Wisdom of The Boss

THE NEW YORKER RADIO HOUR: Bruce Springsteen Talks With David Remnick

This morning, while running in the woods of Nuremberg next to tonight's concert venue, I heard this interview (link above) and was knocked out.

Disclaimer: I am not a "Bruce Tramp" (the Springsteen fan equivalent of a Deadhead). Nor am I a frequent listener. In fact, with the exception of NEBRASKA - which I'm told is a common favorite among folks who are not otherwise big Bruce fans (and I do LOVE this album) - I don't own a Springsteen record. Yet every time I hear this man speak, whether in interviews or live concert clips, I'm stopped in my tracks.

Which makes me wonder: Is it ok to have great admiration for an artist and draw inspiration from that person without being a consumer of the work for which they are most celebrated?

I respect that for millions of listeners, his biggest hits with the band - whether "Born in the USA," "Hungry Heart," "Glory Days," "Thunder Road" or any number of other beloved chestnuts - communicate the same spirit that I get from hearing him alone in an intimate setting like this interview, NEBRASKA (in which Springsteen is the only musician), or this, one of my favorite live talks of all time - a work of art on par with any album: Springsteen's South By Southwest Keynote.

Clearly I "get it" on some level. At the same time, friends who are loyal Bruce fans have played me deep cuts of early E-Street albums, shown me powerful live clips and attempted to convert me in other ways. I'm always impressed, yet never drawn to make this music my part of my life soundtrack. Try as I might, it's just not a sound that resonates with me. It's not that I dislike it, I just don't connect with it. Mind you, this is purely on a sonic level (I absolutely appreciate the themes and messages within the music).

I know people who feel this way about Frank Zappa (whose records I own and do enjoy), yet I understand how they can simultaneously admire the man without being a frequent listener. Another artist I feel this way about it Patti Smith. Reading her in print is life-altering; hearing her speak is empowering. Yet for some reason, I've never been drawn to her albums in the same way, at least not sonically. Meanwhile, Keith Jarrett, John Coltrane and Jeff Beck (to name just a few) are artists whose work does reach me sonically, yet it has no words and has a comparatively small cult following, at least when compared to superstars like Smith and Springsteen.

Perhaps this should be all be a topic for another post. Back to The Boss...

There are many great parts to this latest interview including lessons that I feel would inspire anyone in any field. One is the admission that being the performer we all recognize didn't come instantly, but only after years of trying everything: Small bands, big combos, trio, even a stab at becoming more of a Hendrix/Clapton style guitarist (an attempt he describes as "half-assed").

Finally, after several years slogging it out in the club circuit, he takes stock and realizes that while a decent guitarist, he's no Hendrix. He's a decent vocalist, but he's no Roy Orbison.

So what does HE have? Songs. By diving deeper into what's natural and fulfilling to him - story telling - not playing beyond his abilities on voice or guitar, he is finding his calling. This part is around 15:30.

Another is the admission throughout that other than those few hours on stage, he's not the invulnerable powerhouse we think of. As he says, there are 20 or so other hours in the day where he "wants to be that guy," like everyone else. I'd first heard him make this refreshingly honest statement last year on this interview, also recommended, from NPR'S FRESH AIR . As a professional performer, I can relate to this. We must be comfortable accepting that we are not our stage personas 100% of the time. Those who do try to live up to that 24/7 often end up self-destructing (sadly, there are too many examples to name).

One my favorite parts of the New Yorker interview is the part where he goes into depth about being an artist with a purpose. He speaks of bringing a "reminder" to the audience about what life can be beyond its day to day tedium. This esthetic applies to any kind of music that's well done whether pop, blues, jazz, world, classical - instrumental or vocal. For that matter, it applies to art beyond music - literature, film, painting etc. As an artist, I'd thought about this abstractly but had never heard it articulated before (Thank you, Bruce).

Q: You once said for the audiences part, they come not to learn something but to be reminded of something when they come to see a performer like you or something that they love deeply.

A. Yeah I mean what are you doing? You're getting people in touch with the center of themselves, you know their 'life-force,'you know the part of them that feels..Why do people come to a show? Well, you want to be reminded of how it feels to be really alive, you know? That's what a great three-minute pop song does. In three minutes, you get the entire picture. You get the possibility of life on Earth and what that can mean and what it can do for you and do for others. It's just encapsulated in of what feels like nothingness but for some reason has had the power to inspire and lift and just bring you closer to Godhead or whatever you're pursuing. So I always feel that's our job. Our job is, you know, we're repairmen and we're reminders. You come to our show and we will - I always figure I don't get paid necessarily to play this song or that song or this song - I get paid to be as present as I can conceivably be on every night that I'm out there. (At this point, the audience is bursting into applause so loud that it sounds like a standing ovation, despite poor Bruce trying to articulate his final thought). You know, if I'm there, and I'm alive, I know you're feeling it too.