Slightly Askew

Born To Run at Latitude 2009

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Some time last year when Springsteen’s show at the O2 Arena sold out in milliseconds and bastardface ticketmaster timed out on me, I gave up hope of ever seeing the great man perform in the flesh.

Last friday (30th May), however, yours truly got a second bite at the cherry.

Yup, not content at seeing The Boss a few days before my twenty-sixth birthday, in Anaheim, California, me and my old man went to watch the Emirates Stadium be “baptised”.

The E Street Band’s first night in London was the first ever gig at Arsenal football club’s beautiful new home.

You either get Bruce Springsteen or you don’t.  If you don’t, that’s your problem. I’m not going to pander to your idiocy.

Anyway, at around 7.45, the house rockin’, pants droppin’, earth shockin’, hard rockin’, booty shakin’, love makin’, heart breakin’, soul cryin’, death defyin’ legendary E Street Band walked onto a bare stage - no fireworks, no light fantastic, no introductory video.  This was about the music.

Three hour flashed by.  From Tenth Avenue Freeze Out to American Land, I watched and sung my inferior lungs out as Springsteen gave a lesson on why:

1. They call him The Boss
2. Everything else is completely shit in comparison

Sadly, they’re not getting younger.  Danny Federici - the band’s organist - died of cancer in April.  (If you have the time, I suggest you read Springsteen’s eulogy to Danny on the website.)

They may never play these shores again, but it really doesn’t matter.  What they’ve given us is more than enough.

If you don’t know where to start, start with Darkness on the Edge of Town.  Then let your heart lead you.  It’s worth the journey.

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I got some tickets to see The Boss at the Emirates Stadium off Ebay.  A bargain, I think.  Although they haven’t arrived yet, so I shall reserve judgement.  The last time I saw the great man, he played Thunder Road first.  If Heaven exists, I imagine it sounds like those first tinkling piano chords.

I’m watching less and less television as I approach twenty-six-and-a-half.  So when I do choose to watch it, I generally avoid ITV.  Two independent sources told about some dancing dog on Britain’s Got Talent though, so I had to resort to YouTube.  I wasn’t disappointed.

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Spine-tingling.

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