Through all this I refused to give up hope. "Badlands" began, so I walked down front to hear better and immediately got hit in the face by an overbearing spotlight from the stage. Never mind.
And when another selection began with a slow organ riff, my wife, almost pleadingly, said, "Candy's Room!" I knew better. "Yeah," I said, "and I'll pay for another ticket." It was actually "Roll of the Dice," and another Doral Light 100 for me.
Believe me, I wasn't the only one who spent as much time out in the hallway as inside the auditorium. After a disco-ish, "Dancing in the Dark"-style version of "Darkness on the Edge of Town," Springsteen told another tale and began a gentle rendering of "The Big Muddy." Scores of people literally bolted for the doors to get out of there. In the packed restroom some guy quipped, "Guess it's break time for everybody." Yup. In fact, streams of people headed for the exits every time Springsteen played one of his new songs.
And I have a sneaking suspicion that Springsteen was lip-synching "57 Channels."
The setlist was ripe with opportunities to rip out hearts and spill guts -- nuggets like "Trapped" and "Prove It All Night" that once meant something. Meant nothing to me. I was so uninterested I spent much of the evening scoping out the crowd: dull faces mindlessly mouthing no-longer-cogent lyrics. Far removed from that time long ago when Springsteen forgot the words to "Born to Run" in the middle of the song and the audience responded by picking it up for him, bringing tears of shared emotion to both them and him.
If I could take one moment into my hands, it wouldn't be this one.
The venue, the crowd, the performance -- all were perfect, smooth and clean and safe. Like a sunny summer morning at Sunday School. It left me feeling as empty as an abandoned temple.
However, I am always fearful of ranting and raving without searching my soul, or at least making a few phone calls. I talked to Jonathan Pont, an associate editor at Backstreets who's seen nine Springsteen shows in the past couple of months. "I enjoyed them," he told me, then asked, "Did he play `Atlantic City'?" No, Jonathan. "From what I've seen," Pont added, "the way this show is structured, with a really killer audience he can do amazing shows. There were others where I wished I'd brought a good book with me. It seems like on this tour, the crowd reaction indicates what kind of show they get."
I'm not going to blame the crowd. Or Miami Arena. I'm not even going to blame Bruce himself. There's something bigger going on, something more at stake. Somehow, when I wasn't looking, the spirit of rock and roll apparently fled this world. If you can't find it at a Springsteen show, it can't be found. They're not still racing down at the trestles. That blood doesn't burn in our veins any more. Rest in peace, Bruce. Rest in peace, rock and roll. No, on second thought, go fuck yourselves.
