, talks, sings
falsetto, and yes, almost everything but mumble in
that reserved way he's been doing a little too much
on his solo albums.
It's on the stage he
blooms. He transforms old, well-known numbers into
new ones. "Born in the USA" becomes a rough
delta blues number with whining slide guitar.
"Darkness on the edge of town" becomes
hard-hammering and "Bobbie Jean" suddenly
sounds like an old folksong in the spirit of Woody
Guthrie.
He's got a dozen black
acoustic guitars that all look alike and some
harmonicas. No stage decor. The guitar-tuner does
double-duty by adding careful synth-parts on some
songs, but it's hardly noticeable. There's just Bruce
himself to direct one's attention to. He tells
stories, as usual, with an intimate address, like he
were playing to a small group of friends.
And then he sings with
a voice that seems richer than usual... for two hours
and 15 minutes... all without dimming the atmosphere.
It's a trial of strength. His solo albums give just a
vague notion of what a vocal range he actually
possesses.
