Springsteen on Springsteen: Interviews, Speeches, and Encounters

by Jeff Burger

  He feels he should help his fans to avoid the trap that caught his father, and that he himself only just escaped. “My father was a pretty good pool player, and not much else. When he was about the age I am now, he was offered a job with the telephone company, but he turned it down because it would have meant traveling away from his wife and kids. Years later, I realized how that missed opportunity had hurt him ever since. So I’ve always felt that if you’re fortunate enough to be up there onstage, it’s your responsibility to try and close the gap with the audience, to give them the sense that there are other possibilities than the ones they may be seeing.”

  Springsteen in 1982, the year he issued Nebraska.

  FRANK STEFANKO

  For Springsteen, taking that responsibility means establishing an unusually intimate relationship with the audience. Given a stage low enough, he will leap into the middle of the throng, singing and playing guitar solos while hoisted high on his fans’ shoulders. Post Lennon, not many rock stars would take such a risk.

  “It boils down,” he said, “to a question of whether you trust people or not. I’m always inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. I get roughed up sometimes, when people try to pull chunks out of me, but mostly it’s OK.”

  “It’s vital to stay close to those people. I remember going to see bands when I was a kid, watching the musicians from real close up, studying the way they moved their hands, then going home and trying to copy them. Being in a band and playing music is what got me out of the trap of never realizing my potential.”

  Born to working-class Irish-Italian parents in an insignificant town, Springsteen came up the hard way and has always been renowned for his insistence on giving value for money. Earlier this year, in America, his concerts were lasting a marathon four and a half hours, and his intense physical effort led to the minor breakdown, which forced the postponement of the European tour. Now the concerts are trimmed to a shade under three hours, which is still unusually substantial.

  He is small and hunched offstage, a jockey with a lightweight boxer’s muscles, and he took the walk back to his hotel in the scuffed leather jacket, scruffy jeans, and muddied boots he had worn onstage. His voice is hoarse, his speech slow, and his thoughts introspective; in contrast to the eloquence of his song lyrics, he has a tendency to search doggedly for the right word or phrase, often without success.

  What unfailingly cheers him—to his manager’s occasional despair—is a chance encounter with his fans. Whatever the hour and however pressing the engagement ahead, he will chat, sign autographs, and pose for Instamatics.

  He feels he is only returning loyalty. Some fans cross continents to see him. Dan French, twenty-three, worked for a London computer firm until he was made redundant [laid off] last year. Now he produces a small photocopied fan magazine, Point Blank, titled after one of Springsteen’s songs. He recently hitchhiked to concerts in Frankfurt, Munich, and Paris, but he admits that even his devotion pales when compared with that of a trio of American girls who have followed the band around the entire European circuit for the past six weeks. “They’re a bit of a legend on this tour,” he says.

  What the fans may not realize is that, however much they may spend on travel and tickets, they are all being heavily subsidized. Few rock tours make money nowadays, their cost being reckoned a promotional expense. This one, with its forty-five-strong entourage of musicians, managers, and technicians, its relaxed schedule and long-distance telephone calls, will show a loss of about one million dollars.

  This is being underwritten, apparently without condition, by Bruce Springsteen’s record company, CBS, whose corporate attitude is that of its managing director in Britain, David Betteridge. “Just by touring here,” he says, “Bruce has doubled the sales of his current album. Once people have seen his concerts, they have to go out and buy his records. Fortunately, touring seems to be his lifeblood. Any other artist of his stature would have gone off to live on a ranch. Bruce just wants to work.”

  PART III

  “GLORY DAYS”

  Born in the U.S.A. produces megafame as Springsteen undergoes changes on the home front and splits with the E Street Band.

