Blues for Bruce By Jocelyne Badr (04/16/09)

Lights on, sound check...The LA Sports Arena is brimming with feverish Bruce afficionados. Impatient and anxious we- fans- fill up the seats, charged with anticipation we call out his name, pleading for deliverance. It is 7:30. Still no band, and still no Bruce!!! We become restless, on the brink of despair. Then darkness sets in, we roar: "Bruuuuuce!" The stage lights up again, but with the E-Street Band, starting the music. The Boss has stepped onto the stage at the same time as the band, and is playing his guitar. Visibly overcome by the frenzied cheering, he gives us his all; music, voice, self in wild abandon. He changes guitars after every song. He twirls one around his neck once, twice, three times and we lose count, as the band plays his song improvised, without lyrics as a background.

After a few songs, proud as a father, Bruce introduces a young musician in his twenties, wearing a baseball hat backwards, and plays bluesy riffs with him; a fantastic gripping duo. The prodigy also plays a two-minute long solo piece; a voice less than impressive, but fingers steadfast on the electric strings; inward and outward, back and forth, up and down the neck of the guitar. Bruce stands behind him, watching, encouraging, inspiring. We grow more anxious to hear more Bruce. We dance, jump, praise./p>

We don't want to let go after an hour and a half of continuous concert. Bruce keeps playing and singing, his supremacy overpowering us; a torrid affair unfolds uninterrupted for another hour with numerous encores. Our idol's rapture is apparent and contagious, as he throws himself at relishing fans in the first row, center stage. He hurries to the piano and climbs on top, playing for us who are behind the stage, where hearts are racing and hands are clapping until they are blue. He jumps back to center stage and continues playing, a song from every album it seems. He converses with the frenzied crowd, looking in all directions for special requests, reaching out, grabbing the bright yellow boards, where fans have scribbled their favorite titles, which Bruce sings in dedication to everyone from 8 to 80; reminiscing the teenage years. It is like he's having a party with his most intimate friends. He leaves the stage's platform onto an aisle, playing his guitar, fans joining in, he lets them, grab, claw at his arms, legs, guitar, clealry engrossed in the deafening cheers of adoration.

Bruce Springsteen's music grips you like his presence. His delivery is perfect. His music historical. Rare. We dread the end knowing well that it is inevitable, but equally climactic to the beginning.  The cheering doesn't stop.  He's got full control of us, we hum his songs incessantly. He proves once again that he's the BOSS.