Sixty is the new forty.
He’s known by his full name, but he’s identifiable by his first name as easily as he is by his last. He’s the Boss, the man who might have saved rock and roll when it needed it, who might be the last American rock’n’roll icon given his impact and longetivity. He’s a wealthy man who can still write from the voice of a blue collar guy. He’s astute enough to respect the past masters while carving out his own legacy.
Many believe the stars aligned when Time and Newsweek ran him on their covers; others believe it was just a brilliant marketing campaign that took a guy with potential and anointed him the new King. But whether you believe talent trumped opportunity or a pre-Internet American Idol was created in a major label test tube, one thing is undeniable – when they sent him to the plate, he hit that ball out of the park. And as far as live performers are concerned, Bruce Springsteen is a legend, and rightfully so.
There are a million Bruce Springsteen stories out there, and you’ll hear and read several of them today. I’m saving mine for a longer essay that will run another time. One December day long ago changed my life, and it involved a Springsteen concert, a blizzard and a woman. Don’t want to lose that one in the volume of today’s posts.
So here’s a tip of the cap to you, Mr. Springsteen. Like many of you, I’m going to get my Boss on today.
Of course Little Steven will have something to say.
And, of course, Bruce Springsteen Dot Net.