The Hitter 
An Online Springsteen Commentary – Version
5.01- 21 Feb 2003 - thehitter@hotmail.com
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Luckytown, 1991-2003 This week, Kevin Kinder, the moderator of
the Luckytown Digest, said that he would fold the list after more than 11
years. His stated reasons were
easily understandable to us at The
Hitter, which publishes even less
often than the Digest recently did.
He cited work and family obligations, and his belief that the Digest
was becoming less useful in a world now chock-full of Springsteen Internet
groups. Kevin may be right that Luckytown will not
be missed. But only in the same
way that the Continental Congress isn’t missed, or the Works Progress
Administration, or the League of Nations. First called the Backstreets
Digest, it was the first really significant Internet forum for Bruce’s music.
It paved the way for RMAS, Greasy Lake and the host of other discussion
forums that exist today, and brought together fans from around the
world. Reading about a show like
the March 23, 1993 Count Basie benefit on the Backstreets Digest was like
receiving a coded message from another planet, in a way that people today
might find hard to understand. Indeed, whether or not there’s a place for
the Digest today, it’s worth asking whether there will ever again be one
place on the Internet with the quality of Bruce discussion it enjoyed during
its glory days of the early to mid-‘90s. Two things made the Digest a strong forum
and perhaps impossible to recreate today. The first was technology. In the early ‘90s, there weren’t a lot of people with Internet
access. Discussions were
smaller, more intense, more transparent and more manageable. Indeed, it was what Kevin found to be
the Digest’s unmanageable size that led him to spearhead the creation of RMAS
and drain some of the traffic – a step that perhaps worked too well. The second thing that made the Digest so
strong in its day, and that should not be underestimated, was the
intelligence and goodwill of its moderator. When we were on the Digest, Kevin Kinder plainly cared
about Bruce, his music, and the people who posted to the list. His steady example of inclusion,
moderation and respect is useful for all of us. Bruce Springsteen may not know how much he
owes Kevin Kinder, although we think he probably does; we at The Hitter
have always suspected that Bruce’s general silence toward the fan community masks
a degree of genuine interest and care. But to us it’s clear. Kevin Kinder ranks with Lou Cohan,
Dave Marsh, Charley Cross and only a handful of others who, through their
work, have helped thousands of fans become a genuine community. We thank him for that and wish him
well. Version 4.01, 10
Aug 2002 You may e-mail us at Links Backstreets
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The MaskOnly the hopelessly self-absorbed
could have left Bruce Springsteen’s benefit concert for DoubleTake Magazine Thursday
night at the Somerville Theatre outside Boston doubting they had seen
something extraordinary. By
talking extensively about the ideas behind his songs, he opened himself to
his audience like he never has before.
Whether he succeeded in engaging the audience in those ideas is
questionable, through little fault of his own. The obvious comparison is to the 1990
Christic Institute benefits, another solo acoustic moment of introspection
for Bruce. But this comparison
fails; these were the Anti-Christic shows. Here, we had the comfort of old friends like “Blinded by
the Light” and “Growin’ Up.”
It’s easy to forget sometimes how much we love these songs and how
badly we need them. As Bruce
said himself, their joy is a central part of his work. Bruce’s own expressions in Somerville
were also deeper than they were at the 1990 shows. For example, it’s now clear from Bruce himself why he
still plays “Darkness of the Edge of Town” at almost every show. Along with
“The Promised Land”, he plainly finds it among the most critical songs of his
catalog, advancing the ideas of transcendence and human dignity that drive
his music. As Bruce told it Thursday night, the
character in the last verse of “Darkness” is not like those in “The River,”
who find themselves powerless against social forces they can’t control. This is someone who, even after
losing it all, still has something left – himself – and he puts it on the
line. It’s Muddy Waters singing
“Mannish Boy,” or John Lennon singing, “I Want to Hold Your Hand.“ Bruce’s insights were not just about
the lyrics, either. Who would
have thought that “Stolen Car” and “Brilliant Disguise” both took the rhythm
of songs like “Save the Last Dance for Me” to convey the suggestion of
sex? Or that the modal chord
structure of “The River” was crafted to recall American folk music and thus
give the sense of being trapped by fate and history? Unlike the meaning of a line
like “pumped his way into his
hat,” these ideas were not “self-explanatory.” They were unexpectedly cool. Yet the most interesting revelations
from Bruce may have been the inadvertent ones. In remarks that echoed the
story he told about Bob Dylan when he introduced “57 Channels” at the second
Christic show, Bruce talked about his father and said: All of us wear masks
to present ourselves to the world.
I’m wearing one right now. There were a number of moments
Thursday night when the mask dropped. Some of them were fascinating, like
when Bruce talked about writing the last verse of “Nebraska” and left out the
fact that it contained the words of Charles Starkweather himself. Some of the moments were fun and
charming, such as when he bashfully glossed over some of the weirder lyrics
of “Growin’ Up” and “Blinded by the Light.” Some of them were neither fun nor
charming. Thursday night, we saw
the Bruce Springsteen who detests cameras (“Don’t do that … or I’ll kill
you”); who was amused yet unnerved by one woman’s front-row dancing; who
retains his Joad-era penchant for talking crudely about sex. These open displays of impatience,
fear and earthiness make you wonder whether he, like his father, wears much
less of a mask than most people do. All of this amounted to an
extraordinary night of revelation from Bruce, all to engage his audience in
the ideas and craft that drive his music. Yet did the audience respond? From where we sat in the Somerville
Theatre, we’re not sure it did. The question-and-answer session had to
be the single most dispiriting thing we’ve seen or heard about at a Bruce
concert since Terence Trent D’Arby got booed. The questions were notable for their utter failure to
engage any of the ideas that Bruce tried to convey. In fact, almost all of them were notable for their
self-centeredness. Like one questioner, we’d like Bruce
to release official bootlegs, too.
But for what purpose? So
we can have something else to buy?
So we can hear the music in a little better quality than a Sony D8 can
provide? The official editorial
position of The Hitter is that the proper reason for wanting these things
is for others … not for us. We
know that this music can change lives, because it changed ours. If we believe in the music, if
we care about its message, then we must want everyone to have the chance to hear
it like we did. Like another questioner seemed to be
saying, we don’t like the general admission policy either. We’ve said so on this page. But it’s not because it makes it
harder for us to get good tickets. Rather, we think it shows a lack of responsibility
for the safety of the fans, and an indifference to their enjoyment of the
show. Little of this idealism, little of
this commitment, was evident in the questions Bruce took from his fans
Thursday night. Bruce laid down
the gauntlet for us several times.
When he talked about “Darkness on the Edge of Town” at the beginning
of the show, he said the line, “I’ll be on that hill” reflected not only the
character’s commitment to act, but the performer’s commitment to be there for
the audience, and the audience’s commitment to stand with the performer. During the Q&A, he talked about
the meaning of the word “concert,” and how it meant that the performer and
the audience were to act together. And yet the gauntlet was left sitting
on the floor. We fans have a
weird and dysfunctional relationship with Bruce Springsteen. He holds us back, and yet from time
to time he drops the mask and draws us in. Then we let him down, and the mask goes back on.
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