  “You make a lot of dough, you know, and that’s great … [but] the interaction with the community is the real reward—that’s where I get the most satisfaction.” —BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN, 1984

  THE BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN INTERVIEW

  DON MCLEESE | October 1984, International Musician and Recording World (UK)

  The homespun Nebraska, a solo collection that contained stark portraits of losers and drifters, provided a surprising but wholly satisfying follow-up to The River in 1982. Two years later came Born in the U.S.A., Springsteen’s all-time bestseller and the top-selling album by any artist in 1985. The collection spawned seven Top 10 singles—“Glory Days,” “Dancing in the Dark,” “I’m on Fire,” “I’m Going Down,” “Cover Me,” “My Hometown,” and the title track—and led to a worldwide concert tour. Springsteen was just beginning that tour when veteran rock journalist Don McLeese sat down with him in St. Paul, Minnesota. —Ed.

  In real life, three years can be a comparatively short time. In the world of popular music, it is somewhere between a generation and an eternity. It has been three years since Bruce Springsteen last launched a tour of the States or granted a major interview.

  Some things never change. As Springsteen’s proving all night on his ’84-’85 tour, he still has enough stamina to give his all for over three hours each show. He’s still featuring such favorites as “Thunder Road,” “Born to Run,” and “Rosalita” in concert. And his E Street Band still makes some of the toughest, tightest, and most richly textured music in all of rock.

  Even so, longtime Springsteen watchers will notice some changes, most significantly the absence of guitarist Steve Van Zandt, who decided to tour with his own Disciples of Soul.

  His slot has been filled by Nils Lofgren. A Keith Richards fanatic, he particularly shines on “Street Fighting Man,” Springsteen’s surprise choice for an encore on this tour.

  Less publicized has been the addition of Patti Scialfa on vocals and percussion. Discovered by Springsteen in his old Asbury Park, New Jersey, bar-band haunts, Scialfa turns “Out in the Street” into a full-force duet, and her background vocals add a countryish tinge to some of the other material. Within a band whose songs almost invariably refer to women as “little girl” or “little darling,” the addition of Scialfa seems like a significant step.

  Personnel aside, the major difference in Springsteen’s current tour lies with the new material. Since his previous tour, he has recorded two albums: 1982’s solo, acoustic Nebraska and the recent Born in the U.S.A. Where much of his earlier material was wildly romantic, his lyrics these days are more often taut, spare, and quite a bit bleaker than before.

  Although one album is solo and the other is with his band, it is perhaps best to think of the two albums as companion pieces. Most of the Nebraska material was originally written to be performed with the band, while some of the songs on Born in the U.S.A. were initially slated for inclusion on Nebraska. In concert, “Atlantic City” from the earlier album receives powerful backing from the band, while “No Surrender,” the closest thing on the new album to a rock-and-roll anthem, is often slowed down and performed solo on acoustic guitar.

  Introducing the title song from Nebraska—sung from the perspective of convicted mass murderer Charlie Starkweather—Springsteen told an audience in St. Paul that the song was about “bein’ so lonesome you could cry.”

  These days, the scope is smaller, the possibilities are fewer. Newer songs are haunted by a realization that rock and roll—no matter how much you love it or how hard you play it—may not be enough. They deal less with escape and more with responsibility and perseverance. Despite the similarities in their titles, there’s a world of difference between the widescreen melodrama of “Born to Run” and the gritty realism of “Born in the U.S.A.”: “I’m ten years burning down the road / No
where to run, ain’t got nowhere to go.”

  We spoke to Springsteen after his second show in St. Paul. Exhausted but obviously exhilarated, he seems to be getting a real charge from this return to the road. While he remains a most dynamic rocker onstage, he comes across very much in the plainspoken tradition of Woody Guthrie and the young Bob Dylan when the spotlights aren’t on.

  Backstage, he was wearing a flannel shirt, well-worn jeans, and an easy, unaffected smile. He often speaks of himself in the second person, seeming to prefer “you” to “I.” He just turned thirty-five years old, and his artistry is maturing as he is. Bruce Springsteen has never made stronger, more powerful music than he is making today.

  Don McLeese: Any particular reason why you chose St. Paul as the opening city?

