You know, when you go to a show, there’s not just THE show. There’s a lot of stuff, in “the show”.
Last summer I went to Rome with my buddies, to see Bruce live there and spend a couple of days in the City.
I’m that kind of guy who hates absolute certainty, both in people and life. So, can I say it was the best concert I’ve seen, so far?
Maybe for Rome itself, beautiful, amazing, and funny.
Maybe for my mates and our Long live ignorance! code of conduct. These are my friends, they are totally crazy and gross, and I love them.
Maybe for the rain eating away the map while we tried to figure out where we were, maybe for a picture taken with a handball Chinese kids team, maybe for the time spent in Cinecittà proceeding from Ben Hur to some italian Tv trash series.
Maybe for the expected kebab meal at an absurd hour with some drunk Australians, or a strange bartender who had our own musical tastes.
Maybe for the taxis driven by poets, for some homeless guy in a suit, and reastaurants frequented by trashy smokers and hoes.
Maybe for the decision to give another chance to five-a-side football, gaining a little limp for two days that had a crucial need for walking around, and jumping at a rock concert.
Maybe for songs that have been in your wish list for so long: Roulette, Lucky Town, Brilliant disguise, Kitty’s back, Incident on 57th Street, New York City Serenade.
Maybe because on the same night on that stage I’ve seen two crazy, ridicoulous girls dressed as spouses, and one girl who received a proposal and will be a spouse for real.
Maybe for the “usual” magic of a Springsteen’s show.
Maybe because with just a guitar and an harmonica he made quiet thousands of italians, and when you succeed in that you really can silence anybody. I’m Italian myself, trust me, I know it
Maybe because it was like if each and everyone of us had won a fucking lottery, that night.
There’s a lot of stuff, in a Bruce Springsteen show.