Some things never change


It’s been 25 years. July 25, 1988, my first show, still stands as a highwater mark of my life. There have been others since, of course. But although I lost all sense of direction trying to get home that night and had to call my dad to come and get me, the show gave me a new direction in life and a new outlook on just about everything. I knew that Bruce Springsteen was now more than just good music to me. He was a guiding light and a means of finding purpose and content in my existence. I wanted to communicate what I experienced that night, and I wanted to re-experience it.

And communicating and re-experiencing it is what I’ve been trying to do ever since. Thus, although no one had even heard about the internet back in 1988, Greasy Lake is a direct result of that night 25 years ago. And seeing Bruce 59 times since has been my feeble attempt to take myself back to how I felt standing on my chair among 45,000 of my best friends singing along to “Twist and Shout” on a beautiful Copenhagen summer night. Sometimes I’ve been close. Other times not so much. And still other times I’ve felt what seemed even better. But never quite the same. And that’s probably the way it should be. Not to mention, it would be impossible. Times are different now. More individualism in society. Less inclination for strangers to morph into that one big soul. Bruce is different. He’s no longer that 38-year-old desperate man playing four-hour shows, because he couldn’t face his real life off stage. And I’m different. Halfway through my life. Mostly content. And a little harder to impress.

But just a little. The next show I saw, two days later, in Herning, was the best one ever. Some things never change.

(you’ll find the whole story on Greasy Lake: )

Fucking die hard fans

And so one day in 2012 I jumped on a train to Florence, to reach some people I barely knew at the time, to go in front of a stadium at 7 am, waited for hours, get so wet under the rain that not even in the shower, took this picture,  took a wristband and entered the first pit in my life, get even more wet under the rain, and then some, almost ruined a cell phone, heard the crowd asking One more song! and Bruce under the Deluge both amazed and pleased dedicating “One more for the fucking die hard” who didn’t quit, ended completely soaked and totally happy. Most importantly, I had understood that Bruce, the Band and my friends were more than fully worthwhile of all this.