  Bruce Springsteen: Didn’t you hear me last night? To explore new worlds, find new forms of life, and to go where man has never gone before. No, actually, the last tour, I believe, we started out right in this area also. I like the Midwest. I like playing out here. ’Cause usually it’s just you and the fans, and it’s just kinda more relaxing.

  DM: What made you decide to do “Street Fighting Man” this time through?

  BS: It was funny. I just picked it out of the air a few days ago during the rehearsal. It had that great line: “What can a poor boy do ’cept sing in a rock-and-roll band?” It seems to fit in the whole thing, for some reason. You come crashing down, it has that edge-of-the-cliff thing when you hit it. And it’s funny; it’s got humor to it. I just kinda pulled it out of the blue, mainly ’cause I’ve always loved that line.

  DM: It just seemed really political, especially when you introduced it with “Let freedom ring, but you’ve gotta fight for it.”

  BS: I guess it all ties in like that. That’s just me kinda being a fan. It’s like, man, what’s my favorite Stones song? It’s something I do in the clubs at home all the time. Get up onstage, and we’ll do “Gloria,” “The Last Time,” “Wooly Bully.” But that song did seem to fit in the whole thing—with the whole feeling with the show and where it was kinda going.

  DM: We were amazed by that introduction you gave “Nebraska.” Was Charlie Starkweather just a lonely guy?

  BS: That whole Nebraska album was just that isolation thing, and what it does to you. The record was just basically about people being isolated from their jobs, from their friends, from their families, their fathers, their mothers, just not feeling connected to anything that’s going on. Your government.

  And when that happens, there’s just a whole breakdown. When you lose that sense of community, there’s some spiritual breakdown that occurs. And when that occurs, you just get shot off somewhere where nothing seems to matter.

  DM: Were there things going on with you at that time that made you feel particularly isolated?

  BS: I don’t know. There must have been; I wrote all those songs. To do it right, you’ve got to get down in there somehow.

  It was a funny thing. It just kinda came up. I think I’d been touring for a long time, and I was home. I didn’t have a house; I’d never bought a house. I’d never really stopped. I was home for only a month, and I started to write all those songs. I wrote ’em real fast. Two months, the whole record, and for me that’s real quick. I just sat at my desk, and it was something that was really fascinating for me. It was one of those times when you’re not really thinking about it. You’re working on it, but you’re doing something that you didn’t think you would be doing. I knew I wanted to make a certain type of record, but I certainly didn’t plan to make that record.

  Even the way we recorded it was just by accident. It was just for demos. I told Mike, the guy that does my guitars, “Mike, go get a tape player, so I can record these songs.” I figured what takes me so long in the studio is not having the songs written. So I said I’m gonna write ’em and I’m gonna tape ’em. If I can make them sound good with just me, then I know they’ll be fine. Then I can play ’em with the band. ’Cause if you rehearse with the band, the band can trick you. The band can play so good, you think you’ve got something going. Then you go in and record it, and you realize the band was playing really good, but there’s no song there.

  And so, that was the idea. I got this little cassette recorder that’s supposed to be really good, plugged it in, turned it on, and the first song I did was “Nebraska.” I just kinda sat there; you can hear the chair creaking on “Highway Patrolman” in particular. I recorded them in a couple of days. Some songs I only did once, like “Highway Patrolman.” The other songs I did maybe two times, three times at the most. I had only four tracks, so I could play the guitar, sing, then I could do two other things. That was it. I mixed it on this little board, an old beat-up Echoplex. It was real old, which is why the sound was kinda deep.

  I put the tape in my pocket, carried it around a couple of weeks, ’cause I was gonna teach the songs to the band. After a couple of days, I looked at the thing and said, “Uh-oh, I’d better stop carrying this around like this. Can somebody make a copy of this?”

  It’s just the exact thing I did in my house. It was hard to get on an album; that took us some time, because the recording was so strange that it wouldn’t get onto wax. I don’t know what the physics are about, but it was hard to get on record without it distorting really strange. It was definitely my quickest record.

