Day 1: The Next Best Book Club
Day 2: Booked In Chico
Day 3: : Book Puke offers a review and a short chat about the characters and their motivations.
Day 1: The Next Best Book Club
When the news came through last night, I poured a glass of whiskey and put on End of the Century, because I wanted to watch all of them alive and talking and and I didn’t want to have to scroll through YouTube and start curating. I just wanted to be with them for a little while.
There were no more Ramones in the world. They were all gone.
Billboard asked me to write a classic track-by-track of the album on its 30th anniversary!
Ever since I read about Bruce Springsteen flying out to Utah, buying a car, and driving around in the desert to take photographs with Eric Meola, I wanted to do the same thing. And then as those photos became iconic, I always wanted to visit those locations myself. I wasn’t nuts about the idea of sleeping on the hood of the car in a small town in the desert (as the legend goes), but the idea of just showing up somewhere and driving around to see what was there was undeniably attractive. I wanted to see the same things that artists I respected were inspired by.
When the house lights went down Saturday night, I had a lot of hopes for the evening. I was waiting for that moment when Steve walked back on stage again, I was waiting for the first notes of the first song, I was waiting for the crowd to settle in and the gaggle of teenage boys next to me to stop poking me with their elbows. I was not at all expecting to hear the first notes of the alternate “Racing” and was pretty sure that I was wrong and that I was going to feel pretty dumb once Bruce started singing — except that, yes, Bruce was starting the Saturday night penultimate show of the tour at a casino by playing the alternate version of “Racing In The Street” from The Promise. Which is an interesting choice to say the least, but interesting from the perspectives of tone and intent: it’s brighter, not as solemn as the album cut, but it’s obscure as all fuck to the casual fan and could run the risk of falling over flat and then it’s a flurry of gathering signs or “Hungry Heart” to try to win them back.
You might think that I am lying if I tell you that I have had actual fantasies about Bruce playing “Clampdown” prior to it happening (it involved a guest appearance by Mick Jones [who, I have it on good authority, was at Hyde Park for the London Calling show] and not Tom Morello, but a girl CAN’T BE TOO PICKY). That said, I would like to present the other 10 Clash (or Joe Strummer) songs Mr. Springsteen (or his proxy in these matters, Mr. Morello) should consider playing. I tried to pick things that I thought the E Street Band could successfully play and would fit with the current show.
Back in the day, I used to have my circuit of Greenwich Village, the route I would take as a teenager to visit the various record stores. Each of them had their strengths and weaknesses, some had the bootleg records in the main section, others you had to ask behind the counter specifically, which I guess was to protect them from getting busted. Some would let you listen first, others wouldn’t, and it was at one of the latter that I picked up a bootleg that had “The Iceman” on it. It wasn’t labeled, had no cover art, and I took a big chance with my 15-year-old babysitting money when the guy behind the counter told me that it was amazing and that “any real Springsteen fan” had to have it. “Iceman” was on there, along with “Rendezvous” and “Taxi Cab” and in those pre-internet years, it was like owning some kind of Holy Grail. At some point, between moves and roommates the record got lost (or borrowed) and I’d forgotten all about it until Tracks came out and suddenly those long-lost songs were there again. It was like running into old friends you’d lost touch with.
So, when Bruce came out last night and out of absolutely nowhere–it wasn’t even in soundcheck spoiler reports–starts playing “The Iceman”–I was absolutely immersed into that sense of deja vu, taken back to the imaginary Springsteen concerts I’d attend in my teenage mind. It was spectacular, and immense, and pretty much perfect. The stage was dark, tiny pin spotlights on Bruce and Roy, hazy light on the singers and Charlie. It took a lot of guts to come out and hit a Saturday night crowd with a song 90% of them wouldn’t even know, especially one that required as much attention and tension as that one. There were deep breaths. There were quiet fist bumps. There were a lot of “Holy @#$%!” But mostly, it was just reveling in the magnificent performance of that particular song.
I wrote two pieces for Billboard:
This was a 23 hour day for me, worth every second.
Kevin Buell, Springsteen’s guitar tech, comes out dressed as a referee and holds up a basketball for a tip off between Bruce and Nils.(The latter wins despite being shorter, because although Bruce is undeniably in better shape, Nils is the better athlete.) But instead of “Badlands” or “We Take Care Of Our Own,” what do we hear instead?
“Jump.” By Van Halen.
Yeah, that just happened.