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.
The best of my six years of baseball writing are included in my new ebook: One Girl, One Team, One City: The Best of metsgrrl.com.
It was a ton of fun to go back through what now amounts to hundreds of posts and pick out the best ones, relive the ups and the downs, and just generally marvel at the fact that I wrote about baseball for six years.
Hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
I very much enjoyed the chance to contribute to the Guardian’s ongoing “10 of the Best” series on the subject of Mr. Bruce Springsteen. I thought it would be interesting to talk about the songs that didn’t make the cut and why (and more on some that did).
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“I drive a Cadillac in my dreams” isn’t that far out of the man’s oeuvre, now, is it? Or songs about poor kids breaking out of their small town existence?
This cover is blowing my mind. All week we’ve been debating Crowded House and Split Enz (and this could happen now that Neil Finn is going to tonight’s show) but we also walked around saying, “There’s no way he’d do a ‘Royals’ cover” and yet, here it is.
Talk baseball with Caryn Rose, author of Raise Your Hand and B-Sides and Broken Hearts, as she celebrates the publication of her new book A Whole New Ballgame. She’ll be joined by Joan Walsh (Splash Hit, Salon.com), Taryn Cooper (of Gal for All Seasons), and Diane Firstman (Value Over Replacement Grit), with Kimberly Austin of Rock Book Show moderating.
Facebook RSVP encouraged, but not required.
Some of you know that I started writing about baseball back in 2006. I started the blog on Blogger, for heaven’s sake, because it was something I was doing so that I didn’t have to send out mass emails to people. I didn’t know that I’d love doing it and I didn’t know that I’d build an audience. I didn’t know that I’d do it pretty much nonstop for 6 years, that I’d be one of the few women blogging about the Mets, and still the only one officially recognized by the team. I didn’t know I’d end up sitting in the press box and reporting on games. It’s still kind of surreal for someone who didn’t get to grow up with baseball.