Review: Bruce Springsteen’s Broadway return was a true spectacle — and badly needed
NEW YORK – Outside Broadway’s St. James Theatre Saturday night, West 44th Street seemed on fire with a crazed kind of anger. Hoards of anti-vax protesters with bullhorns, furious that “Springsteen on Broadway” was open only to the vaccinated, screamed and shouted with such force, it seemed likely they’d disrupt the show.
“Springsteen is a segregationist,” their banners read, which is more absurd a charge than the one leveled at Bruce Springsteen this past winter after he was charged after downing a couple of shots of tequila before driving his motorcycle in a New Jersey forest preserve.
In the middle of a pandemic when we all needed a drink.
The Boss has withstood more in his 71 years on the planet. And Springsteen has lived long enough to learn two superpowers: learn to tolerate and let stuff go. “I can understand these folks out on the street,” he said from the stage during his full-capacity, intermision-less show. “This is a time filled with confusion.” Amen, Brother Bruce.
When “Springsteen on Broadway” premiered on Broadway in the before times of 2017, it felt like personal meditation on manhood, as typically construed by those fortunate (or unlucky) enough to be born working-class in the middle of the 20th century, and as performed by a chiseled rock star turned poet with a comparable claim to a Nobel Prize in literature as Bob Dylan.
It was a show that pointed out how we emulate the people whose love we crave, especially if they deny us their affection. Until we learn that the imperfections of our parents can help make us better.
That’s still true: “Springsteen on Broadway,” which briefly features Springsteen’s wife of 30 years, Patti Scialfa, remains a profoundly admirable attempt at self-definition, a kind of reckoning of the life and times of the man with the guitar and harmonica, standing in the spotlight.
In language that’s unexpectedly exquisite, stitching together some of his greatest songs, Springsteen manages to stand outside of himself, pondering what he and his work actually means and how it dovetails with the lives of his audiences. It sounds pretentious and, certainly, it takes a certain level of stardom to be granted such license. But Springsteen has a rich vein of humility and his show, above all, conveys the truth that we do actually learn more about life as we age. The problem is that we then can easily be overwhelmed by the piling up of loss and grief as people die.
And that’s what different about this show from last time. The world has spun forward, and not in a good way: “We are living in troubled and troubling times,” the artist observed, shaking his head.
Springsteen has lost people, his mother has descended deeper into Alzheimer’s (while retaining her love of dance) and democracy has started to look a whole lot more fragile. “Never in my 71 years on the planet ...” Springsteen said at one point, referencing the chaos outside the theater and far beyond, preparing himself to attack his guitar strings on “American Skin (41 Shots),” which felt Saturday night like a cry of rage for those who can get killed while merely living.
But Springsteen, like Broadway, has optimism built into his DNA. He’s been famous enough to understand the way life occasionally zigs, but most often zags. Ain’t nothing you can do.
“I made a podcast with the president of the United States,” he said, describing how he filled his pandemic months, even as the former presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg sat nodding in a Saturday night crowd that also included Steve Van Zandt of Springsteen’s beloved E Street Band. “And then I was handcuffed and thrown in jail.” The United States of America versus Bruce Springsteen read the docket. “Born in the USA,” redux.
Even Springsteen is not immune from the zags. But as you walk out, glad for the return of such glorious evenings, you’ll be struck by this man’s vulnerability and heart. He leaves you with the image of him going back to his old block, finding his favorite tree has been cut down, and then running his fingers through its roots, trying to hold on to something strong.
Like the rest of us right now.
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