  DM: So many of those songs seem pretty bleak. The mood of the show is usually so exhilarating and celebratory. We were wondering whether you worried about how those songs would fit in.

  BS: Mainly, I felt that those were good songs, so there was a place for them. I’ve always done a lot of different types of material during the show. I’ve never done stuff quite like that. I just felt I could make it work somehow. Like, last night we did “Johnny 99,” and that just rocks, man, and “Open All Night”—those are easy. The reason I think they work is that they’re stories. People can just sit and listen to the story. I think there’s a good amount of the audience that has the record, but I don’t think it compares to the percentage that has the other records. But I felt that the audience was real responsive to it. It’s just a trick of getting in and getting out of it.

  It is a different show. We do quite a few new songs. And they’re different from the old songs.

  DM: We thought that stuff was the most powerful material of the show.

  BS: Well, thank you. I think it’s the stuff that I feel … there’s a balance. Just like life. You want to keep a certain amount of the old things. A lot of times they mean so much to me now because they mean so much to the audience. You got into “Thunder Road,” and that song’s as much their song as it is my song. They just take it over. And that’s where it becomes more powerful. They’re like little touchstones for people. And that’s a great compliment. That’s when the rock-and-roll thing is really happening, when it’s realized, is when “Born to Run” or “Thunder Road”—I don’t get tired of them, because they’re different every time out. They don’t mean exactly the same thing anymore.

  As you get older, those extra couple of years, they’re in there. Even if the words are the same and the music’s the same … the song, it breathes and lets them in. That’s a beautiful thing. That’s when it’s a good song. “Thunder Road,” that’s a good song, because I still feel it when I sing it. And it doesn’t really contradict some of the newer songs. Somehow, it just breathes and lets all your different experiences you’ve had in. Those are the songs that we continue to do, because they resonate more.

  It’s nice. The band’s been together a long time. Danny [Federici, organist] since 1968. Ten years almost for everybody. Max [Weinberg, drummer] and Roy [Bittan, pianist] joined in ’74, so they’re ten years this year. And the new people are great.

  DM: What has the loss of [guitarist] Steve [Van Zandt] meant to the band?

  BS: Ah, Steve; Steve’s my best friend, you know? He’s the greatest. We’ve been friends since we were kids.

  DM: Is he “Bobby Jean”?

  BS:
That’s just a song about friendship. I’m sure I drew on missing him, but it’s not real specific about it. It’s the old story—you miss the guy, and you’re glad to see the new people there. You know, Nils is great, and Patti, she’s great. It’s real nice having her in the band. It’s kinda like, yeah, everybody join in. She’s a local person, and it just feels like a bunch of people up there. It has a little of that community thing to it.

  I’m glad Steve is doing what he’s doing, because I think he made a great record. I thought his record was fantastic. And that’s what he’s gotta do. He’s got the talent—he always did—and he’s got somethin’ to say. We’re real close; we still are.

  DM: Let’s get to your new album. What was the idea—the concept—and why did it take so long?

  BS: Probably because I didn’t have an idea [laughs]. What takes so long is finding out what the idea is. You have a feeling that you go by. After Nebraska, you have to come from there and get back to somewhere very different. We recorded a lot of the stuff when I did Nebraska. But I just didn’t seem to have the whole thing as to what I wanted to do.

  DM: There were rumors that you had scrapped a whole album.

  BS: No, that’s just a thing where I had recorded a bunch of songs. I never had an album, because if I had an album, I would have put it out. I was anxious to put it out and go on tour. I had a bunch of songs, but they just didn’t feel quite right. You know, this is supposed to be “survival music,” basically; that’s the idea behind most of the records, just try to contain the new things that you’ve learned with the things that you know. Life gets pretty different as you get older. It changes quite a bit.

  DM: How has it changed for you?

  BS: Oh, gee, the music, you can probably hear it better in there than I can explain it. “Glory Days,” you know [laughs]. It’s in that song somehow. It gets better, I think.